Houses and Homes

I've had a rough time this weekend, which explains my absence of posts despite the fact that there is actually a lot to post about.  I don't want to get in to details, mostly because I'm just trying to move on from it and because it is too personal in nature for me to comfortably talk about publicly.  But, just to acknowledge it here, Marge had what we'll call a bit of a setback in terms of her interactions with my father.  Every one is fine, she did no wrong, it could have been much worse, and I'm probably harping on it more than any one else, but I guess that's the price to pay when you love an animal this much.

So I guess what I'll end with is this: dogs are animals, not people, and do not think like people or rationalize behaviors like people do; and, it's much better to catch flies with honey rather than vinegar (I think that's how the saying goes, anyway).

And, also, thank you to the wonderful people who I reached out to this weekend.  You helped more than you could ever know.  You know who you are.

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Now that that's out of the way, I can share something a bit more interesting and upbeat (we'll skip Tuesday Training this week).  Saturday, just before the aforementioned situation arose, Louie, my sister, Marge and I took a very special hike.  Our destination?  Per Forgotten-NY.com:

"In the early 1800s, a certain M. Heyerdahl built a stone house in Bucks Hollow, a long, long distance from the nearest large settlement in Richmondtown. It was his hope to establish wine vineyards and orchards, but Staten Island's rocky soil foiled his plans, and at length, he moved out, abandoning his house. Nature has been taking it over ever since."

My sister and I have been wanting to explore the Heyerdahl House for a long time, but I waited until  Louie was around for us to go (because he wanted to come, too, and because it's easily the most remote part of our woods and we had to travel off trail).

The woods grew quiet very quickly, much quieter than any other hike I've been on.  We didn't see any one for pretty much the entire duration of the hike. For a dog with issues, it was paradise, I'm sure.

A bird left behind a bright blue feather, which contrasted nicely with the brown forest floor.

After just a bit of confusion as to where we were supposed to go off trail and take an unmarked path up to the house, we found our way, and the remnants of the stone house stood before us.  The only house any where in sight, and a blast from the past.  It was hard to get a picture of the entire thing, since it was very much surrounded by plants and trees.  Here are the front steps:

And, the view looking outward from those same steps.  Almost makes me want to start piling some stones up and restore the dang house for myself.  Sheer nothingness.

A few more shots around the house.

We hung around for a good while, examining the structure of the house and wondering whether it had separate rooms, and a basement, etc.  It was pretty over grown right now, but I think that we might be able to get a better look at it in the winter when some of the plants (and THORNS!) die off.  We'll return in a few months to see what it's like.

We walked back to the trail, these trees to our right leaning permanently towards the house.  They do say that this hill is haunted by Heyerdahl.. I have my reservations about that idea, but this animated little grove was a little spooky, I'll admit.

The forest also took care to remind us that the seasons are beginning to change; this leaf was one of the more photogenic signs of the oncoming shift from summer to autumn.

You can barely even see the trail in this picture.  What a wonderfully secluded place to spend some time.

It was an overcast, slightly humid, but not too hot day.  I wonder if these trees are dead, for no leaves grew on them and they stood with their gnarled branches sticking up towards the sky.  If I didn't know better, I'd have thought it was winter based on this picture.

Trips like these should become more frequent in the coming weeks.  The most beautiful season is almost here, and if we don't take our fleeting chance to enjoy it, it will disappear for another year.