A couple of weekends ago, we got it in our heads to go to the beach, as we do. But it was so windy and so freezing, that it really wasn't a workable plan, not to spend more time than it took to walk a few blocks' length bundled in sweaters at least. So we piled back in the car and we drove along the train tracks and through some fields and then by some strip malls and such until we reached a Target. And we bought jean jackets. And then some lunch at a weird cheap deli. Iris charmed the Dunkin Donuts guys while I ordered an iced coffee for the road and he gave her free donuts. He didn't even ask me if it was okay, but oh well. It made her day. These are the things you do in New York.
Then with full bellies and the sugar crash coming, we hummed some Jon Foreman and hit Highway 27 and drove and drove toward the east end. Trev had loose plans for stopping somewhere along the way, but the girls fell asleep for a good long while, so we kept driving and driving. We made for the North Fork and drooled over Suffolk County--vineyard after vineyard in between colonial style mansions and antique shops and crumbly churches and farm stands. New York feeds the two warring edges of my soul: the part that loves the biggest, bustliest city and the part that loves meadows--just green and windy--as far as the eye can see.
When the girls woke up, we found ourselves almost in Greenport and so we finished the journey. We stopped for a carousel ride and running barefoot on grass not littered with glass and dinner among sailboats and sunset views. We drove to the very end and waved to Connecticut and vowed to come back some time to take the ferry just for fun.
It made me realize just how much new territory we have to cover in this new spot of ours, how much there is to see, how many adventures there are to have. And when that day's adventure was done, we cranked some old Death Cab for Cutie and drove back in the dark, sparkling city lights calling us home.