Southold

After exploring the colonial-era cemetery, and before sampling all of the Rosé recently, we walked to the vineyard through the town of Southold on the North Fork of Long Island. The town was settled in 1640 and feels like a more down-to-earth, slightly less fancy version of the Hamptons. 

The walk to the vineyard was idyllic—until we ran out of sidewalk completely—and every house we passed was cuter than the one before. I have a weakness for cedar shingles and anything remotely colonial or New England-y and Southold has an abundance of all of these styles.

At one point we stopped at a yard sale—one of the things I miss most since moving to New York—that was partially covered with an awning. Jen wondered out loud if it might be the kind used to cover gravesites during funerals—and we got our answer when we passed the matching funeral home not too far from the sale.

We passed a mailbox shaped like a barn and a few actual barns, homemade flower bouquets for sale, a farm selling goat cheese and eggs, a street actually named "Peanut Alley," and a welder that was advertising his services with a collection of rusty doctors' chairs (#yardgoals). I'm sure I can't actually afford to ever live in Southold but I can at least spend the day pretending I do for the cost of a roundtrip train ride.

Old Burying Ground

While planning our recent day trip to the North Fork of Long Island, I found the vineyard we were planning to visit on Google Maps and searched for cemeteries nearby. Anytime I'm traveling somewhere new, I try to search for nearby diners and cemeteries to maximize my time and ensure that I'm not missing out on something.

I was excited when I discovered a cemetery .3 miles from the train station (when I told my friends that I had found a cemetery for us to explore on our way to the vineyard, one replied "of course you did"). I was even more thrilled to find out after a few minutes of research, that the old buying ground in the First Presbyterian Church cemetery is the oldest surviving colonial-era cemetery in New York State. 

The OBG was established in 1640 by the Puritan settlers of Southold, and it's full of stones cut with Puritan memento mori images and motifs—winged skulls, chubby cherubs and even a few crossbones. According to the (very helpful) brochure we picked up upon entering the cemetery, "the Old Burying Ground showcases gravestones carved by the best of the early stonecutters, most from New England, the widest range of any Long Island cemetery."

It's rare in this country to come across burial grounds that pre-date the formation of the United States, and the OBG has 20 gravesites that date back to the 1600s. The OBG is home to the oldest grave (the 1671 box tomb of Southold founding father William Wells) and the second oldest gravestone on Long Island (Abigail Moore, 1682).

Like any old cemetery, some of the stones have sustained a lot of damage while others look as if they were just carved yesterday. The church has been making a costly and extensive effort to preserve the OBG, giving the stones a cleaning, piecing some back together and adding a protective bed of gravel at their base. We didn't explore the grounds beyond the Old Burying Ground, but the cemetery is huge and very well-maintained—I could have easily spent hours there, if only they served Rosé. 

Croteaux Vineyard

On Saturday three friends and I took the LIRR almost three hours east on Long Island, to Southold in the North Fork. Our destination was the Croteaux Vineyard, but it was the perfect day-trip that included bagel sandwiches, a colonial cemetery, a walk down the adorable Main Road and—eventually—the vineyard. 

The North Fork is like a mini Napa Valley, and you could easily spend a weekend there hopping from vineyard to vineyard. On the train ride there, I knew we were getting close when I started to see grapevines, and you might be surprised at how fast a nearly three-hour train ride can go if you're properly caffeinated and bring the right friends. 

Croteaux only produces Rosé, and despite the fact that pink wine seems to be everywhere these days, they're the only, Rosé-only winery in the country. I'm by no means a wine connoisseur but I am a huge fan of eating salty snacks and laughing with friends, both of which pair very well with a chilled, bubbly drink. They have a "tasting barn," which is really just a garden with tables, but it's the perfect setting to sample their variety of "dry, crisp, fun-to-drink wines." 

The tasting menu includes the option of either six still or three sparkling wines, and I chose the sparkling. Again, I know nothing about wine but I definitely think they're succeeding in their quest to produce wines that are extremely drinkable—all three of mine were delicious, and I bought a bottle of their Chloe Sauvignon Blanc Sparkling Rosé to take home with me.

This wasn't my first time in Long Island (I've been to East Hampton, Long Beach, Kings Park, Riverhead, Wantagh and Flanders) but it was my first time at a vineyard. As a woman in my early 30s, it seems as if my Instagram feed is full of groups of women hanging out in vineyards every weekend. I always thought it seemed sort of silly until I realized just how nice it could be to plan an outing where the only thing on the agenda is to day-drink with three of your favorite people.

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Croteaux Vineyard
1450 South Harbor Road, Southold, NY 11971
Open Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday 12-6pm

Kings Park Psychiatric Center: Patient Wards

The last building we explored at the abandoned Kings Park Psychiatric Center (after Building 93 and a doctor's cottage) was a large building that once housed patient wards. The door was wide open so we just walked right in—there wasn't much left inside but the peeling paint, humorous graffiti and eerie corridors made it a worthwhile place to creep for a bit.

There are so many buildings on KPPC's campus (more than 100 during its lifetime) that I can't be sure exactly which one this was—and we saw several others that had very similar layouts—but it had what appeared to be individual rooms as well as larger spaces and balconies on every floor. The peeling paint was particularly artful and I could do an entire post just waxing poetic about layer after layer of the curling, cracking, pastel flakes.

I generally think that most graffiti is terrible in abandoned places, and of course wish I could see these places in a more pristine condition, but occasionally I'll come across something that makes me laugh. "Call your mother, she worries" was one of my favorites, especially because my mother was actually with me exploring KPPC—after our New York City Farm Colony adventure she was hooked.

Although not nearly as full of stuff as Building 93, this building still had some of its bathroom fixtures, built-in cabinets, radiators, doors and shattered mirrors. I love the mystery that abandoned spaces have and I like to imagine how each room was used and who might have lived there—what was stored on those wooden shelves and most importantly, who last used that moldy toilet paper?

Muffler Man: Chief Running Fair

While I was planning our recent trip to see The Big Duck, I checked Roadside America's invaluable Muffler Man map and found that there was a Muffler Man nearby.  I hadn't seen a Muffler Man since last October (the Happy Halfwit at Mr. Bill's in New Jersey), and I had never seen a proper example of the Native American variation—it was the cherry on top of a delightful mini-road trip through Long Island.

Chief Running Fair stands outside the Riverhead Raceway in Riverhead, NY in western Long Island. The race track bought him in 1982 when the Danbury Fair in Connecticut sold all of their statues. Apparently in October of 2012 Superstorm Sandy snapped him in two, but he was restored and back up by Christmas of that year. He's in sort of an odd place—behind a chain link, barbed-wire-topped fence and slightly hidden from the road, but he looks like he's well-cared for and has a vibrant paint job.

His lower half resembles most of the other Muffler Men I've seen—he counts as my eleventh!—but his head, torso and arm position appear to be unique. I love his colorful markings and the detail in his hair and headdress is really incredible. The way that musculature and fabric folds are so expertly reproduced in fiberglass will never cease to amaze me, and I'm so glad that I finally got to add another variation to my Muffler Man (photo) collection.

Kings Park Psychiatric Center: Doctor's Cottage

After we explored Building 93 at Kings Park Psychiatric Center—and after we defrosted ourselves in the car for a bit—we took a peek inside of two other abandoned buildings on the sprawling campus. There were several nearly-identical houses right across from Building 93 that were used as housing for doctors and the doors were wide open so we invited ourselves in.

This was my first time exploring an abandoned residence. It feels strangely intimate to be inside of what was once someone's home—there were hangers still in the closets, patterned wallpaper peeling off of the walls and even a toilet brush still in the toilet. While its human residents are long gone, these cottages must be very popular with animals—there was literally piles of poop everywhere.

The houses were built in the 1920s and although KPPC wasn't fully abandoned until 1996, judging by the decor the houses look as if they haven't been occupied since the 70s. I realized my tripod was broken when I tried to set it up in the cottage—it had fallen out of my bag in Building 93—so my photos are a little grainy, but seeing the inside of an abandoned home was a fascinating counterpoint to the enormity and impersonality of Building 93.

The Big Duck

This past Sunday one of my dreams came true—we finally made it out to Flanders, Long Island to see The Big Duck. The Big Duck may not seem like an attraction worthy of being a road trip destination, but I planned an entire road trip last summer just to stay overnight in a concrete Wigwam—as my dude says, my love of novelty architecture knows no bounds.

The Big Duck was completed in 1931 and is, by many accounts, the holy grail of novelty architecture. While not as large as the Longaberger Basket or as interactive as a drive-through Donut, The Big Duck inspired two architects to coin the term "duck" in 1968. "Ducks" are sculptural buildings representing the products or services they provide—they are structure and signage combined. 

The Big Duck was built by a Riverhead duck farming couple to sell their Peking ducks back when 60% of the nation's ducks were raised on Long Island. They reportedly had the idea while visiting a coffee pot-shaped coffee shop in California (land of the novelty building), and hired a carpenter and two stage set designers to help execute their vision. The Big Duck has a wood and wire mesh frame which is covered in painted concrete. Its eyes are two Model-T taillights and they glow red at night (if my Instagram research is to be believed). 

The Big Duck did seem a bit smaller than I expected—it's 30 feet from beak to tail, 15 feet from wing to wing and 20 feet from the top of its head to its base—but it's large enough to contain a gift shop with a counter and shelves of duck-themed souvenirs. 

The number of duck farms on Long Island has dropped through the years due to escalating land values (i.e. The Hamptons) and environmental factors. The Big Duck has been relocated a few times and its fate hasn't always been secure. When the land that it occupied was threatened with development, it was donated to Suffolk County in 1987 and is now listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Aside from being historically significant to a novelty architecture enthusiast like myself, The Big Duck is just ridiculous and fun—it was impossible not to smile as we were driving and I saw its bright orange beak peeking out over the horizon.

Bideawee Pet Cemetery: Ceramics

I've posted about ceramic headstone portraits before, but the I never shared all of the ones we saw at Bideawee Pet Memorial Park. We began noticing the ceramics almost immediately, and for a strange reason—a majority of them had been damaged to the point where you could no longer make out the animal, and it looked intentional. Thankfully, some portraits managed to escape this seemingly random desecration, because they're truly wonderful.

I gave a brief history of human porcelain cemetery portraiture in this post, but it just makes sense that their popularity would spread to pet cemeteries as well. In fact, pet portraits almost seem more normal—even pre-Instagram, I would imagine that pet photography was widespread. The one thing that has been very clear in every pet cemetery that I've visited is just how much animals mean to their owners. Anyone that loves their pet enough to memorialize it with a burial and tombstone would likely have no shortage of photos of their beloved companion.

Some of the portraits feature pets in costumes—like my favorite, the dapper dachshund whose tombstone read "In Loving Memory, Mr. Nathan D. Friedman, My Son," Duchess in what appears to be a hand-knitted sweater (with a hood!) or Penny in her stylish plaid coat.

The portraits aren't reserved exclusively for dogs and cats or single pets—we saw at least a few bird photos as well as group shots. But portraits that really got to me were the ones that included their owners, most of which were from a pre-cellphone camera era. Again, if you loved your pet enough to buy them a granite tombstone, then a Sears portrait studio session probably didn't seem too extravagant either.

Kings Park Psychiatric Center

On Saturday we finally ventured out to Long Island in hopes that we'd be able to creep on a 57-room abandoned mansion that I learned about back in November. The mansion is literally surrounded by a golf course, and because our day was going to be spent doing things of questionable legality (aka trespassing), we thought a cold, windy day would keep prying eyes off of the golf course, and us. Well, unfortunately (for us) the mansion seems to be undergoing a renovation or is at least much more well-secured than we expected—video surveillance, a new fence, chains, locks and new plywood over broken windows—so we did a quick walk around and then moved onto Plan B.

I had very little current information about the mansion, so I had drafted a Plan B before making the trip—to explore Kings Park Psychiatric Center in Kings Park, Long Island. KPPC was in operation from 1885 until 1996 when it was closed by the State of New York. The hospital campus has contained more than 100 buildings during its 111-year run, although I had only heard about one—Building 93. A 13-story, neoclassical building built in 1939, #93 was used for patient housing. Floors began to close in the '70s, and less than a third of the building was in use when it closed for good in 1996.

I was surprised to find several other buildings sitting abandoned, but I had my heart set on getting inside of #93. It wasn't as easy of a creep as the New York City Farm Colony (or anywhere near as nice of a day), I'm not entirely thrilled with the photos I got, and my tripod fell out of my backpack and broke (ghosts, probably ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )—but it was easily my favorite abandoned building experience to date. Our very first creep was an abandoned hospital on Staten Island, but a psychiatric hospital has always been top of my wishlist.

I'm not exaggerating when I say that I could have spent weeks exploring Building 93, but we only made it through two (of the 13) floors before deciding to leave because we were so cold. That cold and windy weather that I had sought for the mansion creep? Not so great for exploring a building whose windows had all long been broken out. We mistakenly assumed that being inside of a structure would at least shelter us somewhat from the gale-force winds, but it felt inexplicably windier and colder on the inside (ghosts, again ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ). I was bummed that conditions were so miserable, but I was beginning to lose feeling in my hands (and my patient, understanding dude had just about run out of both of those qualities).

After nearly 20 years of sitting abandoned, I expected the place to be empty but it was full of stuff—chairs, hospital beds, clothing, medicine cups—and I felt like we hit the abandoned hospital jackpot. Psychiatric hospitals are by design labrythine and difficult to get out of, or in our case, into. Even if we had wanted to take something, there was physically no way to get it out of the building (getting ourselves out was harrowing enough)—but that didn't stop me from falling in love with all of the Charles Eames / Herman Miller-esque fiberglass, pastel-colored chairs scattered about.

After extracting ourselves and warming in the car for a minute, we briefly explored two more buildings on the campus—a doctor's cottage and more patient housing (deserving of their own post)—but it's a return to Building 93 that I'm already dreaming about.

Bideawee Pet Cemetery

Bideawee Pet Memorial Park is the third pet cemetery I've been to, and I went only a week after visiting my second, the small but historic Clara Glen Pet Cemetery in New Jersey. Bideawee is a more than 100-year-old pet welfare organization serving the New York City area and Long Island. They have pet memorial parks in Wantagh and Westhampton on Long Island. I became interested in finding other pet cemeteries after visiting my (and America's) first, but the Bideawee memorial park had somehow eluded me until a co-worker who lives in Wantagh brought it to my attention.

The Wantagh location is enormous—larger than most human cemeteries I've been to—and we were there for hours without seeing everything.  I've mentioned in my previous pet cemetery posts that they're the only cemeteries that make me tear up, and Bideawee was no exception. The epitaphs are so heart-wrenching, the portraits so endearing and the names reliably ridiculous.

The most famous resident of the memorial park is Checkers Nixon, "The Best-Known Presidential Dog to Never Have Lived in the White House." Checkers was Richard Nixon's cocker spaniel who became famous after Nixon (then a senator) mentioned him in a speech televised in 1952. Checkers was a campaign gift from a supporter in Texas, and he died at age 13, in 1964—four years before Nixon became President.

In addition to the large number of dogs and cats, Bideawee is the final resting place of a variety of other species including Speedbump, a tortoise who lived to 65; Buckaneer, the horse; an iguana named Godzilla; Mona the monkey; Pyewacket Quigley the duck; parakeets Sparky and Casey Hall; turtles Pretzel and Potato Chip; and pigeons Lindsey and Linde. They had an entire section for "smaller" animals like gerbils, birds and reptiles, proving that pets don't have to be cuddly or live long to make a big impact on their owner's lives.

While walking through a pet cemetery, it's impossible for me not to read most of the names aloud. They're all so wonderful—whimsical or complicated or traditional, most make me laugh through my misty eyes. We paid our respects to Admiral Alexander F. Mudge, Pinto Porkchops, Farnsworth, Jingles Smith, Lady Dodo, Tiny, Daisy Julian, Mustard, Woofie Von Hugel, Beethoven, Potato, Bagel and Pussy #1, among others.

Even if you're not a pet person, you can't deny the impact that these dumb creatures have on their owners and the people that love them. Human cemeteries feel stark and impersonal after you walk through a pet cemetery filled with epitaphs such as "our precious baby," "a piece of my heart lies here," "always remembered, always loved," "my best friend," or simply, "irreplaceable."

East Hampton: Part 3 - Main Beach

After we drooled over the outrageous mansions and creeped on creepy tombstones in the town of East Hampton on Memorial Day, we eventually ended up at the reason why most people escape to the Hamptons: the beach. It was really warm when we were walking through town, but it was at least ten degrees cooler once we reached the coast. I finally understood why so many New Yorkers flee the humid squalor of the city in the summer months for the breezy shores of the Hamptons, and I'm not even a beach person.

We were starving and I began to get worried that there wouldn't be any restaurants — especially because I promised Jim that there would be — but luckily the Chowder Bowl appeared and saved our friendship with burgers that were better than beach shack burgers should ever be. I also got a half lemonade / half cherry slush that was pretty much perfect, and fries that came in a cup that declared that it was "snack 'n time."

The Main Beach is a public beach, so there was no admission fee, and it was one of the prettiest, cleanest and most peaceful beaches I've ever been to. There were more ridiculously large, beautiful houses overlooking the ocean to gawk at, and the beach itself was suspiciously devoid of trash. Jim and I sat and watched the waves, trying to name all of the "rich people" trash that we might find instead of the band-aids, condoms and packets of ramen seasoning that you find on commoner beaches like Coney Island. Unfortunately, we came up short in the gold bar department, but we did find some slightly less lucrative treasures.

I found a handful of sea glass, some beautiful shells and — jackpot alert — three intact vertebrae (!). Surprisingly, it was my first time ever finding and keeping bones, although now that I think about it I don't know why it took me so long to begin a bone collection. I have no idea what animal the bones are originally from, and if anyone can tell me I'd very much appreciate your guesses. I think I may have stuck out a bit, dressed in all black as I photographed my vertebrae stash, but I couldn't have been happier.

East Hampton: Part 2 - South End Cemetery

One of the first places that Jim and I visited while we were exploring East Hampton was the South End Cemetery. I guess I sort of lied when I said that we didn't have any plans for the day, because I did know that there was a cemetery in between the train station and the beach, so of course it was always part of the non-plan plan. It was also Memorial Day, making it an appropriate (but really, when is it ever not appropriate?) and even more necessary stop along the way.

South End is the oldest cemetery in East Hampton, with tombstones dating back to the 17th century. The entire town of East Hampton was peaceful, beautiful and picturesque, and the cemetery was no exception. At one point, Jim said "this is one of the nicest cemeteries I've ever been to," and I totally agree. It was well-manicured, but still had a decaying, crumbling quality that is essential to a good, old cemetery.

The stones were mostly in great condition, but a lot of them had a few different types of lichen (moss? algae? mold?) growing all over that I'd never really seen in a cemetery before — maybe it's their proximity to the ocean and the moist, salty air? This, of course, only makes them creepier and more amazing to look at, and I could have spent hours staring at and photographing each and every one.

Even the stones that had broken or crumbled looked like they had been replaced at some point, with the newer stone sitting directly in front of the older stone. It took me a while to realize that the two stones weren't meant to mark to separate graves, and I appreciate the fact that they at least tried to keep the old stones, instead of just swapping them out for the newer models.

The cemetery is sandwiched in between Town Pond and the historical center of town, and is located across the street from the old Hook Mill, Home Sweet Home and the Mulford Farm museum. As if the historical homes, windmills, picket fences and peaceful waters weren't enough, I looked up from my camera at one point to see actual white swans floating in the pond. There were even children nearby catching frogs in nets and squealing with delight — the whole scene felt straight out of central casting.

There is also a North End cemetery about a mile up the road, but we didn't make it there on this trip — I guess I'll just have to go back so as far as East Hampton cemeteries are concerned, I can say I "collected them all."

East Hampton: Part 1

On Memorial Day, Jim and I decided to go to the Hamptons for the day just for fancy. Neither of us had ever been, and it felt appropriate for the unofficial start of summer. We took the LIRR from Atlantic Terminal and arrived in East Hampton a little more than three hours later. It was my second time riding the LIRR, and I much prefer train travel (or the subway) to driving. There's always something neat to look at out the window, I can read, put my feet up, take a nap — the journey is all part of the adventure.

Despite being us, we didn't have the entire day planned and didn't really know what to expect when we arrived. We picked East Hampton kind of randomly, based on equal parts proximity to the train station and the fact that Martha Stewart has a house there. If it's good enough for Martha, it's good enough for me, and we definitely weren't disappointed. In fact, I loved it from the moment we got off the train, and the day just got better and better.

We made our way down Main Street (yes, it was actually called Main Street), drooling over the property listings in the windows (sample price: $59 million) and then over the actual properties themselves. I've never met a cedar-shingled house that I didn't love, and East Hampton has them in spades. The streets had fairytale names like Pleasant Lane and we walked past some of the most beautiful homes that I've ever seen.

We eventually even made our way to Lily Pond Lane — home of Ms. Stewart herself — where I got as close to her house as I felt I could without jeopardizing any future potential job opportunities at her company. We mostly just walked around and pretended like we actually belonged in East Hampton — maybe we were the rebel children of impossibly wealthy parents — and it was entirely delightful.

We spent some time at the beach and an amazing cemetery (more on those later), and tried to tour a few historical homes/museums but they were closed due to the holiday. We ate burgers on the beach, had ice cream from a shop called "Scoop du Jour," browsed a book store and wondered what it would be like to be rich and buy all of our books at full-price. It was the perfect outside of the city adventure — close enough to do in a day but far enough away to feel like another world.