Escape to the Dogskills

The water gushes past with little effort marking its territory and providing its own hypnotic soundtrack.  It’s not the sound of a busted open fire hydrant drenching the neighborhood kids on our scorching city block. This water doesn’t have a cool-down mission. It’s just riding the land, grooving down the creek, maneuvering its ways through the beaten rocks.

We left the city this morning, and I’m trying to adjust to the stillness, the quiet…the no cell phone service, no Stephen Colbert. I was fidgety for the first few hours — what do I do with these mountains, trees and dirt paths? And what’s that — sniff, sniff. Oh, fresh air.  Such a silly statement, but true, it’s like switching from rusty tap water to Evian. With a silent iPhone I’m instantly brought back to the 80s traveling with my dad and grandparents aimlessly driving around upstate NY, looking for a pay phone so we could find some distant 3rd cousin’s summer barbecue. Ah, that reminds me, we may have to go cousin-hunting tomorrow…with Facebook tagging it’s hard to take a quiet weekend away anywhere.

At this moment, it’s just me, J. and super-pooch who looked up at us with raised eyebrows and a little drool when we told him we were now in the Catskills. Catskills?! Who’s representing the mastiffs? He asked us in his canine murmurs to call it “the Dogskills” for the weekend. You got it Cozi.

Here we have no distractions…except for maybe a bear? I suddenly wish I had read those warning signs back on the winding roads. And J. is of course grilling on the back porch, inviting any beasts lurking in the woods to come on down and take a bite — of the bratwurst, not us!  If I don’t post again, you know the bears got us….