September | 2018 | Wherever you go, there you are.

Our summer in southwest Virginia had more than its share of dies caniculares, dog days. And none more so than Labor Day weekend at one of my very favorite spots, Leslie and Martin’s river house.

Granddaughter Samantha and three friends, Hannah, Clare, and Bridget, were there for the long weekend with their dogs, Huckleberry, Gooseberry and Hopper. Peter, Nobby and I went for a few hours on Sunday. Peter lives in a memory care center now, so the outing was a treat for him…for both of us. When we arrived he remembered having been there before.

The day was gorgeous though bloody hot. We arrived in time for brunch and feasted on Sam’s veggie frittata, as well as mixed fruits, mimosas and coffee. All I had to do was remember to bring the champagne. The girls—to Gram they’re girls—zipped down to the river after we ate, while we four of certain ages played dominoes and cards.

The best part of the day was the laughter Sam always generates, enhanced by her friends’ asides. You’d never guess from these photos that Peter no longer knows the names of anyone pictured except Nobby’s and mine.To be fair, he’d only met Clare once, and had never met Bridget. But he plays dominos as skillfully as ever, and still offers up one-liners to make us chuckle.

The blinding storm on our return trip up the mountain turned the curvy road into a slick river strewn with rocks and branches. We dodged one monster limb that would surely have crushed a car had it landed on the roof. Peter helped drive by clutching the armrest and yelping when I punched the wrong button for the emergency blinkers, opening sunroof button instead! We were quite damp before the thing slid back in place.

But the skies cleared by the time we got to the Floyd Country Store for ice cream cones as luscious tasting as the fluffy clouds above looked.

It was a good day.

What good dogs they are. From left, Nobby, Hopper, Huck, Goose.

A family photo with three dogs didn’t work out.

Front, Sam’s friends, Clare, Hannah, Bridget. Back, Mart, Sam, Les, Pete, me.

Hopper.

Sam, Martin, Leslie, Peter, me

Everyone smiles except Huck.

Nobby supervises.

The ancient Romans called the hottest, most humid days of summer dies caniculares, dog days. Such days were associated with the dog star Sirius, the brightest star in the constellation Canis Major.

It’s been eight-and-a-bit months since I posted here. Tsk. On January 17 I wrote about a favorite trip we took in August 2017! Thirteen months have passed. Tsk tsk.

Time flies.

In the 12 years following husband Peter’s retirement and before dementia tightened its grip, we were lucky enough to have a lot of wonderful trips—to Norway, Africa, Netherlands, to Mexico, Alaska, and Canada, plus several trips to England. But the August trip in 2017 was his last to a favorite destination—upstate New York where daughter Carolynn and her husband Bill live, and where we’d lived for 17 years. Not that Peter remembered we lived there, nor the house that we lived in all that time.

Last month I visited on my own—Peter is now in a memory care facility. I’d thought I might drive the 596 miles, stopping halfway like we did in previous years. But Leslie convinced me to fly. “You’ll be so tired, Mom. That’s such a long drive by yourself.”

I argued I’d been doing all the driving for several years, though Peter was along for company. He couldn’t help with the driving, but he was there, not talking, but there. That did help.

So I flew. I was nervous. Silly, really, because I traveled alone when I worked, plus all the trips Peter and I took involved long flights to unfamiliar places. Still, I managed to get myself to New York even though I overslept because I’d set my alarm to 6:15 p.m. instead of 6:15 a.m.

Carolynn was waiting in Syracuse and she whisked me eastward across the NYSThruway to home away from home.

The miserable hot weather didn’t do us any favors that week, nor did the almost daily drenchings, but it was all good. A pretty hike at Chittenango State Park, shopping and, best of all, I helped process honey. In truth I couldn’t spin the honey fast enough or for very long, so I sat on a chair and held a heat gun at the side of the stainless steel drum while Carolynn and her honey of a helper, Robin, turned it.

Duffy and Lily welcomed me.

Carolynn provides B&B-like accommodations.

Ready for a day trip.

Chittenango Falls, NY.

Mom and Carolynn at the falls.

Carolynn fall gazing.

Coffee on the village green.

Duffy is all go.

The buzz.

Last year Carolynn finally realized one of her long-held dreams when she bought the equipment needed to raise bees and gather their honey. With the bees came a Bill-built shelter for the hives. This year he outdid himself when he built a honey house that is part she-shack, part bee-shack. Seeing it for the first time was enough to make me think about keeping bees too.

Nearly all the materials and most of the furnishings were reclaimed from garage and builder’s sales, from the side of the road, and from Peter’s workshop. It is such a “bee-utiful” space where the Queen Bee hosted me, Robin and her mom Pat at a relaxing, scrumptious lunch—puff pastry quiche, fresh fruit, and honey cupcakes—plus hotly contested rounds of canasta.

So, would I go there again? You betcha.