Magic Forest: Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

I'm eternally fascinated by relics from past World's Fairs, particularly anything from the 1939/40 and 1964/65 fairs held in Queens. I had forgotten that the Magic Forest claims to have a Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs attraction from the 1939 World's Fair, so when the lady who sold us our tickets mentioned it, I think I actually squealed with recognition and delight.

I did some more research on the exhibit when I returned home, and it turns out that it's (probably) not actually from a World's Fair (or even made by Disney), but was created for a department store by a papier-mâché company in Ohio licensed to create window displays with Disney characters. I'll admit that I'm still a bit bummed that I have to take it off my list of World's Fair relics I've seen (Sinclair dinosaurs, muffler man, NY State Pavilion, Unisphere, Panorama), but it's still very old, historical and slightly weird so I'm glad we got a chance to see it.

The figures are original and made of papier-mâché, although they have been repainted and reclothed at various times since 1937. The figures move in limited ways, powered by wooden cams and rods. The animation is crude by today's standards, of course, but in a world of video screens and crazy technology it's really charming to see something so simple. The restoration work varies from hardly noticeable (or not-at-all-noticeable) to pretty obvious, although I'm sure it's difficult to maintain so many figures/scenes, especially when most pieces are constantly in motion. 

I spent longer than I thought I would in the exhibit—I'm not a huge Snow White fan, and it's a pretty small room, but the figures are full of personality and the sets are interestingly detailed. The exhibit has a very It's a Small World feel, complete with repeating stuck-in-your-head-for-days-soundtrack and figures that are obviously cartoonish, but just real enough to imagine them coming to life at night, when everyone goes home.

Muffler Men: Bunyans

Muffler men—large, fiberglass sculptures mainly used for advertising in the 1960s—are quintessential roadside America. Although they're called "muffler" men, the first one was made as a Paul Bunyan character, holding an axe. There are many variations on this general theme—including women, clowns, astronauts, Indians, half-wits and at least one Chicken Boy—but the Paul Bunyan ones are my favorite. During our trip to Lake George we saw five muffler men, two of which are in the classic style.

The first one we saw is from the 1964/65 World's Fair, and currently resides at the Around The World mini golf course, right across from Lake George. He's on the "Around the World" course—not the "Around the U.S." course—which is a bit perplexing. He originally stood in front of the Oregon pavilion at the World's Fair, and is now (mis)representing the Canada hole. The sign next to him also wrongly uses the symbol for the '39 World's Fair, but confusion aside I'm so glad he's still around.

The second Bunyan is visible from the parking lot of the Magic Forest, off of Route 9 a few minutes south of the lake. He was technically the first muffler man I ever saw, back when I had my Wally World moment and arrived to find that the park had closed for the season. It was great to be able to see him almost exactly a year later, and get the 360-view since I actually got inside of the Magic Forest on this trip. There must be some reason why he isn't holding his axe horizontally, although I do appreciate the log set-up, and his plaid shirt makes him my favorite of all the muffler men I've seen so far.

West Taghkanic Diner

When I planned our epic Labor Day weekend roadtrip to Lake George, I knew that I wanted to take the scenic route on the way there. I've been wanting to explore a bit of the Taconic Parkway, the longest parkway in New York state and the second-longest contiguous road to be listed on the National Register of Historic Places. There were three diners in particular that I wanted to see, but I knew that I wanted to stop and eat at the West Taghkanic Diner, located just off the Taconic on NY-82 in Ancram, NY. I discovered it a year ago when I was planning for a different road trip, and it had been on my mind ever since.

Like most diners I love, the West Taghkanic has an epically amazing sign, although I was slightly disappointed to see a bit of what looked like scaffolding obscuring parts of it. I also realized that I would have preferred to see the neon lit up in all of its multi-colored glory, but now I'll just have to plan a return visit when it's dark outside.

The inside felt mostly original—to my delight—with wonderful counter stools, boomerang-print countertops, loads of aluminum and stainless and the best light-up signs for the fountain, restrooms and telephone. They even had branded cups, which I can't remember ever seeing at a diner—I always appreciate adherence to a brand, especially when it's based on a sign as good as the West Taghkanic's.

Brooklyn Brewery

My uncle was in town this weekend, and Saturday was his birthday. To say he loves beer is an understatement, so we planned to take a tour of the Brooklyn Brewery. The brewery is located near the waterfront in Williamsburg, and was founded in 1988. The tours are free, but there was some initial drama involving tickets—we didn't know we needed them, or where to get them, and after waiting in two lines were told the tour was sold out until a kind employee took pity on us and let us join the one in progress.

The tour is short and a little uneventful—I can see why it's free—but the brewery has an interesting history and essentially brought brewing back to Brooklyn after the industry had all but disappeared from the borough. I've always been a fan of their Milton Glaser-designed logo (he still designs all of the labels) and the story of how it came to be is pretty great.

In addition to making/bottling a portion of the beer in Williamsburg (another portion is made upstate) there is a tasting room attached to the brewery where you can try out all the different varieties. It's actually pretty cheap, by New York standards (about $5/beer) and the ones we tried were all great. It was really crowded, but the line moved quickly—you can also take your beer with you on the tour, which I think should be standard for every tour I take from now on.

New York Diner

When I was asked if I'd like to write a piece on diners for the Need Supply Co. blog, of course I said YES. There are few things I like more in life than a good, authentic diner and they're becoming distressingly harder to find in the city.

News of the imminent destruction of the Market Diner really bummed me out, and I made it an even higher priority in my life to find new (old) diners and visit the ones I love more frequently. Writing the blog post gave me another excuse to investigate some new spots, and I found a lot of gems. My best new find was definitely the New York Diner on Northern Blvd in Long Island City (Queens). I'm not sure how this delightful, rail car-style diner managed to stay under my radar for so long, and why it's not on any "Best Diners of New York" lists is baffling to me.

Rail car diners are nearly extinct in the city, with the Empire Diner being the last remaining one in operation in Manhattan. The New York diner is sandwiched between a gas station and a Best Buy parking lot, and is pretty easy to miss if you're not looking for it. The sign just says "diner," and when I got my check it had a third name (Mike's something) but the waitresses were wearing shirts that said New York Diner, and that's how it's known on Yelp.

The place is tiny—there might be seven(ish) booths and ten(ish) counter stools, but it's bursting with old school diner charm. The booths are upholstered in glittery vinyl and there is aluminum and stainless covering nearly every surface. I had already eaten at another diner that day, but I sat at the counter and had a chocolate milkshake, which was delicious (and cheap!). I will definitely be back to eat a proper diner breakfast, even though it's unfortunately a bit out of the way to make it into my regular rotation.

George Washington Bridge

Walking the George Washington Bridge has been on my to-do list since I first visited the Little Red Light House, which sits underneath the bridge in Fort Washington Park. I considered walking it one day in the winter, but decided against it because of the cold and wind. Walking bridges has become one of my favorite things to do and I'm always thrilled by a new view of the city.

Unlike the other city bridges I've walked (Brooklyn, Manhattan, Queensboro/59th Street, Williamsburg, Pulaski, Triborough/RFK), the GWB doesn't have any type of safety fence. I'm always grumbling about safety fences and how ugly they make structures so I was pleased to find my views unobstructed. Of course, I now realize why people are frequently throwing themselves off of the GWB, and there are numerous suicide helpline stations throughout the walk. The GWB also has the same gate-like structures on its approaches that the Brooklyn Bridge recently installed to prevent people from climbing the supports.

Of course I wish we lived in a world where people didn't throw themselves off of bridges—and especially one where idiots didn't climb support cables to take Instagram selfies. The first thing I noticed when I climbed to the top of the Duomo in Florence was the lack of a safety fence or supervision of any kind (I passed four cops on the GWB). They've been trusting people to act rationally for more than 700 years but in America we're coddled and caged and we still manage to throw ourselves off bridges when we want to. I'm not sure if I'm trying to make a point other than: the views from the GWB are very nice, and you should definitely not jump off of it so they can stay that way (and because being alive is pretty great).

The worst part about the GWB is that the walkway is shared between pedestrians and cyclists, and unlike the Brooklyn Bridge, there are no designated lanes. There are numerous signs urging cyclists to yield to pedestrians, but that was definitely not my experience. The path is quite narrow during both approaches and at a few points along the walk. The bridge was full of cyclists—I only passed a few other walkers/runners—and it was hard not to be a little on edge with bikes constantly whizzing past me.

The bridge was very busy, traffic-wise, and there were a few times when it shook pretty violently. The rusty fences and crumbling concrete weren't exactly comforting, and on the walk back I witnessed a minor three-car fender-bender. Judging by the amount of debris that litters the walkway—car mirrors, flattened traffic cones, broken glass—I'm assuming that's not such a rare occurrence.

I eventually did get somewhat used to all of the bikes and relaxed enough to really enjoy the walk. The views of the city and the Hudson River are wonderful. I walked right over the Little Red Lighthouse and the cliffs of the New Jersey Palisades are a nice contrast to the city views. The only real drawback to walking the GWB is that you end up in New Jersey—but unlike when my dad drove me back to Ohio more than two years ago, all I had to do was turn around and walk back to Manhattan.

City College: Revisited

After my first visit to City College in Hamilton Heights, I vowed to return once I got a better camera. The campus is lousy with grotesques and gargoyles, but most are above eye-level and I wasn't able to photograph as many as I would have liked to with my little point-and-shoot. When I found out that Francesca was obsessed with gargoyles, but had never been to City College, we made plans (along with Jim) to go on a self-guided tour of the beautiful campus.

My first visit was in February of last year, so there was snow on the ground and the campus was virtually deserted. It was nice to see City College in a different season, but since school hasn't started yet we still basically had the place to ourselves. It was also fun to be able to play tour guide—even though I've only been there once the campus is very small so it's not hard to see all of it in a short time.

I love the variety of poses, facial expressions and accessories—this time I was drawn to the acrobats, but my favorite was not a grotesque at all, but an incredible skull that Francesca pointed out, perched high atop one of the halls.

The gargoyles + grotesques have recently undergone a restoration so for the most part they're sparkling clean. I'm not used to seeing building ornaments like these so new-looking, but every rain-streaked, black gargoyle in the world started out clean and brand new. As much as I love patina and decay, it was a welcome change to see everything looking so fresh.

City College is a really beautiful, peaceful place to spend an afternoon forgetting that you're still in Manhattan. The stone buildings are gorgeous in their own right, but when you top them with dogs, lions, owls, griffins and all sorts of winged creatures holding scrolls, books and other scholarly materials the whole place couldn't be more COLLEGE.

Saint Frances Xavier Cabrini Shrine

Ever since I found out (via the Roadside America app) that the mummified remains of Mother Cabrini are on display in northern Manhattan, I've been planning to visit the shrine. I've never been a religious person, but I can totally get behind the Catholic tradition of piecing out the bodies of saints and putting the various parts on display.

When we were in Italy I became mildly obsessed with all the wax- and metal-dipped bodies we saw encased in glass and lit up like department store window displays.

The Cabrini shrine is located on Fort Washington Avenue in Washington Heights. It's very close to the 190th Street A stop—do make sure to take the elevator to exit the subway station (depositing you in Fort Tryon Park, near the Cloisters), otherwise you'll have to take a circuitous route that includes walking several blocks out of the way and an incredibly daunting set of stairs up the side of a hill that's steeper than anything you'll encounter elsewhere in Manhattan.

Mother Cabrini (née Francesca) was born in the Austrian Empire and in 1946 she became the first naturalized US citizen to be canonized by the Roman Catholic church. The shrine was built in 1957 and most of her body is in that glass case—her head is in Rome and an arm is at the National Shrine of Saint Frances Xavier in Chicago.

The chapel is a really beautiful space, with most of the wall covered in a recently-restored mosaic depicting Mother Cabrini's life. She is the patron saint of immigrants, which is represented by the Statue of Liberty, boats bound for America and one strapping young, pick-axe-wielding man, aka "The Glory of America."

Another facet of Catholicism that I can get behind is the inevitable gift shop—you enter the shrine through one, of course, where you can buy all manner of saintly ephemera. There are cards, statues, medallions and book marks and for a moment I felt like I was back in Vatican City. When I was told that the postcard I was buying would be "27 cents," it was even harder for me to believe that we were still in Manhattan.

New York Academy of Medicine Library

Three co-workers and I recently took a tour of the New York Academy of Medicine's rare book library, co-hosted by Atlas Obscura. The talk was focused on medical photography from the 18th and 19th centuries, and afterwards we were allowed to explore the library on our own.

The speaker was wonderfully knowledgeable and interesting, but the materials really spoke for themselves. The library has approximately 32,000 volumes in its collection, most of which date from the 15th to the 18th centuries. This also includes "85 to 90 percent of the medical books printed in what is now the United States between the late 17th and early 19th centuries." We only saw a few of the books, but they were incredible examples of medical photography from the collections of doctors as well as government agencies that documented injuries during the Civil War.

In addition to beautiful books, they also showed us their stereoscopic skin clinic, which was used as a teaching tool. We were able to peer into the stereoscopes and see 3D images of skin diseases—if there's a better way to spend a Thursday night on the Upper East Side, I don't know of it.

The library room itself is quite small, but everything you'd expect from a rare book room. There are wooden, rolling library ladders and antique card catalogs, tiny desk lamps and row after row of beautifully bound books with fascinating titles. This was my first time at the NYAM, as well as my first time taking an Atlas Obscura-led tour, and I highly recommend both. I have some peculiar interests, so its always great to spend an evening amongst like-minded people—getting to browse autopsy photos was just an added bonus.

Fordham University

Last summer, after I toured the Edgar Allan Poe Cottage in the Bronx, I headed down the road to explore Fordham University. Poe used to wander around the campus and his famous poem "The Bells," was allegedly inspired by the ringing bells of the University Church.

Fordham is a private university and I was surprised when I was stopped by a security guard upon entering the gates. He asked what I was doing at Fordham, and for my ID, but let me go ahead when I told him I was "just looking around." I was a bit taken aback by the exclusivity of the campus, but once inside, I was grateful for the solitude.

The campus is really, really beautiful, with tree-lined paths, large, manicured lawns, gorgeous flowers, fountains, statues and wonderfully-imposing buildings that scream COLLEGE. While most of the campus felt very historic and well-preserved, there were some modern additions thrown in for a nice juxtaposition of the old and new.

I even came across a surprise cemetery, which is my favorite kind of surprise. Fordham was founded in 1841 as St. John's College by the Catholic Diocese of New York. According to a plaque outside the gates, the cemetery is the final resting place for "124 sons of St. Ignatius Loyola, 68 Jesuit priests, 44 Jesuit brothers, 12 Jesuit scholastics ... 3 Diocesan Seminarians, 9 students and 2 college workmen."

It only seemed right to end my day of all things Poe by listening to the ringing bells (What a world of merriment their melody foretells!) of University Church. The church and courtyard are really beautiful, and the campus was nearly deserted the entire time I was there. Listening to the bells ringing was such a wonderful, peaceful moment and I got major nerd-satisfaction thinking that Poe might have had a very similar day, more than 150 years ago.

Market Diner

Last spring when I read that there are only five stand-alone diners left in Manhattan, I made it my mission to visit them all (here, here and here). It wasn't hard to do so since I love diner breakfast more than anything, and five is a very depressingly low number. Even more depressing: last week I found out that the Market Diner—one of the best—is going to be replaced by a 13-story apartment building.

The Market Diner opened in 1962, closed in 2006 and reopened again in 2008 after a renovation. Not only is it a one-story structure surrounded by high-rises, but it has parking and space for outdoor seating (set up last year, but not when we went on Saturday). It's these things that make it remarkable in modern-day New York, and of course, they're the things that have made it endangered for quite some time. Currently there is no set date for demolition, but the diner is on a month-to-month lease and permits have been filed for the apartment building.

The zig-zag roof and metal diner sign are perfect, although an even better neon sign was an unfortunate victim of the renovation process (where do these gems go??). The inside was also stripped of most of its character and modernized, with chairs instead of counter stools, but the orange-and-brown color scheme still feels retro enough to count.

Our breakfast on Saturday was bittersweet—joyful because there's nothing better than a good diner breakfast with friends and sad because it's probably the last time we'll be able to have that at the Market Diner.

Conservatory Garden: July 2015

I mentioned briefly in one of my 365 project posts that I'll be moving to Brooklyn on August 1st. I'm super excited for the move in every way, except one: my new commute. Instead of being able to walk to and from work every day, through Central Park, I'll have to take the subway like most people who work in New York. I had to do this with my first job in Midtown, but as soon as I started working on the Upper East Side I was able to walk when I wanted and when the weather cooperated. Even though last year I moved 20 blocks north, I still walk home almost every night.

The move to BK is right for me in every way—and it's not like I can't go into the park at other times—but I've been trying to savor my enviable commute while I still have it. A few days ago I walked through the Conservatory Garden in the morning, and then a few days later on my way home. I've lost count of how many walks I've taken through the garden—in every season—and it's my favorite spot in the northern portion of the park.

I didn't even intend on taking photos in the morning since I didn't have much time, but as soon as I passed by the fountain and noticed the incredible rainbow, I had to pull out my camera. The light was so beautiful, and I like to check in on the flower beds every now and then to see the new things that have bloomed. There's always something wonderful growing in the garden in every season and I'll have to remember to keep checking in from time to time.

I love the huge variety of plants, colors, textures and insect life in the Conservatory Garden and it's pretty remarkable that so much can be found in such a small space. The juxtaposition of bright flowers, dark leaves, spiky plants and soft petals is fascinating—whoever is responsible for the landscape design has consistently done an amazing job. I'll definitely miss the ease and convenience of walking home through such a wonderful place, but I'll still be working only a few blocks away—I'm sure I can squeeze in a lunchtime visit every now and then.

City Island 2015

I was obsessing so much over last year's visit to City Island (I wrote about it here and here) that I couldn't wait any longer to go back. Luckily, JMP was interested in going so we braved the heat and humidity on Sunday and headed up north. I already knew what to expect in terms of the travel involved, so the trip went by quickly and soon we were in the "Seaport of the Bronx" without much trouble at all.

I do wish that it hadn't been so insanely hot, but we made enough stops to make sure we cooled down. In some ways I even kind of enjoyed the heat—City Island just oozes summer to me, so the weather was right on par. However, I definitely want to visit in the off-season because I'm sure the slightly abandoned, strange feeling of the island is only heightened in the winter.

One of the things I love most about City Island is the lack of chain stores. We did notice a Dunkin' Donuts at the northern end and remarked to each other about how out of place it felt amongst all the local restaurants and shops. Sometimes New York can feel as if it's rapidly becoming one big strip mall as small businesses are squeezed out by high rents in favor of banks and Starbucks—it's refreshing to be in a place that feels so authentic.

At one point JMP said something to the effect of "you find the weirdest shit to take photos of..." which is definitely true, and thankfully not that difficult on City Island. I love how insular the island feels, like a true community where neighbors greet each other on the street and know everyone's business. The diner was filled with regulars, but we felt more than welcomed wherever we went, including the diner (the one where Jerry Seinfeld took Ricky Gervais on an episode of Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee), the antique shop, the Nautical Museum, the cemetery and the ice cream stand.

Speaking of weird shit, the Early Ruth antique shop was an excellent stop, even if the mannequin hands I wanted weren't for sale (ugh) and the anthropomorphic hot dog statue of my dreams was way out of my price range ($3,500). The sombrero does come with the hot dog, though, in case you're interested.

We didn't spend a large portion of this trip drinking with locals at the Alehouse or eating fried shrimp at Johnny's Reef like last time, but we did walk the entire island. We ended up at Johnny's but we weren't hungry, so we just watched the seagulls which were equal parts fascinating and terrifying. I've never seen so many birds in one place outside of The Birds and it's kind of miraculous that we managed to avoid getting pooped on. We decided to call it a day pretty early since we were both tired from the heat, but I think my second trip to City Island was a success—I'm already dreaming about my third.

Pelham Cemetery

Last year when I went to City Island for the first time, I visited Pelham Cemetery and lamented that the gate was locked. JMP and I went to City Island yesterday, and to our delight found that the cemetery gate was actually open. In hindsight, the gate was probably unlocked the first time I was there too. They all appeared to be locked yesterday, but when I saw a highly faded sign declaring that the cemetery was open until 5pm every day, I investigated further and found that it was latched, but opened easily.

I've had my share of disappointment encountering locked cemeteries, so I felt very fortunate to be able to explore Pelham Cemetery a little further. It's not the most interesting cemetery, headstone-wise, but its location is definitely a selling point.

We found a few interesting headstones, like the graves for the Graves family and a few non-traditional markers made from metal or wood. JMP also pointed out that it would be quite extraordinary if Caroline Darling (b. 1887) was still alive, and then later I found Constance Wolff (b. 1882) who appears to have been blessed with similar longevity.

It felt like such a triumph to just be able to get inside of the cemetery that everything else was really just a bonus. Pelham is very small so we were able to see all of it in a short amount of time. I kept remarking on the amount of stones we saw that included some sort of sea reference, which makes sense for City Island, aka the Seaport of the Bronx.

Mets Game

When Jim asked if I'd like to go see a Mets game, I said "sure," and followed it with "I don't care a great deal about baseball, but I DO care a lot about hot dogs," which pretty much sums up my entire sports philosophy. I had never been to a Mets game, but I'd been by the stadium many times on my way to Flushing Meadows-Corona Park. I do wish I had had the chance to see a game at the old Shea and Yankee's stadiums before they tore them down, but I have no complaints about Citi-Field.

We went to the game on Saturday and the weather was perfect—sunny and warm—and our seats were in the shade (left-field). Since no one we went with really cared much for sports, our seats in the very top section were totally fine, and I thought we had a great view.

What I do care a great deal about is the snacks—aka the entire reason sporting events exist—and the selection did not disappoint. They sell Nathan's hot dogs, which are always good, even if hot dogs are inherently gross and toxic and horrible (but really, really delicious, right?). There was even a separate "toppings" bar, filled with a lot more than just ketchup and mustard (stadium, but of course)—I loved being able to load my dog with more than my fair share of sauerkraut and pickles in peace and without judgement. We didn't partake in the nachos, popcorn or Mister Softee—all of which were served in plastic souvenir batting helmets, so you know they were good.

Saturday also happened to be free bobblehead day, although only two out of the six of us actually received them. Luckily six out of the six of us had no real interest in a Juan Lagares bobblehead (sorry, Juan) but that didn't stop us from enjoying them during the downtime.

The Mets ended up beating the Arizona Diamondbacks and hitting three home runs, one of which was contested when it looked like it had been erroneously snatched by a fan. Delicious hotdogs, souvenir cups filled with ice-cold beer, Cracker Jack, beautiful weather, great company, a mild controversy and a win for the home team—maybe I could care more about sports if all games were this perfect.

Kelder's Farm

When I first read that the world's (third) largest garden gnome was on a private farm, I assumed that it might be kind of difficult to visit. I couldn't have been more wrong—not only is Gnome Chomsky completely accessible, but he stands at the entrance to a really welcoming and adorable family-owned farm—no trespassing required.

Kelder's Farm has been around since 1836 and is the type of place where you can pick-your-own blueberries, kale, lettuce and various other types of produce. You can also play a round of mini-golf, feed (and pet!) the animals and (for $5) jump on the "jumping pillow," which was kind of weird and dirty-looking, but is probably awesome if you're 8 years old.

The animals were really adorable, and not something I get to see much of in the city. I grew up going to state fairs and petting zoos, so goats and pigs are not exactly novel to me, but they're still fun to watch (to smell—not so much). The goats were particularly animated and functioned like one, three-headed goat, following the hand with the most food. It cost us nothing to wander around Kelder's Farm, although we couldn't resist buying some blueberries and cherries from the shop, which took considerably less work than picking our own.

Kerhonkson, New York

As I mentioned, my dude and I spent the July 4th weekend upstate in Kerhonkson, NY. I've been upstate several times since I've moved to New York, for day and weekend trips, but this was definitely my favorite one yet. We arrived on Friday afternoon, after taking the Metro North to Poughkeepsie, where we picked up a Zipcar at Vassar College (Meryl Streep's alma mater,but of course).

On our way to gather supplies, we explored the town a little and that's when I fell in love with the abandoned diner and bowling alley—upstate New York is a total gold mine of abandoned roadside structures, handpainted signs, old neon, shady-looking motels and pretty much everything else I love to see on roadtrips.

Friday was pretty chill—we grilled steaks and corn (YUM) and just enjoyed doing things that I definitely took for granted when I lived in Ohio. Never underestimate the restorative powers of some grilled meats, a cold cocktail, wonderful company and a sky full of stars.

We had planned to go hiking on Saturday (the fourth), but it rained all morning. I actually didn't mind the slight change of plans and we ended up having a perfectly lazy day. After meeting Gnome Chomsky and exploring Kelder's Farm, we fulfilled our patriotic duties and had soft serve from a roadside stand, pulled over to investigate what my dude thought was a dead porcupine (he was 100% correct), grilled even more meats (kebabs!) and headed into town to watch the local fireworks.

As much as I adore the city, there are moments where I do slightly miss living somewhere much less competitive. We knew the fireworks were supposed to start at 9:30 pm—we arrived at 9:28 pm, pulled over to the side of the road, walked across the street, set down our blanket and a few minutes later we had a completely unobstructed view of the fireworks. Of course the display wasn't as spectacular as the Macy's show, but the whole night was perfect and totally stress-free.

On Sunday, we finally got the weather we had been wishing for and squeezed in a short hike before heading back to the city. We did a loop around Sam's Point Reserve Park, which took about an hour. The view from the overlook was so breathtaking that I think I even said "this is the best view I've ever had," because it was totally true. We were also surprised (and I, delighted) to find the ruins of a few abandoned shacks scattered along the path which made an already wonderful hike even better.

We saw diners, butterflies and bees, bought corn from a roadside farm stand, tried desperately to find sparklers (but failed), considered going into the shady-looking Tom's Taxidermy hoping he had a clearance bin (but chickened out), browsed a cluttered antique shop, touched a goat, talked to pigs, took a photo that looked like we were picking Gnome's nose, watched the stars, listened to the rain and ate two very delicious breakfast sandwiches. My only complaint is that it all went by much too fast.

209 Diner

On the first day that we got to Kerhonkson, we drove past this incredible abandoned diner a few times and I couldn't resist stopping to creep on it a little bit. While definitely not currently in use, the 209 Diner looked like it hadn't been closed for too long and there was a "permit granted" notice on the front door which makes me think it might open again soon. That being said, it was definitely over-grown and just abandoned enough to be a totally worthy stop.

I couldn't resist peeking inside and was surprised to find the interior in such good shape. The decor is classic diner, from the swivel stools to the turquoise-and-black color scheme and pedestal candy dispensers. My very favorite part, however, is the incredible neon sign—and clock!—that I hope remains no matter what the new owners have in mind for the 209.