The Lunts recently bought a little cabin upstate on Queechy Lake, in the biblically-named town of Caanan, New York.
It's been about six months (I'm guessing) since the purchase, but I just haven't had the opportunity to really get up and visit the place since the sale.
With my post-birthday-do-nothing vacation in full swing, Mr. Lunt invited me up to the cabin for an overnight.
How could I refuse?
When you drive along the Taconic Parkway in upstate New York, you can't help but be reminded that, before the arrival of my people, the eastern half of the United States was just one enormous fucking forest. Looking on either side of the roadway, it's impossible not to imagine the impossibly vast stretches of great old oaks and elms and birch and pine trees that used to cover the landscape like a thick head of hair. You get the impression that, even several yards off the roadway, you'd be lost in some primordial, Middle Earth-like, unending sentient forest.
Kinda scary, actually, for a city slicker like me.
After a couple hours on the road, we made our way into Canaan, which is much like its biblical counterpart; a land of milk and honey – in a metaphorical way.
One of the things about living in New York City is that, either because of the unending grind or the ridonkulous wealth of interesting activities and people (depending on whether the glass is half-full or not), you tend to forget about the charms of Other Places.
I've always enjoyed camping well enough, but my trysts with Nature tend to fall out as short hikes, or day-tripping picnicking -- that sort of thing. Living in a cabin in the woods for a couple days reminds me of my solitary nature.
I could have been Thoreau, had I had an original thought.
Anyway, the Lunts' new cabin is absolutely lovely. It's rustic – there's no mistaking where you are – but is so riddled with charm and quiet and peace that you tend to forget there's no Chinese take-out at the foot of the steps.
Oh, yeah. The property has an easement to Queechy Lake, but it's not right on the lake, which, when you think about it, is a bit of a plus, since during the summer the lake is probably chock full of Summer Folk on their floating party pontoons.
The cabin itself is on a hill maybe a hundred feet above the lake, completely swallowed by that primordial subtropical rainforest. It basically sits on a little ledge halfway up the hill, with a carved-out yard.
Ms. Lunt is a bit of a Martha Stewart-style wizard when it comes to making a place livable, and she's worked some serious magic on the cabin. There's a beautiful garden, a quaint little shed painted to match the cabin and, halfway down the epic staircase to the road, a little way-station bordered in fallen logs, covered with mulch and hosting a little planter and chair for a rest before you assault the summit.
It's really amazing.
I spent most of my three days there thinking, "I could live like this."
It's been about six months (I'm guessing) since the purchase, but I just haven't had the opportunity to really get up and visit the place since the sale.
With my post-birthday-do-nothing vacation in full swing, Mr. Lunt invited me up to the cabin for an overnight.
How could I refuse?
When you drive along the Taconic Parkway in upstate New York, you can't help but be reminded that, before the arrival of my people, the eastern half of the United States was just one enormous fucking forest. Looking on either side of the roadway, it's impossible not to imagine the impossibly vast stretches of great old oaks and elms and birch and pine trees that used to cover the landscape like a thick head of hair. You get the impression that, even several yards off the roadway, you'd be lost in some primordial, Middle Earth-like, unending sentient forest.
Kinda scary, actually, for a city slicker like me.
After a couple hours on the road, we made our way into Canaan, which is much like its biblical counterpart; a land of milk and honey – in a metaphorical way.
One of the things about living in New York City is that, either because of the unending grind or the ridonkulous wealth of interesting activities and people (depending on whether the glass is half-full or not), you tend to forget about the charms of Other Places.
I've always enjoyed camping well enough, but my trysts with Nature tend to fall out as short hikes, or day-tripping picnicking -- that sort of thing. Living in a cabin in the woods for a couple days reminds me of my solitary nature.
I could have been Thoreau, had I had an original thought.
Anyway, the Lunts' new cabin is absolutely lovely. It's rustic – there's no mistaking where you are – but is so riddled with charm and quiet and peace that you tend to forget there's no Chinese take-out at the foot of the steps.
Oh, yeah. The property has an easement to Queechy Lake, but it's not right on the lake, which, when you think about it, is a bit of a plus, since during the summer the lake is probably chock full of Summer Folk on their floating party pontoons.
The cabin itself is on a hill maybe a hundred feet above the lake, completely swallowed by that primordial subtropical rainforest. It basically sits on a little ledge halfway up the hill, with a carved-out yard.
Ms. Lunt is a bit of a Martha Stewart-style wizard when it comes to making a place livable, and she's worked some serious magic on the cabin. There's a beautiful garden, a quaint little shed painted to match the cabin and, halfway down the epic staircase to the road, a little way-station bordered in fallen logs, covered with mulch and hosting a little planter and chair for a rest before you assault the summit.
It's really amazing.
I spent most of my three days there thinking, "I could live like this."
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