“No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face."
― John Donne, The Autumnal
A foggy Friday morning here in the Southern Tier.
I took down the Bills flag for the next day or so, letting the neighbors know they have a couple Hairy Dawgs in their midst. Well, in Peg's case not so hairy, and not really a Dawg. The Silver Britches face off against the USC Gamecocks tomorrow at noon, and I'll be decked out in red and black and trying to figure out how to smoke a chicken on this super smoker the hardware store delivered last Monday.
No, that's not our backyard, and no I don't have aspirations of cooking at that level, at least not right away. But the behemoth is crouching on the back porch right now, waiting for me to activate the link to my smartphone app that allows its computer brain to perfectly smoke a chicken or a brisket with the click of a button--and all remotely from the family room, where I'll be watching the ballgame and trying to indoctrinate the de facto granddaughters into the joys of Georgia football. We have twenty pounds of Traeger wood pellets sitting in a box in the foyer. It promises to be a very good Saturday.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Yesterday my spirits were raised in that horrible case I mentioned yesterday. The lawyers for one of the opposing parties called to let me know they had my back, that the motion for sanctions was "BS", and that we should figure out a way to hit back and make the offending lawyers and their client regret "poking the bear", as one of the callers put it. I felt better knowing that a quarter-century building a reputation counted for something, and feeling empowered by turning a defensive posture to the offensive.
The mediation I handled by Zoom didn't end in a settlement, at least not yet, but the lawyers were great and their clients a pleasure to work with. Peg arrived home just as I was writing down my time for the day, and as soon as that chore was completed we filled a tumbler and took a walk up the hill to see Amo and enjoy the crisp fall air. After paying our respects, we walked all the way down to First Street, to stroll down the tree-lined, blessedly flat sidewalk past the Methodist, Episcopal, and Presbyterian Churches lined up along the road.
But before we got there, a wiry lady with salt-and-pepper hair stood in our path, watering her yard. Or washing her VW Bug. It was hard to tell.
As we approached she apologized for spraying the sidewalk, and said something about needing a cigarette and a scotch. She was standing in front of the Rosewood Inn, and P started talking her up about the challenges we'd anticipate if we bought the Hawkes Mansion two doors down and turned it into a B&B.
"Why not just buy this one?", our new friend Suzanne asked.
It turns out Suzanne has been here since 1991, moved up from New Jersey but still carrying that brusk Jersey accent. She's owned and operated the Rosewood Inn since then, but now five years a widow she wants to hang it up and, like everyone else up here it seems, move to Florida. In her case the impetus seems less the warm weather and radical revanchism than wanting to live closer to her siblings.
Peg being Peg, the two of them struck up a conversation that led to a tour of the Inn, which was very cool.
Soon Suzanne and P were exchanging phone numbers, and P was inviting her new bestie to stay at Wyldswood if she wanted a base of operations to shop for a retirement town in a few months. With her eye for antiques and interesting architecture, we suggested she consider Micanopy, or maybe Defuniak Springs.
Leaving the Rosewood, with Suzanne dubbing us "M&M", for "Mike and Margaret", we climbed the hill to Tara to drop off our tumblers, and decided we were too lazy to cook and should head down to the Cellar on Market Street for a bite.
I was surprised to find a table on a Thursday night at this most popular of Corning's dining establishments, this being the weekend of the Harvest Festival, when Market Street is blocked to traffic so folks can wander around in the street enjoying live music, food, and various games and such (the web says tonight features axe throwing!). Scanning the wine list, we felt the pull to try something other than a cab, our regular suppertime wine, and instead bought a bottle of Mourvedre.
I now have a new favorite wine.
Earthy but lighter than a cabernet, it was the perfect accompaniment to our halibut filet and duck tostada.
The owner of the restaurant, Ellen, happened by and noticed us there munching on our favorite appetizer, the popcorn of the day (Rosemary Garlic, Peg's favorite flavor). Ellen is the neighbor and friend of our de facto kids, the parents of the de facto grandkids, and she recognized us from a visit around the fire pit in their backyard earlier this year.
We expressed our delight at the wine, which she promised to pass along to her husband, Michael, the co-owner of the Cellar and its chief wine purchaser. It turns out Ellen knows Suzanne well because she's a regular there, and they have a whole constellation of shared contacts up and down Southside Hill. We talked about what a treasure we'd found in Corning, and marveled that it hadn't been "discovered" yet. I'm grateful for that--once this hill is covered in people like us, it'll be a short slide into being just another ruined paradise.
Even ordering half-portions, we puffed up the hill from supper feeling full, finally coming around the corner of Canfield Park to this very special home.
Look at all those acorns! I walked out there for a jog a couple days ago, and about fell on my behind while I was stretching.
Now I need to pull myself together for a couple conference calls today, despite Dean's best efforts to keep me in this pose by curling up in my lap as he's done since he was a kitten, then P and I are headed back to Binghamton so I can pick up the Columbia from the mechanic and fly it back to KELM. Maybe tonight we'll stroll back down to Market Street for a little outdoor drinking and axe throwing. What could possible go wrong?
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