Mobile Menu
After living in New York for 5 years, and realizing we were probably going to spend our lives here, we decided to buy a place outside the city to sustain the pace of life and intensity of Manhattan. After looking upstate (too far, too expensive) we ended up finding an old farmhouse built in 1907 in the Pocono Mountains. Beautifully restored by a lovely gay couple, this has been a place of Sabbath, joy and rest for us. In some senses we feel that we have the best of both worlds in raising our kids, the diversity and delight of Hell's Kitchen, and the majesty and solitude of the mountains.
Deeply inspired by the Clapham Circle in London, several of our friends have bought the houses surrounding us, and we have well worn paths between our cabins that are a tangible sign of the paths between our lives and hearts. At night we come together to play, eat, share, laugh and dream together.
When the kids are asleep, the adults gather around the fire for fine single malt (and the occasional Brooklyn bourbon) and the savoring of a fine cigars. This has become a safe and sacred space for processing ambition and longing and fear and uncertainty, all in the context of love and grace and commitment to a shared future together.
.
Our neighbor is an emergency room physician which occasionally comes in handy as city kids bump and stumble their way through the woods.
My sweet wife rests while we drive around exploring antique shops, cafes and parks (Promised Land State Park, Delaware Water Gap) and we listen to summer jazz that makes Manhattan and its pressures a distant dream.
This summer two more of our friends have bought houses out here. And day by day, the beauty of commitment triumphs over the cancer of transience as we learn to root our lives in a community of love. I close with a poem I wrote observing my daughter from afar.
When walking will not do.
3 years ago we bought an old house in the woods. Last year, our friends from the city bought the house next door. They have children my daughters age. While watching from the window of the second floor. I see my daughter skipping with joy between our houses, because walking simply will not do.
