Correspondances carte blanche Greetings from the Catskills The Catskills mountains and their noble wilderness, once synonymous with vacations, have taken on a new dimension since city dwellers started putting down roots in the forest. Raw material the snow has captured the cabin in its opalescent veil, yet is still thin enough to reveal the carpet of fallen leaves underfoot. It’s a departure point—or rather a point of new departures. The ice finds its way into the gaps of the double windows, the As if Manhattan had wrung the souls dry, and Red Hook wind rushes whistling into the chimney, the wood is toted in and Williamsburg made no difference at all, incapable of with some to-ing and fro-ing and stacked on the hearth. When providgaycosolation. As if in the end, facing north things from the outside begin to move indoors, intermingling, meant defining and redefining oneself, using a compass. facing off, encroaching on the other’s turf, it’s a sure sign that Yet when heading up the Hudson, these city-dwelling the seasons are slip-sliding in transition, soon to overlap. New Yorkers, emerging from their hectic, high-rise habitat, felt the urge to tap into an ancestral experience, rediscover Wool the raw material and grasp the essence of what they had been looking for in vain. On the road to the Buck Brook Alpacas farm, the chill wind creates frosty nets perpendicular in form, the light dazzles Nightfall white, and nature seems on the verge of removing every stitch of attire. There’s a natural inclination to try and reclothe Of course, the logical thing would be to set off on our journey the barren plateaus, the frail trunks, the naked branches. by day, early enough to reach Hudson railway station just as This is no doubt why you feel the urge to sink your hand the sun was setting. This would give plenty of time for taking into the warm expanse of Kara McElroy’s alpacas. These in the views and getting used to the mountains’ reddish patch- cousins of the Peruvian and Chilean alpacas are as hardy as work. Yet there is something quite magical about departures small horses, with a sprightly eye and proud mien. Bearing that take place at dusk, when there’s change in the air. Going names as regal as Latte, Black Bell and Inca, they add from one day to the next, as day slips into night, arriving in warmth to the landscapes by the mere fact of their absolute darkness; to be in New York, then wake up in the presence. The little ones, more sensitive to the cold, have forest. The train’s initial movements revel in the city’s electricblankets strapped on them. Some, recently shorn, trot lightly orange glow. But as it advances, swaying from side to side, the in between the others. city lights fade—even though they seem to linger a long time Of course, if you get caught out in the cold, ambling around after, far far away from the last of the city’s sprawl. the surrounding area can be a fortuitous outing. We slip into You can feel it even if you can’t see it. The Hudson River is the dense fleece, experiencing a sensation that’s almost primi- there, right within reach. You can sense its massive presence. tive, and boundless. To prolong this feeling of being wrapped The mountains start to rise up, and luminous pinpricks in a bubble of warmth and to counteract the chilly climate, unknowingly convey the water’s curves and bends. Chalets wool is spun into gloves, socks, scarves and even skeins at the bordering alpine lakes spring to mind, their lights flickering asnearby spinning mill. If there is a religion here, it is definitely we speed by toward our holiday destination. Suddenly there’s knitting. In Narrowsburg, Pamela Mayer sells the hats she an urban reminder, a reminder of New York, with a bridge knits in her shop. But today, she is running a bit behind and spanning the slumbering mass, twinkling as it reaches toward there’s nothing on display. She apologizes, with a slight blush: the sky. Then again comes night, the slow incremental shift “I am knitting a sweater for my husband, Carl, for Christmas. back to black. Small ports, boats moored to the dock. Mirror He doesn’t know it. That’s why I haven’t had a lot of time to images in the water. Then nothing, nothing but darkness. The focus on the knitwear for the store.” train skims by alongside the water. We know this because everything suddenly grows flat. Apples Snow Wherever you go, wherever you look, apples are as common a denominator as maple syrup. Every dessert uses some kind Last night, when we went to sleep it was autumn. When we of apple, every sugar has maple. They’re sturdy and can awoke, it was winter. There are only the early signs, yet the withstand the cold, and then lend themselves to all kinds thermometer has reversed direction. The reeds click-clack of transformation—eaten raw, stewed, turned into cider and at the icy water’s edge. At Deer Mountain Inn, it looks as if vinegar. Fabio Chizzola works wonders with them, taking 152