Anticipating springtime adventure
I don’t get out much when the snow flies and icy sidewalks hold me prisoner. I dream of getting out and away, of being free to get in my car and explore, a wanderer, a discoverer. There’s the me that is house-bound and then there is the me that is someone else, somewhere else.
I have a friend who graduated a year before me in high school, whose life and work have earned him a membership in the famed Explorer’s Club, an exclusive association of brave, adventuresome do-gooders. My spouse spent two-plus years in the hinterlands of Colombia, building one-rooms schools, riding on mules, etc., and there are those who circumnavigate the world in a rowboat. None of these things are my cup of tea, unless I am drinking it while reading about such exploits.
I do have my own sense of adventure.
Wrapped in sweaters and longings, I still hold on to the hope of sunnier days and clear byways to take my Honda Fit and mind on expeditions, sometimes just taking a road on which I’ve never been or a newly-carved path to a destination that holds anticipation in high regard.
It was only last week, desperation having taken hold, that I accompanied my spouse on a business trip to Wyoming County. I’ve never been there before. What will I find? Anticipation was rife.
I was not disappointed. South of Rochester, in the valley of the Genesee, the countryside fans out for miles and miles in white, snow-covered fields. Hamlets fly by on Route 20A and 39 with clutches of houses seemingly huddled against the wind that blows strong across the fields. Farm life is heralded by the soldiering silos and the whimsy of a barn labeled with darker shingles on the roof spelling out MILK.
Cuylerville, with a population of 297, is one of those hamlets. As we headed into Cuylerville, we came up a small hill to modestly-situated buildings, some obviously sporting the shabbiness of time without attention.
Among these more modest structures was the National Hotel, complete with a rocking chair porch. We decided to stop by on the way home. But, like so many such intentions, we didn’t.
The Federal-style building stayed in my mind. It had to have a history, so much larger and, well, better cared for than those among which it was situated.
At home, I Googled “The National Hotel.”
I discovered, in part, that its biggest claim to fame happened in 1856 just after the opening of the Genesee Valley Canal.
I quote from the Website:
On the second boat pulled into the Cuylerville Basin in front of the Hotel was Bucko Ben’s old opponent Sleepy Frank.
“Let’s get this damn thing over with,” yelled Bucko Ben and stripped to the waist. The only rule was that the loser was to buy five rounds of drinks for the house. The fight started in the Hotel bar room and ended in the horse stables, lasted two hours, and it was Bucko Ben who bought the drinks. He never returned to Rochester, sold his canal boat and became a law-abiding citizen of Cuylerville.
History runs through the bones of the building, echoing the passing of time and culture.
Built in 1837, it has been an inn, restaurant, dance hall, whiskey distillery, a station on the Underground Railroad, town hall, Sunday School and immigrant hostelry.
I want to go back to little Cuylerville and visit the hotel, perhaps to sample the cuisine of the restaurant, to investigate, discover and touch the remainders of the people and events written into this place.
On some sunny day, I’ll sit on the porch with a fitting libation and become part of that history.
There has to be more to discover, to learn on a sunnier day in Cuylerville.
And as the poet often says, if winter is here, can spring be far behind?
The adventure is afoot.
Ann Ferro is a mother, a grandmother and a retired social studies teacher. While still figuring out what she wants to be when she grows up, she lives in Marcellus with lots of books, a spouse and a large orange cat.
