Top Floor

Top Floor

By Julie Iverson

Lengthy drives with parents may as well be eternity if, you are a teenager at the time of journey. Even a sardonic girl such as Mary Helen Elizabeth Jones, Betsy, realizes the trip to see the colors is a three-dimensional gift of nature at the Rockefeller State Park Preserve. Grandma came along, too, all from Queens, New York City. There are trees to admire in their city and beautiful fall colors or reds and yellows as well. Magnificent was the virtual splendor, to the time of year, before her from the car window. She had to compare this upstate color to the drone point of view from above Central Park with birds, trees and sky. Now, Betsy can say with certainty, the earth holds nature’s wonders and the breadth of vast forestry at Rockefeller State Park rates two positive thumbs up, for sure.

Mother had prepared foods having packed the good stuff; homemade ravioli, finger licking good offerings like dips including hummus for pita, carrot sticks and celery, pastrami sandwiches, assorted apples and cannoli for dessert. Grandmother felt a little sleepy following the feast not to mention, they all got up at 5AM to ready themselves for the mini vacation. There would be two sleeps somewhere before going home. Mother stayed in the SUV, a rental, while Grandmother took a rest. The family typically drives something smaller back home in the city.

Betsy and Dad hiked around and dedicated time to admire massive oaks, poplar, maple and beech trees. “The poplars are outa control, aren’t they, thick and wild spreading. I like the oaks, could make some furniture outa’ them, right?” Dad replied, “There’s a time and place for everything and this, this forest is for us to hike and not think about chiseling wood down to anything, c’mon, there’s a pond.” They turned, admired surroundings, looking back, forth and around while walking slowly to Swan Lake, seeing the grandness of the old growth forest. As they approached the water, Betsy gleaned that the lake is a giant blue eye with rough eyeliner edges, meant as a compliment. October was an ample time to capture birds and ducks before Autumn migration would happen before Thanksgiving. She changed her cover photo on social media to that of a male wood duck. He had a gorgeous, shimmery green and purple head, daring red bill and red eyes, just right for Halloween, two weeks away. “Look, Dad! I got it.” Viewing the shot, he replied “Perfectly spooky. Let’s go over to the carriage rides to get across some old wood-stone bridges. Then, time to return to Mom and Grandma.”

“Aw -right ladies, there is more to explore, allow me to indulge you.”

“Dad, what, no. Tell me, no more surprises, I am on a need-to-know basis, please, please, please.” Betsy implored for more information as her city eyes and been full of sensory overload from country wilderness while usually, accustomed to New York City. She and friends were allowed to take the train into Times Square. They went for either Broadway or ‘off’ shows to see for discounted half on Wednesday matinees when the understudies got their opportunity. Life was good for Betsy and now, she just wanted to exert some teenage energy to move forward for whatever was in store.

“Aw-right, okay, here is what we do. We are driving, not far, depends on traffic, to Tarrytown. It is a town, not a city and has some of its own qualities, I guess, not sure, but that is where we are staying. And, we will find a food place, no cooking tonight for your mother. Grandma, you doin’ good? Aw-right, good.” Grandmother nodded. The family passed on the Italian and pizza offerings, opting for a Mediterranean dinner, “Something different.”

The next day found them sleeping late, past 9AM before the first cup of coffee was poured. Betsy and her Grandmother stayed in a room adjacent to the parents and all was well. The foursome strolled the main street of Tarrytown to find a good bakery, no bagels. One can never go wrong with sweet breads or coffee cake, they brought a few bags back to the motel, that and some water bottles. The internet connection was to everyone’s liking as they alternated do little to nothing or dozing. None of the lot were used to distance driving as that had never been their habit residing in New York City. They did take some long trains to New Jersey, now and then. The Septa from Trenton went to Philadelphia where they saw the Liberty Bell and the old Continental Congress one summer.

“Wakey, wakey people. The time is now for the adventure coming.” Squinty eyes alerted within normal limits.

The plan for day number two was revealed. Near Tarrytown is the old estate of Washington Irving at Sleepy Hollow. So, the story goes, the writer is known as the Founding Father of Literature, and Betsy did not know that fun fact. Irving purchased a ‘neglected cottage’ what we call a fixer-upper, in 1835. He named the property ‘Sunnyside’ but the plan for the family, on the day described was to see the re-enactment of the famed ‘headless horseman’ and there would be a walk in the darkness from the parking lot to the property.

Betsy decided that father’s description could not have been more right. The night was dark, lacking artificial light save for the gas lamps authentic to the original estate. Professional actors, dressed as Dr. Jeckyl, Betsy thought, performed readings from the ‘Legend of Sleepy Hollow’ giving credence to the tale and authenticity prevailed when a well-costumed rider, sans-head, rode a pitch-black stallion along a split rail fence, built from medium size logs and solid stakes.

The event had seemed eerily authentic what with professional, convincing actors performing in the night of the Washington Irving estate; a convincing walk-back in time. The family of four returned to the motel for another deep sleep.

Day three arrived fast for the family and they all had to scurry to meet check out time. “Chop-chop we have much to do.” Cheerfully said by Betsy’s father. Noted was the lack of detail toward what or who, they are chopping at the bit to get to. Mystery man was Betsy Jones new secret nickname for her dad, unbeknownst to him. Giving credit to the group, Betsy had not realized the angst that her friends seemed to complain over at their homes.

“Aw-right, here we go and Betsy, this is the biggest handful yet, it’s coming.” He pulled into a diner parking lot, looked good, at least, familiar to what they found anywhere in Queens. “We have been keeping a secret, Bets. The thing is, we, me, mom and Grandma have talked about moving up here to this part of the state, you know get out of New York, for now. Grandma grew up here, maybe you knew that, and the family doesn’t need the old house, so we can get it for back taxes, really cheap, honey.” Betsy was stunned, to say the least, having no complaints to lodge, just awe-struck. They drove on to an established, somewhat distressed, area of Scarsdale. The yards were big and driveways held boats and all-terrain vehicles or sorts, not bad. Some houses had the look of past-due for whitewashing and the attics of some could be for bats. Some places had barns old enough to appear colonial, “Are we pre-Revolutionary here?” Besty said aloud.

“Nah, this Victorian, or so, something like that.” Said mother. And then, to everyone’s surprise, Grandmother spoke up with her own words of wisdom; “When we go in, I remember the secret door leading to the disappointment’s room, top floor, I can show you.” //