Tuesday, December 04, 2007

the upstate part/people

Peter, Haylie and me, Sunday Rhinebeck Farmers market.
Individually, we attend to our purchases.
Peter and Haylie buy giant kale and pastel flats of mushrooms to cook, sans-recipes, in heavy pots you're not meant to scrub,
I buy apples, cassis in un-labeled bottles from the back of a truck, and a scone/cookie hybrid I anticipate all week.

I'm going to try to be systematic here.

For starters then.
October 19th I gave my house to my renter-for-a-year (Doug). On the dot of 10am, as I coiled the printer cord and chose which plant would make the cut, Doug - his Audi trunk full of his most immediate needs - arrived. I'd filled my subaru with bags of what the year might call for and in a key-hand-over instant, my subaru became home.

We migrated down-state 20 minutes to the Victorian farmhouse of Haylie (shop-mate/friend) and her husband Peter. They live on the edge of Rhinebeck village, with a dog named Sam (not pictured), attended by a neighbor's dog Monti (short for Montoose). Monti's been bred to protect vineyards but is actually a massively gentle oaf of a dog seeking more love than the world can give.




Haylie and Peter (and Sam and Monti), made a room for me in their lives and have given me a corner guest room. I have a vast desk with drawers and pastoral views from bed. From it I saw the snow fall this Saturday - I decide whether or not to run based on in-bed assessments. Every morning, Sam wakes me up with a kiss and each morning Haylie/Peter cook - miso-from-shaved-fish-scratch, pancakes, fancy egg dishes, steel cut oatmeal, stewed apples - downstairs. The house is vented in such a way that smells from the kitchen are amplified upstairs so the morning's meal steps into my room and, like a cartoon odor bubble, wriggles into my nose and leads me kitchen-wards.

The household's trained/shamed me to make (better) coffee with the stove-top espresso Italian contraption. I've not become a foodie, unlikely I'll make my own yogurt, but I've been nudged onto a path of culinary-caring. I buy finer teas now, I'm weighing Splenda vis a vis agave syrup as sweetner, Fage yoghurt seems practically commercial.

Spurred by the boxed-pantry I arrived with, I'm the butt of foodie jokes in the household. I thought I'd assembled an exemplary collection of shelf-stable foodstuffs, such as any kitchen might welcome. Truly though, Haylie was generous when she kept half the lot - she was as likely to find use for my store brand tinned chicken chunks as I was her dry pinto beans.

And so it goes.

I am relieved to not have my house to heat, corners to attend to and, when the snow finally comes, a drive to plow. But I am also loving being a part of the cozy household that's taken me in for a time.

From here, not sure. I've begin looking for an apartment of my own in Hudson town (Haylie and Peter will soon put their house on the market)
and I spend part of every week in my city apartment (another post), but for the now I'm in a good place and have donated my Christmas ornaments to the tree.

C - roommate

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