Until Next Time

Ok, then; until next time. It has been restful; it has been renewing; it has been beautiful and quiet and nourishing and absolutely indulgent.  It has, after all, been our gift to each other -- a sort of "combo" package rolling anniversary and Christmas presents into one glorious experience.  Others, I understand, give different kinds of gifts, but our favorites -- our treasures -- are experiences.  The only things tangible -- material -- about these gifts is a boarding pass and a room key.  And unlike most of the other gifts I have received, I never have difficulty finding a place to put ones like this; there is always plenty of space in the memory section of my mind and my soul. 

There is, of course, always the melancholy of leaving.  There always comes that sobering day when the suitcases must get refilled, the innkeepers must be told goodbye, and we exchange the tranquility of the leaves and the streams and the mountainsides and the waterfalls for the jarring, psychological collision of airport check-in, security, and boarding.  There is no such thing, anymore, as a gentle re-entry -- more like the old NASA Gemini and Apollo "splashdowns" in the ocean circled by waiting ships ready to pluck you out of the water and put you back to work.

Last night, then, as the anticipated conclusion of one more day drinking in the colored lanes and rocky streams, we indulged ourselves in a final glorious, gastronomic adventure.  Like the last episode of a long running television series, featured guests made surprising cameo appearances -- Lisa and her mother, Jane, from Jersey Girls Dairy; Frank and his wife from Blackwatch Farms; Erin, who in previous years has worked at the inn, was already seated with her husband.

Having submitted our general order, the waitress returned with instructions to ask if it would be alright if the chef veered a bit "off menu."  As far as we are concerned, that is always a good sign.  "Yes!" we responded, and waited with anticipation.  We were dining with new friends -- introduced to one another as we returned from our adventures.  Having found synergies of interest and companionable temperaments, we agreed to share a dinner table.  And for the next few hours, we "oohed" and "awed" and exclaimed out loud as the chef sent out one creation after another. 

And then it was dessert -- which, among other delights, included a stick of maple cotton candy.  Really.  We couldn't help bursting out in laughter.  The very idea of dessert, of course, felt somehow redundant; the entire week, after all, has felt like confection.  Sweet, smooth, delicious, and wonderfully over the top. When Chef Jason stepped out to say hello, all we could do was applaud.  It been the culinary equivalent of the fireworks finale on the 4th of July.

Finally, against our strongest wishes, we pushed ourselves away from the table, sent best wishes alongside our new friends, hugged goodbye the waitstaff, and made our way upstairs.

And so until next time.  In the meantime, we have the photographs, a head and heart full of memories, a few new email addresses, the sight of falling flakes of snow as we leave, and the scent of anticipation.