Finding Confluences
The six of us started our August trips together in West Virginia the year New River Gorge
became a National Park. The following year in Italy by the Adriatic, followed by the Catskills and then the Blue Ridge mountains of Asheville. It was about seeking refuge from Philadelphia and the population; hiking, swimming holes, places for dogs to run free and of course, good food. Our aspirations for a vacation are similar: outdoor activity, food, drink. Not necessarily in that order.
After an 8-hour drive, our first stop in West Virginia was a swimming hole in the Meadow River located just a short hike from our Airbnb. We packed lunch and spent most of the day sunning and splashing on repeat. We explored further downstream to a confluence where the Meadow met the Gauley River. The hike to ‘our’ swimming hole was all downhill to fun and all uphill to the promise of happy hour and dry respite from the sudden downpour. On Summersville Lake we wound our pontoon boat around the curves of cliffsides into hidden coves and floated in the serene waters until chased off by more afternoon storms. New River Gorge’s rock walls, vistas and rapids delighted us, and after a wander through Fayetteville, true to the area, we gorged ourselves on pizza and beers. During that week we prepared meals together, drove way too fast on back roads and snapped photos of unlucky ones drooling in peaceful slumbers who just couldn’t hang any longer. The nights slowly got late as we snacked and laughed in the hot tub or by the fire pit.
Upon landing in Italy, we gleefully loaded into our Eurovan <<picture the Muppets bouncing enthusiastically while joyfully motoring along>> and drove the two and a half hours east to Fara Filiorum Petri (I practiced this pronunciation for months) where we stayed at Natalie’s family home on the hillside. The days were spent exploring country roads, Corno Grande, Abruzzo’s vineyards and medieval villages eating Sise Delle Monache. There was drinking wine and eating fried fish by the sea, drinking wine and eating spaghetti alla chitarra in the mountains, and drinking wine and Genziano on the family patio until the wee hours of the morning. On our last evening in the country before travelling to Rome we unwittingly united in the family kitchen and gathered all our remaining cheeses, meats, fruits, wine and Mommom Sabia’s floral tablecloth and hauled it along with the kitchen table down to the garden. As the sun went down, we laughed hard and dreamed of what the permanence of this place… this feeling, could mean for us… someday.
The next year with the dogs in tow, we caravanned to an Airbnb in the Catskills near Hunter Mountain. The yard was big, and the air was sweet with solitude and the sounds of tree frogs. We had slow mornings uncharacteristically shooting bee-bee guns, running on country roads, enduring big, long hikes with nasty hornet stings, runaway dogs and visiting the dreamy Foxfire Mountain House for an elegant, magical, ethereal woodland dinner. We drifted through antique stores and took long walks with good, old dogs. Most evenings we prepared extensive meals at the house before card games, jigsaw puzzles & firepits ensued. These in-depth meals were never satiating enough and would undoubtedly give way to pasta and grilled cheese extravaganzas late into the night.
On a relatively quick trip to Asheville, we toured the obligatory Biltmore and her grounds, contemplated matching tattoos and enjoyed the local restaurant scene. Things were lost and things were found: an iPhone (twice) and things were lost forever: a tiny gold ring swallowed up by the mighty French Broad River. We paddled the river while our guide, Tim, regaled us with bad dad jokes and we completed our summit on Mt. Pisgah with a black bear sighting on the way back down to town. There were sketchy uber drivers and longer than normal, yet intriguing, conversations with local drifters. We rambled through the River Arts District drinking coffee, then beers, eating bbq, discovering artists, vintage shops and off the beaten path boutiques with some of our favAUrite things. Again, the mornings were early with wandering runs and the nights turned late conquering more puzzles, drinking whiskey & tequila with Grumpy Old Men II playing in the background.
On that first trip in West Virginia, I remember learning what ‘confluence in a river’ meant. It would occupy our conversations that year, and we’d find infinite new ways to work it into all our jokey banter.
Confluence in a river: Where two or more watercourses join to form a single channel.
A flowing together.
And that’s what it’s felt like from jaunt to jaunt, one bottle of wine to the next, and countless meals together at the table; like a chosen family with the same sense of humor and taste in jewelry.
Did we know then what we know now that our vibe and flow would lead us here? I’m not sure that any of us can say which vacation together was our favAUrite, but this next adventure at FavAUrite is going to be a real trip.
