Today you find me on a rickety table in my sister’s bedroom at her holiday cabin in Goshen. The cabin is in fact a three story log house with stone fireplaces and rustic furniture. The snow is about a foot deep and the lake, just in front of the cabin is frozen. Or at least, mostly frozen. I’m sure I heard it crack when Junior Poshi stepped out onto it earlier today.
The virus that laid the Orchid Hunter low hit little Tee (my four year old nephew), my mum (should I say Mom now I’m here in the states?) and Junior Poshi. JP seems to have shaken it off in a couple of days but has been forced to take it easy. In the meantime The OH, Groover and I decided to take a little time-out from the mass family gathering for a side trip to the Hamptons. You may have heard of The Hamptons? That’s the beachfront hangout of the rich and the very rich on the east coast of Long Island.
The houses there are not shacks. Sleeping 20 people easily seems to be the standard and their perfectly manacured eight foot hedges hide perfectly manacured lawns and driveways that would give you a good workout should you choose to forgo the tennis court or 25 m pool for a casual stroll to the front gate and back.
We walked along the beach at Southampton, collecting pebbles Something’s Gotta Give style and cursing the icy wind off the Atlantic.
Overnight we stayed at The Huntting Inn in East Hampton, a charming oldy worldy English style Inn with all the American mod cons. Cable.
It was there, lying in the white cotton of our king-sized bed we heard the news of Benizir Bhutto’s assassination. Both of us sitting bolt upright and audibly gasping. It is immensly powerful hearing news as it happens. From “she’s okay”, to “her husband says she’s been shot in the neck and is being operated on” to “we have just heard that she is dead”. From then on the Christmas Day Tiger killing was not referred to as the wall-to-wall CNN coverage in Pakistan ramped up to a new level.
In the morning we drove up to Montauk, right at the tip of Long Island and joined a group of keen birdwatchers. They come several times a year to look for petrels and other sea loving birds and one kindly let us look through her very – it must be said – impressive telescope.
Then we drove to Port Jefferson to catch a ferry to the mainland for the trek up to Goshen.