I'm glad this sign was recently put up...
...because I always wondered what these ruins were doing in someone's yard. They're the ghost buildings of what was once a thriving furniture factory.
The company-owned hamlet of Chichester was founded by the brothers Frank and Lemuel Chichester. With an abundance of hardwoods and the water power of crisscrossing streams, this area of the Catskills was the perfect spot to situate their factory. They specialized in chair and cradle making. Old timers would have you believe that every chair on the east coast came out of Chichester.
picture from the Empire State Railway Museum
The factory was later purchased by William Schwarzwaelder, maker of fine office furniture. Workers enjoyed recreational buildings, a general store, post office, school and church - all company-built, owned and maintained.
Decades later, the great depression devastated the business and it went kaput in 1939. The rest of the hamlet no longer had an owner, and would be doomed if it didn't find another. The village, at the time comprising of 44 houses and buildings, was put up for auction on October 28th, 1939. The hamlet was purchased at the auction and has been in the hands of private owners ever since.
Hopefully, these remnants of the past will stay standing for another 150 years.
Color me impressed!
I daresay you'll find a vacancy at the Reservoir Motel, what with that fancy cable television broadcast in living color. They're probably booked all summer, while us chumps have to watch the new summer lineup in black and white down at the Days Inn.
And that isn't the only amenity being offered to their lucky visitors. See it in the distance?
It's a sort of glass enclosed little booth with the word Phone stamped on it. Hmmm..I'm guessing one could use a cell phone within its confines without disturbing other guests.
How clever!
And that isn't the only amenity being offered to their lucky visitors. See it in the distance?
It's a sort of glass enclosed little booth with the word Phone stamped on it. Hmmm..I'm guessing one could use a cell phone within its confines without disturbing other guests.
How clever!
Tavern on the Scream!
We drove by this spooky haunted house tavern on the way to the Ashokan Reservoir.
The entrance was barred, indicating that trespassers were not welcome. Trepidations be damned, I had to approach it for a closer inspection.
Everything about the place - the choking weeds, the peeling paint, the dusty neon beer signs - suggested it hadn't seen a patron in years.
I could almost make out an old lady rocking behind that upper window.
Just when I thought I couldn't possibly freak myself out any more, a woman appeared from around the corner, eyeing me suspiciously. She didn't mince words: "Whattaya want?" Sheepishly, I said, "A drink?" "Well, we don't open til the evening," she replied. Translation: "Skedaddle, sweetheart." I managed to take one more picture before thanking her for the info. Judging by these cans, the place does a brisk business. If I get up the nerve, maybe I'll pop in one night for a Bud. Or maybe not.
Note to downstaters: if you're on someone's property, wherever they are, they will know - it's some kind of 6th sense that city folk just aren't wired for.
The entrance was barred, indicating that trespassers were not welcome. Trepidations be damned, I had to approach it for a closer inspection.
Everything about the place - the choking weeds, the peeling paint, the dusty neon beer signs - suggested it hadn't seen a patron in years.
I could almost make out an old lady rocking behind that upper window.
Just when I thought I couldn't possibly freak myself out any more, a woman appeared from around the corner, eyeing me suspiciously. She didn't mince words: "Whattaya want?" Sheepishly, I said, "A drink?" "Well, we don't open til the evening," she replied. Translation: "Skedaddle, sweetheart." I managed to take one more picture before thanking her for the info. Judging by these cans, the place does a brisk business. If I get up the nerve, maybe I'll pop in one night for a Bud. Or maybe not.
Note to downstaters: if you're on someone's property, wherever they are, they will know - it's some kind of 6th sense that city folk just aren't wired for.
Spidey Sense
Sure, spiders are necessary players in eco-management, but no one wants to find a hairy eight-legged nightmare suspended in the corner of the shower just as she gets shampoo in her eyes, but I digress (yes, it was traumatizing). Spiders belong in barns, spelling words in their webs, or in the garden preying on other nasty horrors. And if they have to do so while perched on a pretty daisy, then they should look pretty as well.
Just don't sniff the flower.....aieeeee!
Just don't sniff the flower.....aieeeee!
Mountain Sprite
Lately I've been encountering lilliputian forms of locomotion. The next wee wonder was found in a grocer's parking lot. Had I a bigger shopping tote, I would have stuffed this vintage Austin Sprite into it!
Seriously, how cute is this? I almost expected to find a set of child-sized pedals under the steering wheel to propel it.
Whoever owns this miniature marvel is a trusting soul. Don't think I wasn't tempted to turn that key and take it for a spin! I love the red, white and black color scheme and how the wing design on the steering wheel echoes the insignia found on the hood.
When did cars start to lose their charm? Late 70's...80s? Or is it all a matter of perception influenced by time and nostalgia? Will my grandchildren think my '03 Honda is as dreamy as this little Sprite forty years from now? I doubt it.
Seriously, how cute is this? I almost expected to find a set of child-sized pedals under the steering wheel to propel it.
Whoever owns this miniature marvel is a trusting soul. Don't think I wasn't tempted to turn that key and take it for a spin! I love the red, white and black color scheme and how the wing design on the steering wheel echoes the insignia found on the hood.
When did cars start to lose their charm? Late 70's...80s? Or is it all a matter of perception influenced by time and nostalgia? Will my grandchildren think my '03 Honda is as dreamy as this little Sprite forty years from now? I doubt it.
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