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The familiar road signs each come into focus along 88: Schoharie, Cobleskill, Richmondville, Worchester, Schenevus, Colliersville and Cooperstown, Oneonta. Between the signs there are long stretches of country dark. The headlights reflect on the snow alongside the road, but the road itself is clear. And dark.  In the Bay Area it’s hard to remember such dark. Here and there we see headlights on an invisible side road picking out the skeletons of trees.  Here and there, lights from a few scattered houses.

In Oneonta we turn off 88 onto the two lane road that will take us the 15 miles to Hartwick.  Here, we know each intersection, each turn in the road and many of the houses along it. Going through Mount Vision, the houses are close to the road and I can see lighted lamps inside, pictures on the walls, and the cool glow of TVs. Some of the Christmas lights are up, cutting the dark cheerfully. There are only a few houses in the dark stretch between Mount Vision and Hartwick.  We crest a small hill, and there is Silvio’s sign, glowing in the dark, The Hartwick Restaurant. We are home. In the center of town we turn left and cross black Otego Creek. Around the curve, there’s our right turn onto Gulf Road and here we know every house. Just past Schoolhouse Hill Road there’s Brian’s driveway on the right, our southern neighbor.  Then the pavement ends at our property line and we feel the surface change to the dirt road.  And there is our mailbox and our own driveway heading up the hill.

When I was a kid we drove from the Bronx and later from Mamaroneck to Amenia nearly every Friday night, spring and fall – probably 18 Fridays a year from the time I was 5 until I left home at 18. I knew the road signs, and then closer in to Amenia, I knew the houses. Dad would stop and unlock the white gate and swing it back towards the car in the light of the headlights, hooking it onto the post and opening our dirt road.  From the gate I knew the turns, the slope, the dark trees, the click clack as the car went over a loose board in the third bridge. Returning to Amenia after a week of school and of streets crowded with cars and traffic lights, my heart always leapt a little.  There must have been weekends when I came with some regret or even annoyance about a party I would miss or a boyfriend I’d be away from; but that is not what I remember.  I remember the smell of the Amenia night rushing into the car when Dad opened his door to make his way to the gate. I remember joy and freedom.

And so it is coming home to Sunnyhill, I feel something in me open as we leave the Albany traffic behind and start our way south and west on the night highway. Mary and Jasmine left the front lights on to welcome us, and they shoveled the snow off the patio. We can’t see Charlie in the dark, but we know he’s there.  As soon as we open the inner door we hear his happy toenails clicking on the floor. Our little pack is all together again.

It was a great trip west. We saw all our kids and grandkids. We stayed a couple of nights with Carrie, and a couple of nights in a pleasant airbnb in Pebble Beach with Jamie and Kortney, and a fleeting glimpse of Cristalena. We went to Beth Am for a shabbat of beloved music and warm welcomes, and to hear Rabbi Janet give a blessing to our dear friend Barbara on her 80th birthday. We celebrated her birthday on Sunday with her family and our whole chavurah. Liz and Sean hosted our family’s traditional early Thanksgiving and picture day for the first time in their beautiful new kitchen. Jay and I had hosted it for eight years, right through the Obama administration, and were always happy to do it, bringing our blended and extended family together.  But what a pleasure to have the next generation take over. Liz and Sean’s new kitchen is a pleasure to be in, a pleasure to work in – clearly the lively center of their home. It was strange (but lovely) to just leave after dinner.

Spending a little, too little, time with the youngest grandkids, the three who still want to snuggle and be read to, made me keenly aware of how much I miss them. But there it is, life is full of choices. For now, Jay and I have chosen this hill, the peaceful long views to the east and west, the pond to the north. We’ve chosen the two lane country roads, and a town with a stop sign at its center – not even a four way stop. We’ve chosen snow blowing horizontally and temperatures heading toward zero. I was always glad to be home when we came home to Thomas Drive, but it was unlike coming home to Sunnyhill and unlike those long ago Friday night returns to Amenia. Like Amenia, Sunnyhill has the space and country dark and quiet, the feeling of freedom from obligations. Life is simple here.  We need to stay warm and fed.  It’s clearer here that everything else is optional.