Shelter Island Reporter column: Just Saying

There’s no explaining how we ever heard of it, but somehow about 15 years ago we decided to travel to upstate New York, in the Hudson River valley region, to stay at Mohonk Mountain House, a Victorian castle-like resort hotel in New Paltz. We just did it again for the third time.

We take Amtrak to Poughkeepsie, about 90 miles north of New York City, and then a taxi to the mountain house. A curvy road leads to the hotel, which over the years has accumulated stone and wooden structures strung together seemingly haphazardly to make an astonishingly impressive sight on top of a small mountain.

It’s not cheap, but your room comes with breakfast and dinner, and there’s a no-tipping policy. The staff is particularly friendly and competent, and the entire experience engenders a feeling of utter relaxation.

But if you are eager to be industrious, the front desk provides a three-page list of daily activities to keep your mind focused. We considered, and then declined, archery, but Jane went to the fitness center (she was the lone guest) and then hit the swimming pool (she was the lone swimmer).

I opted to stay in our room and read Richard Power’s new novel “Playground,” another immersive work along the lines of his Pulitzer Prize-winning “Overstory.”

In previous visits we wandered ambitiously around the vast compound and climbed the mountain trail to the stone tower at its peak. We would paddle in the beautiful adjacent lake (Lake Mohonk, of course) and visit the stables and gardens.

At our age, pre- pre-dotage, we require a daily dose of evening TV news. (CNN, so draw your own conclusions.) We didn’t recall this from other visits, but much to our surprise our room had no TV. And sure enough, we came upon a hotel policy that described such a TV-less environment. But if you wanted one, it said, simply call down and ask for one and it would be brought up.

A tap on the door revealed a stocky, pretty young woman with a TV in her hands. We moved a small table near the foot of our bed and we were in business.

I had stuck five bucks in my pocket for a tip and slipped it to her after she gave us a short course on how to navigate the hotel’s TV system. (It proved to be surprisingly intuitive, unlike 90% of other hotels’ mystifying systems.)

Then a tap at the door. It was the pretty TV lady. Instead of five bucks I had given her $35 and she figured I had screwed up, and I had. I took $30 back and we were cool. (In her shoes, I guess I would have done the same thing, but you never know.)

We contentedly watched the day’s terrifying news developments. The world is going mad.

The next day was Opening Day for major league baseball. Like most fans, I thought it would never come. But there it was on the TV, with Joe Buck calling the Yankees/Brewers game on ESPN. It’s a miracle. (I grew up in St. Louis with Jack Buck, Joe’s father, calling the Cardinals’ games.)

We’re going back to Mohonk again this year. This time we’re going to the archery range, for sure.