What it means to be from Saugerties

We settle in for dinner. Soon after, Patrick finds us dining and apologizes for interrupting — confirming my guess than he doesn’t often find guests in the kitchen at dinner time. Ben and I assure him there’s nothing to apologize for. Ben offers him a glass of homemade wine, which he made with locally-grown wild black cap raspberries. This is what it means to be from Saugerties, I think. Knowing what’s growing around you, making something with it, and sharing it with your neighbor.

A little while later, another man walks into the kitchen. This is Neko, one half of a young couple from Brooklyn. He asks us where we are from. I smile, then wait for Ben to respond. He smiles back, waiting for me to respond. The standoff is long and almost unbearable until we both break down in hysterics. I finally blurt out “the other side of town!” with tears of laughter pooling in my eyes.

Later that evening in the parlor

Ben and I are curled up on the couch with our wine and tea (with local honey, provided by the lighthouse). We’ve spent our evening engaged in conversation — one of the many quaint pastimes suggested to us by the Lighthouse’s activities shelf, which holds several books, board games and card decks. There are no televisions here, though one can make use of the digital projector in the “museum” room.

Neko and his partner Hannah arrive back from dinner at Miss Lucy’s. Hannah had surprised Neko with this one-night-get-away for his birthday. Hannah says she thinks she reserved the room as far back as July, 2012. Neko and Hannah have a one-year-old, who they can’t help but think about all the while they are here. They congratulate each other for being able to talk about other things over dinner.

The Brooklyn couple wants to know about us. Neko says he thinks it’s more interesting to have met a couple of people from Saugerties than a couple of fellow tourists. Quick to impress them with our local knowledge, we tell them they should check out a light hiking trail in the morning. I suggest Falling Waters, but between the two of us, Ben and I can name many along the Hudson and its tributaries.

This is what it means to be from Saugerties.

Between conversations with the Brooklyn couple, I catch myself catching up with Ben. Remember so-and-on from high school? Remember that place we all used to hang out?

Ben and I haven’t been together long – at least perhaps not long enough to be staying at a bed & breakfast together. But we’ve lived just five miles apart our whole lives, with many of the same friends and acquaintances. Now we’re getting to know each other again after all these years, though so much shared history within this town remains largely unspoken.

This is what it means to be from Saugerties.

Over breakfast

We’ve all convened in the kitchen. Over breakfast, Anna shares with us her and Patrick’s unique job qualifications. She says of Patrick, who made the most delicious pancakes with stewed apples, “Patrick was a history major and a pastry chef.” That explains a lot. She adds, “We were both Scouts.” Ben nods and proudly states, “Part of my Eagle Scout project was to build a set of stairs for the Lighthouse.” He’s visibly beaming. Anna says, “The Boy Scouts have done a lot for the Lighthouse.”

This is what it means, I think. Know what’s growing around you, make something with it, share it with your neighbor.

The not-so-long road home

Leaving after breakfast is difficult. I feel like I’ve been at a massage parlor – all my muscles relaxed to the point of jelly. I’m so contented, I could just sit outside and stare at the river all day, despite how much river-staring I’ve already done during our stay.

My Eagle Scout boyfriend is putting on his shoes, while I thank Patrick profusely for breakfast, and everything. “This is a nice home-not-so-away-from-home. Everything was just wonderful. I feel so relaxed.” He’s confused. He asks, “So where are you guys from?” “Here!” I say.

The walk back to the car is surreal. The sun is brighter than usual. The air is crisp, but I feel warm.

I squeeze Ben’s hand, now interlaced with my own. It’s a message – This is what it means, I tell him without words. With my fingers curled between his knuckles, I squeeze, Know what’s growing around you, make something with it, share it with your neighbor. He squeezes my hand back. He agrees.