The Writing Chair

For me, one of the great pleasures of the Adirondacks is quiet time to be creative. On different days, I find myself inspired to photograph, design, draw or write. When I find myself inclined to write, I always head for the Writing Chair, secluded in a clearing within a particularly dense patch of White Pines and Hemlocks. By mid-Summer, the ferns there grow to waist-height, and the Writing Chair seems to float among them. It is there, perched at lakeside, that I can write for hours on end, inspired by the surroundings and views of the lake.

Shimmertime

The winter storm this weekend was quite serious and brought down a couple of trees around the house. The town of Inlet, which is about three miles from Penwood, is now in a state of emergency, as they have been without power for a few days now. Hopefully everything will be up and running very soon.

Turning to warmer thoughts ... It was Mark's mother who coined the term "shimmertime", which refers that time of day in the late afternoon when the lowering sun casts a shimmer on the lake. Its position, duration, color and intensity are never the same any two days, and so I've come to believe that shimmertime is one of those marvels of alchemy that make the Adirondacks so special and unpredictable. Since both houses at Penwood favor the West, both experience a magical play of reflected light during this time of day. At Nina's Camp, our entire living room is completely enveloped in a shimmer that slowly marches from one side of the room to the other over a period of hours. Like our Chris Craft, shimmertime also experiences a kind of hibernation as the lake freezes.

In honor of Daylight Savings Time in the U.S.

While I am personally partial to Autumn, many Adirondackers believe that Winter is the most beautiful time of year. It is a time of crystalline light and endless silences, when the land is cast in white. Sometimes, it seems that the Adirondacks are at their most forbidding in Winter, but they are also at their simplest. It is then that the dizzying species of flora and fauna lay dormant, and the land is reduced to ice, snow and wood. The sun, low in the sky, is so enfeebled that one can almost gaze at it in a manner that would be unthinkable in Summer. By January, the lakes freeze to a depth of two feet and thus become terra firma, to such a point that locals are known even to drive cars on them (not that I would ever dare). I do go out on the lake with my snowshoes and enjoy walking out to its center, where I am surrounded by nothing but the purest white.

Living in the moment

Among the greatest gifts of the Adirondacks are those moments that are as beautiful as they are unexpected. I've found that many of these occur during autumn evenings, a time when summer gloaming slowly transforms into a time so golden and fleeting that I find myself ill-equipped to capture it. This photo is of a vase and gladiolas, taken on our dining table at Nina's Camp at precisely one of those moments. (In case you're wondering, this image hasn't been photoshopped at all.)