The Glendorn Diaries (Part 1)

Somewhere in Pennsylvania, we stopped at a rest area, where I was annoyed by the prevalence of gas-guzzling S.U.V.s and mini-vans. "This is why the Gulf of Mexico is being destroyed," I said to Stephen, who did not disagree. In fact, just by virtue of being an American I'm probably worse for the planet than 98 percent of the world's population, but it felt good to be judgmental for a few minutes. (And for the record, my 1990 Toyota Corolla still gets 40 m.p.g., which is better than most cars.)
Regrettably, even with my car's excellent m.p.g., we had to stop for gas. I asked Stephen to go buy some candy while I filled up the tank, which he did. As the fuel pulsed through the hose into the car, I looked around at the bleak landscape, filled with concrete bunkers of commerce. I tried to imagine what this same landscape looked like 100 years ago, and whether what's here now could be considered progress. I also wondered what it would look like 100 years from now, and if it would be better or worse.
By then, our country will probably be officially named the United States of Rite Aid (as per David Foster Wallace).
I also wondered if coffee will be as amazing then as it is now.
Eventually we left the highway and after taking a narrow road through the mountains, ended up at our destination: The Lodge at Glendorn, where we had made reservations to stay for the next two days. Pictured above is the 'Main House,' which was surrounded by banks of magnificent rhododendron bushes, all of which were at least ten thousand years old and had somehow miraculously escaped the path of development and had instead landed in the safe haven of a mountain resort. (I felt like an eco-tourist.)
After we checked in, we went to our cabin, which was nestled in the woods among the ferns and hemlocks. "This is as close to camping as I ever want to get," said Stephen, and I did not disagree.
The rooms were rustic but comfortable, with many of the original details from the 1920s, when the cabins were built. Everything, I immediately noted, looks better through casement windows.
The built-in drawers and cabinets were also quite pleasing, even though we had nothing to put in them.
Outside, a stream wrapped around the house like a moat.
Under the footbridge to the cabin, there was a waterfall, which sounded exactly like a sleep machine on a waterfall setting, except it was real! "After I leave here, I'll probably never be able to sleep again," I said to Stephen, who did not disagree. Such is the cost of experiencing nice things on a short-term basis.

Spring in the mountains is probably a month behind New York City, which made me want to move to the mountains each June. I wondered what it would be like to travel the world and remain in spring at all times, and whether it would get tiresome. I regretted that I didn't have enough money to find out.
We decided to go for a walk, and passed an arts-and-crafts lantern that seemed to date from the same period as the rest of the cabins.
All of the fixtures were slightly different.
We headed into the woods, where the sun was already beginning to set. I considered the likelihood that we would get lost, eaten by bears, or killed by some kind of Blair-Witch demon (because the forest, like so many in Pennsylvania, had an old and haunted aura). But we went anyway, and as we walked, I felt as though the light pouring down through the leaves was changing me into someone less jaded and more innocent. "I was so much older then," I said to myself (quoting the famous lyrics), "I'm younger than that now."

Comments

[Bourgeois Nerd]

Rhododendrons can live that long? I did not know that!

[Matthew Gallaway]

Only in Glendorn!