No doubt about it. The weather outside is frightful. The National Weather Service is calling for a windchill of -52 in Polebridge, so we're all hoping that the wind won't blow. Then it's only -30. Still, that's muscle-cramping, teeth-chattering, car-don't-start cold. The kind of cold that makes your eyes water, your nose hairs freeze, and…
The glass of water on my bedside table hasn’t frozen. Yet. But the evening mist now leaves frosty geometric patterns across the windows; the deck sparkles in the moonlight; Smokey and Bosworth have come close to snuggling; and we store food in the refrigerator if we don’t want it to freeze. Yes, it’s fall in the…
A Note from Chris: As the season ends, and Monica is too busy with the final harvest to write a blog post, I'll share an essay with you.We hiked (a lot), dug a sand point well, tended a garden, defended ourselves against grasshopper swarms, stared at aspen groves, did some yurt-improvement projects, befriended (and then…
Never hate your enemies. It affects your judgment. —Don Corleone, The Godfather: Part III Here at the yurt there’s always a bane of the day. Mosquitoes, heat, rain, cold, weeds, leaky water pumps, ground squirrels, freaky sounds in the night, car-eating potholes, you name it. The scourge du jour? Grasshoppers. Big and small, neon-green to coffee-bean,…
After four months in Italy, we've finally returned to the yurt. If our first trip out to the property is any indicator, reentry into the North Fork atmosphere is going to be bumpy. The first part of the driveway, which we share with two other landowners, has welcomed the tidy sweep of a plow all winter.…
As you might have guessed, living in a yurt without running water in freezing temperatures is bearable for only so long. We've packed our bags and moved to Umbria for the winter. Join us on our adventure by clicking here: Tales from Todi. Don't forget to subscribe if you would like to receive an e-mail notification…
I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree. —Alfred Joyce Kilmer A Note from Chris: Monica thinks I'm obsessed with trees, aspens in particular. Perhaps she's right. I can think of worse things to obsess over.…
I’m glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. —Chris G. Fall is here. The tourists are gone, the saloon is closed, and most of the locals have left for the season. All is quiet on the North Fork—or so it would seem for now. Old Man Winter is on his way. Here at…
“Oh no, don’t do that,” my mom said when I called to tell her that I’d be staying at the yurt alone for five days. “I’ll be OK,” I reassured her. “I have plenty of bear spray. But I can’t leave the cats alone. It’s freezing up there at night already.” “But I’ll be so…
A Note from Chris: Fly fishing for trout: for me it's not about catching a lot of, or big, fish. It's about so much more. Standing hip deep in gin-clear water produced from glacial melt high in the Rockies, surrounded by unspoiled wilderness, absolute solitude (with the exception of the bald eagle skimming the water…
Postcards from Polebridge 