We were living in New York City in the West Village, on Jane Street. Actually in the top floor of an historic brownstone where Alexander Hamilton died after his fatal duel with Aaron Burr. There was a plaque to this effect on the outside of the building until “Hamilton” became the Broadway rage and the owners took it down. But we lived there many years before that time, when our rent for a 4th floor, 2-bedroom Greenwich Village walkup was $700 a month, not $10,000 as that particular apartment rents for now.
We’d moved to the City in the hopes of furthering our careers as screenwriters. Providence, however, had other plans. In the end, it was to lead us to rural New Hampshire.
We were working on a teleplay about the Shakers, a celibate religious community that came to the U.S. in the 1700s from England. Otherwise known as the United Society of Believers in Christ’s Second Appearing, the Shakers were renowned for their egalitarian ideals as well as for the meticulously crafted furniture items which they made and sold–such as flat brooms, clothespins, and ladder back chairs–and for their simple living, technological innovation, and music.
One weekend we headed north to Canterbury, New Hampshire, to do research.
The simplicity of the Shakers’ lives was inspiring, and we even met two of the last survivors, with whom we shared a lively conversation.
On the way home, we travelled down New Hampshire Route 9, which at that time meandered past and through a number of small towns and lovely, wooded rural areas. The bucolic landscape was dotted with lakes as well, and Route 9 skirted the edge of one, Granite Lake, which looked so compellingly beautiful as we passed, lined with little cottages and sandy beaches, that we decided to pull off and drive around it.
Maybe we could find a cottage here to rent, we thought, and as we went around the lake, we jotted down the addresses of various places that we might contact, just to inquire. We even stopped the car once, got out, and pulled off our shoes and socks to wade into the clear water. There was something special about this place….
Back in New York, we were stoop sitting in the evening, as was the custom on that particular block during warm weather, and one of our neighbors asked “How was your trip to Canterbury?”
“It was great,” my husband said, “but on the way back we passed a little lake that looked so inviting that we’re going to try and find a place to rent there sometime.”
“What’s the name of the lake?” another neighbor asked.
“Granite Lake,” I said.
He looked at me, surprised. “Well, that’s extraordinary. My brother and several business partners own 1,000 acres just above Granite Lake. There’s an old Adirondack lodge there that I’m sure they’d rent to you for a week or so, if you were interested.”
Were we interested? Absolutely.
And at that moment, although we didn’t realize it at the time, our life had just taken a dramatic turn. But that story is for another time….