Twice, this past week, we’ve taken to the back roads that wander down to the Finger Lakes and I have gotten drunk on the fullness of June. Farmer’s fields, bare-breasted and muddy in April and May, are deep rolling carpets of a rich green color. Crops are just ankle high except for the fields of grasses that catch the breezes – Imagine a woman sitting in her bedroom, in early morning or late night, slowly unpinning her waist length hair, falling, like slow waves, down her bare back.
We live less than forty minutes away from the most unbelievably lush, take-your-breath away countryside. Late afternoon, when the sunlight changes rapidly, preparing for twilight, is the best time to drive these back roads.
There are families living here that trace their ancestry for over a century; back to 1789 when a tract of land, some 2,500,000 acres, was sold by Massachusetts to Oliver Phelps and Nathaniel Gorham.
Some would tell you that the Finger Lakes region of New York is sacred space. And, they would not be wrong. [gplus count=”true” size=”Medium” ]