In late winter or early, early spring K. and I connected about a potential camping adventure somewhere between Philly and Boston. After a few emails back and forth a new plan was formed, and that was to meet between Westport and Port Henry New York, at the family cottage of K.'s bf J. I hadn't seen K. or J. since visiting them in 2010 on the way to L.'s wedding, and meeting up at a cottage on Lake Champlain sounded like a really solid way of reconnecting. My drive up was slightly more eventful than I would have liked. My phone charger stopped working, my oil needed to be changed, I went through a toll and my EZPass didn't work. Just little things that stress me out and when piled on top of one another didn't leave me entirely free of worry. But I had written down the directions because I knew we were going to be in a pretty much cell and internet free zone (hallelujah) so I didn't get terribly lost until the very end of the trip, which was not surprising whatsoever. That first night we caught up, snacked on one thing or another, had some drinks and generally eased into a nice rhythm for the trip. At one point K. and I were outside and J. ended up fast asleep in this chair for quite some time.
Fleisher's, and it's good that I already had that inkling, because about 60 miles south of the Kingston exit my phone died, and about 30 miles south of Kingston my car began telling me it would like an oil change. This was also when the EZPass debacle took place. I just. The thing worked the whole time except going through that exit and now I know I'm going to get some sort of crazy ticket and I'll be mad about it. ANYWAY. I got off at Kingston and eventually was able to find a place to get an oil change and then another place to buy a new car-phone-extension thing. And it was only then that I finally turned my attentions to locating Fleisher's, which wasn't so hard. I arrived at the tail end of the Kingston farmer's market, which was kind of neat. Once I arrived in Fleisher's I tried to flirt with a butcher and make myself seem hardcore by suggesting that me and my three friends wanted to eat a steak that was nearly "blue." This wasn't entirely untrue we did end up with a pretty rare steak, but not blue-rare...though I mean really, how is talking about a willingness to eat nearly raw steak in any way a sign of flirtation? Pretty much it isn't. In any case. He did suggest and give us a really nice cut of steak and I truly did consider inviting him to join us (mostly joking...all joking?) in consuming it. So the second day of our vacation or was it the third? Steak was grilled, never mind the rain that was falling.