Packing the car is always a special feat of Tetris mastery, but this time Brian outdid himself. He managed to pack everything we needed, plus an electric scooter, a rollator, a large dog crate, and a large dog. With Brian's new car-packing high score properly acknowledged, we set off for our first trip of the year.

We opted for the scenic route, taking NY-37 along the St. Lawrence River. It was absolutely worth the extra 15 minutes. We saw eagles gliding overhead as we picked out the bramble sprawls of their nests. Great hunks of striated stone punctuated the cool green shades of foliage with warm hues of amber and brown. Each break in the treeline revealed stunning panoramas of rivers, creeks, and lakeside scenes.

We were careful to take frequent breaks to let Boston out for a good stretch. In Waddington, we briefly explored a park overlooking the St. Lawrence. A blue heron flew by only yards away from us. I had never been so close to one. I'm always enamored by the grace and fluidity with which such a long, gangly creature can move.

Our next stop was in Brasher, NY. The Dr. Buck Stevens Octagon House stands, albeit in pretty rough shape, at 7 W. Main St. It has been abandoned for some time, though the property is littered with decaying construction materials.

According to the town's website, the home was built by Dr. Buck Stevens and his wife, Elmira. Upon completion, likely sometime in the 1850s, the structure boasted 11 rooms, seven-foot-tall windows overlooking a two-story veranda, and a spiral staircase extending from the basement to the cupola.

During the octagon house fad of the early 1850s, spiral staircases and cupolas were common features. The idea was that natural light would stream in from the cupola and flood the stairwell, brightening the entire home along the way.

For 108 years since the Bucks sold it, the Brasher house transferred ownership an additional six times. In 1976, it came into the possession of history enthusiast Carlton Stickney, originally of Potsdam, NY. Sadly, Stickney passed away in 2022.

"... Carlton purchased the Octagon House in Brasher Falls but was never able to establish the museum that he envisioned being housed there," reads Stickney's obituary on the WWNYTV website.

The National Register of Historic Places notes that the first action regarding the Brasher house was also the last: its listing date of May 17, 1982.

Sadly, people have used the house as a dump site. Still, peering through a shattered first-floor window reveals the bones of a once-beautiful home. The door on the second story testifies to the ghost of what must have been a luxurious veranda. The decorative eaves are simple but elegant and well-suited to the themes of the octagon house trend. I hope someone with a much larger bank account than mine will see the character and spirit of this home and realize Stickney's vision.

Our final stop before arriving at the campground was Bright Star Winery (BSW) in Moira, NY. Our first impression was confusion. It certainly doesn't look like most wineries.

But there is more to BSW than meets the eye. Inside is a small shop connected to a spacious private deck with ample seating. Behind the shop is the owners' private home. Beyond that, a small vineyard that supports the whole operation.

Brian and I sampled a series of BSW blends ranging from semi-dry, peachy rosés to delightfully sweet raspberry reds. All the while, Boston lay placidly on the deck. Well, most of the while. He was a little miffed that he wasn't old enough to drink yet. After some pleasant conversation and a flight of wine, we took a bottle to go.

At last, it was time to get to camp. We found the campground easily, but finding our site was an adventure unto itself. After a lap around the cabin loops and a thorough scrutinization of the map, we located tent site C-31. Our space included a generously broad fire pit and an incredible riverside view complete with rushing rapids, tumbling falls, and a picturesque footbridge in the distance.

Lingering dampness fought against us as we made a fire for dinner. With patience, persistence, prayers, and profanity, we eventually stoked timid sparks to brazen flames. Dinner featured sweet honey barbecue chicken breast and home fries cooked over the fire. We finished the day with s'mores and some tunes as we allowed our hard-earned fire to gently flicker out.

Our plan for today was to bring Boston to AdironDOG Mountain Camp in Bloomingdale, NY, where he would spend the day making friends and exploring while Brian and I visited High Falls Gorge (HFG) in nearby Wilmington.

HFG is a "22-acre, privately owned nature park" that has been open to public exploration since 1890, according to the HFG website. 

"Today sturdy steel bridges, walkways, and groomed walking trails replaced the rugged wood footbridges and beaten paths written about in The Plattsburgh Sentinel, dating back to July 28, 1899" (Gorge).

The gorge now features modernized flat walkways that make it an accessible attraction for disabled visitors like me. After that, we'd collect our boy and head back up north to try out Township 7 Brewing Co. about 10 minutes from camp. We'd finish the day with sirloins over the fire. That was our plan. 

Here's what actually happened:

We awoke to the sound of my alarm and of rain against the canvas above us. The radar confirmed this would continue all day. For those of us reliant upon wheelchairs or rollators for such things as potentially slippery-when-wet outdoor paths, this called for a change of plan.

We rolled out of bed, collected the day's essentials, and got ourselves cleaned up. In the bathroom, on my way to the shower, I encountered what Google confirmed to be a dobsonfly squatting in the doorway. I had never seen one before, and I hope never to see one again. It was at least the length of my hand and half as wide. There is absolutely no good evolutionary justification for mandibles as horrifically and disproportionately long as those possessed by this dual-machete-faced Paleozoic nightmare creature.

Still shuddering from the sight of those mandibles, I gratefully holed up in the tent with Brian and Boston. We rotated dozing, drawing, coloring, and gaming as the rain waxed and waned all afternoon. While it wasn't what we'd intended, Brian and I reflected that we don't plan camping trips for the activities. We plan them to re-center and focus on time with each other. The wineries and neat hikes are a bonus.

Since everything was soaked, cooking on the fire was hardly an option. We drove to Moira and grabbed pizza from Mad Joe's, instead. When we returned, Brian decided to try a fire anyway, since we had the spare wood. Sure enough, despite the damp, the wind, and even a few short bursts of drizzle, he coaxed the embers to alight again.

We'll spend the evening observing the trees as they bob and sway to the beat of the breeze. The opaque gray clouds are barely discernible from the sky behind them. Each bout of gentle rain is a little more insistent than the last.

Eventually, it will convince us to retire to our tent for the night.

But for now, each dainty dribble is a salve against my skin. The wavering haze above our fire overlays streaks of beady droplets. Boston is contentedly keeping watch. Tomorrow, we go home; but tonight, we have made ourselves a little patch of peace.