We went to the Catskills yesterday, looking for colorful leaves and maybe a glimpse of Grossinger's. I've heard Grossinger's stories since I first met Durf. He had a generous boss, once, who took all of his employees to Grossinger's for the weekend -- more than once. Durf remembers being delighted with the poshness of the establishment and baffled by the culture. I'm sure he wasn't the first catholic boy to try to get a little milk with his meal at a kosher table, but it was a lesson he never forgot. I would have loved to go to the scene of the crime, but Grossinger's closed (all but the golf course, that is) some 25 years ago. Bummer.
Still thriving, however, is the now-ancient hippie community in Woodstock.
Neither of us were rock fans during the Woodstock days and neither of us is impressed with hippie driving skills these days. But it's always interesting to find a town that is little more than an anachronism and stroll back through time.
The Catskills are beautiful, although we saw nary a red leaf in the forest. Might have to go back.
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