Saturday at the Castle

The Mohawk Valley region of New York state is still in the firm grip of winter. Hundreds of acres of forestland stand stark and brave against the icy wind. We drove quite near the frosted Mohawk River with its patches of icy floes amongst the fast-running water.  Nary a sign of spring to be seen. Turkey vultures circled high in the sky, floating on air currents, or pushing against the sudden bursts of chill, harsh breezes.

Beardslee Castle stands solid and gray, weathering the century and a half of winters like a weary but dedicated soldier. The thick, ancient vines of ivy mold themselves to the stone walls looking for all the world like a great, huge serpent. A brightly colored flag flaps gaily in the wind, the only color to be seen.  Cedar hedges circle the side yard where, on a summer's day, voices will rise in laughter and happiness, glasses will clink together, and music from a celtic harp will float over the gathered friends and family.

In front of the Castle are great, tall trees that are bare and silent now. In August these trees will be in their full summer glory overseeing, with their green gaze, the nuptials taking place just below them. A tiny waterfall will add its soothing sound nearby, running and giggling over old stones.

For now, the ground is frozen, the walls stand silent, waiting for the warmer days ahead. A beautiful fairy-tale bride will join her groom and  they will pledge themselves to each other. Parents will smile, with glistening eyes, and the day will be firmly embedded into the Castle's memory, to be pulled out and treasured for years to come.

Beardslee in winter

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