In the clear, gray light of morning, everything looked smoky and beautiful, even the enormous swarm of white bugs outside the dining hall which Dr. Doolittle referred to as angelic, and we decided to take advantage of the real reason we had come here: the 40 miles of private trails.
We chose a 2 mile hike up Clear Pond Mountain both because our youngest is six and because there was talk of rain this afternoon. (Also, admittedly, because I mistakenly thought the entire hike would be two miles rather than four.)
But somehow, entranced by all the beauty here, and the quiet, we wound up rambling all around the pond and going up something called Grandpa Pete’s Mountain instead.
With a name like Grandpa Pete’s we assumed the mountain would be small and dinky. But as it turned out, Grandpa Pete must have been quite the mountain man because the path was steep and rocky and I found myself occasionally using my hands and leaning over on the trail in a hobbly sort of way.
But the summit, our six year old’s first, was more than worth it, the kind that makes you feel like you can see forever, or to Canada at least.
In the end, we reached the lodge four hours after we set out, beating the rain and returning to wi-fi and giant shortbread cookies with raspberry jam.
Back at our cabin, the kids played card games and worked on magic tricks, and we pulled off a magic trick of our own — finally opening our bottle of wine and taking a nap.