Guest Feedback Beneficiary

Never let it be said that Folly hosts ignore guest feedback. We heard through the grapevine that we didn't provide enough activities during a friend's visit so we scheduled the shit out of Anthony's, who last came to see us in 2022. After he enjoyed a morning of suntanning at Lake Worth Beach, I took him to Wakodahatchee Wetlands where nesting wood storks looked like clouds or cotton candy snared on bare branches.

Little blue herons--and alligators--were harder to spot.

On Wednesday, Chris and I drove Anthony to Miami in the Chariot to see "From the Heart to the Hands: Dolce & Gabbana," an over-the-top exhibition at the Institute of Contemporary Art. A nasty cold kept Thom back at the Folly.

Next up:  a snorkeling excursion in Biscayne National Park.  

Would you believe that seven of the nine people who signed up were gay men?  Even fish, lobsters and manta rays know we are everywhere!

Captain Sherman told us sea horses had been spotted at our destination, a tease that exponentially increased my excitement.  And eventual disappointment. Anthony knows how much I love the critters because I screen printed one on a t-shirt in a class he taught at the Fashion Institute of Technology.

Water was the only refreshment provided on the boat.  No restrooms, either.  You know what that means.

It took nearly an hour to reach Sands Key.  Anthony took this beautiful shot.  I was saving my battery to make sure I had enough juice to unlock the Chariot when we returned.

I last snorkeled with Florian in Key West, as part of a package tour.

This was much better even though I was reprimanded for harvesting a tiny shell, no bigger than the tip of my finger.

Thom felt well enough on Thursday to show Anthony the Kip's Bay Decorator Show House (once was enough for me).  Despite the closure of A1A, the coastal highway, for the duration of whatever the current administration is calling its operation in Iran, there's no better way than riding in Delia with the top down to experience gorgeous weather in south Florida, whatever the time of day.

Thom took this shot of a Palm Beach matron who would not have looked out of place at the Fifth Avenue Easter Parade.  It's one of the spring events in New York I miss most.

Thursday afternoon we headed to the Bunker Art Space in West Palm Beach with Christine. It never gets old!  Thom and Anthony are flanking one of Nick Cave's "Soundsuits."

Next stop, a new ritual:  outdoor cocktails at the Colony Hotel, where they make potent espresso martinis with tequila. 1950s heartthrob George Hamilton had been spotted at the bar earlier in the week by a former Pines housemate whom Chris follows on Facebook.  A painter, too, the Palm Beach legend patronizes the same frame shop we do in Lake Worth Beach.

Anthony agreed that our final meal at Oceano Kitchen was superb, as good as any he'd eaten in New York.  Although the smoked Mojo pork belly, a Cuban dish, wasn't particularly photogenic, I can't say I've ever eaten anything more tasty.

The gnocchi sardi and the crab fried rice were delicious, too, particularly in comparison to my home cooked meals, including the chili I've been serving since we all met in the Pines three decades ago!

Lake Champlain Ferry

Florian had done a New England tour earlier in the summer.  He recommended we cross Lake Champlain on the car ferry at Charlotte.  What a treat!

This ride, for both of us and the car, cost less ($15.75) than a Pines round-trip.

Delia even had a lane to herself.

This fellow, the only passenger without a car, reminded me of Bronski Beat's "Small-town Boy," even though his "small packed case" is maroon, not black.

Thirty minutes after boarding, we docked in Essex, New York, ending a trip that would have been perfect if we'd seen a moose!  Thanks again, Thom.  I couldn't have asked for a better birthday gift.

188 Floors

Thom scrambled eggs with cheese and tomatoes to give us the energy we'd need to hike up Mt. Mansfield, Vermont's highest peak.  Most people take the Sky Gondola from the Stowe Mountain Resort.

 

At times, the climb up the service road (a marked trail would have taken us through bear country)  was steeper than it looks.  "How much further?" Thom kept asking.  "How many more floors?" might have been a more apt forecast of the strenuousness ahead.

Keeping my head down helped keep me on track.

The Sky Gondola stops at 3,625 feet, high enough that you can barely see the resort below.

Including rest stops, it took us nearly two hours and one big blow-up to get here.  Thom insisted I was going the wrong way.  As soon as I got to the top, I texted him a photo of a single finger, in a different position.  "Not a good look," he cracked.

To reach the summit (4,395 feet) would have required more energy than I had remaining, although it would have been cool to see one of the last areas in Vermont where alpine tundra, dating from the Ice Age, survives.  Two fit young women told me that wet rocks had turned them back.

It costs $32 to ride the gondola up; going down, which takes 10 minutes, is free.

Delia looked lonely as we passed over.  Come ski season, that lot will be full.