500 miles

This year, I decided to challenge myself with a fitness goal: to run 500 miles. Not too lofty of a goal, something to give me some consistency in my workout routine. To get me outside the gym. And possible to do anywhere in the world.

I did the math – I’d need to average 10 miles a week. Usually broken up into 3 runs of a distance of 3 or 4 miles. At times I experimented with two 5 mile runs and found recovery took longer.

This challenge brought unexpected rewards:

1. I was out in nature and experienced the seasons change. I estimate a ran about 165 runs, only 4 of which were on a treadmill due to logistical or safety concerns: once in North Carolina (very rainy weather), once in India and twice in Mexico. I began in the dead of winter and then watched the buds emerge. The dogwoods flowered. The rich green and heat of summer. Then, the colorful transition to fall.

2. I experienced many places in the world while passing through at speed. Including the sites, sounds and smells of different cities. Most memorable was the Bandra Bandstand in Mumbai. The strip lay right in front of my hotel on a business trip. At sunrise, I laced up and took off on the path. Admittedly, I was nervous, colleagues thought I should not go alone. But I had seen other women running, and I have self defense skills, so I did it. No one gave me a second look. I experienced the sea hitting again the concrete and rock wall, saw a lady stringing together colorful flowers, finally took in a view of a long bridge on a lookout point. I was surprised to find a recreation of a Rodin sculpture on the seafront.

3. I found a way to keep myself fit and healthy by stepping up my stretching and recovery routines. One of my first concerns is I would get sick or injured and not complete the challenge, but I did not. If I felt planters coming on, I’d stretch more. If I felt a sickness coming over me, I’d drink more tea. I never needed to take more than a 3 days off to recover.

In total, I ran in 5 countries: Mexico, India, France, Spain and the US. In the US, I ran in 7 states: California, Oregon, Florida, North Carolina, New York, Virginia and Washington. I ran through iconic locations including the Brooklyn Bridge and Times Square. I ran along the ramparts of Saint Malo. I ran the coast of Almeria and watched the sunrise over Morocco in the distance. My husband and I ran along a ridge in the Blue Ridge Parkway in the bracing cold. Taking in the undulating mountains before we raced back for a hot coffee. From one week to the next, I ran in balmy Florida and snowy Washington. The contrast in weather was remarkable.

I ran along the Pacific Ocean, Arabian Sea, English Channel, Alboran Sea and Atlantic Sea. One magical morning, I was accompanied by a pod of dolphins.

Most of the time I ran alone. It was intriguing to see where my brain went, particularly while running the rails to trails behind my house. I alternated directions to mix it up a bit. I saw turtles, toads, owls, doves, squirrels, deer and rabbits. I exchanged pleasantries with humans and stopped to pet dogs. Many mornings I was completely alone during the sunrise.

I ran a few times with my nieces and nephews in Oregon or on the northern coast of California. We witnessed whale spouts in the sea along the cliff wall path. My husband joined me at times, as did some of his workout buddies.

All in all, I estimate it was about 5,000 minutes which is only 83 hours. An incredibly small amount of time in the scheme of life. Some of the runs I filled my ears with music or a podcast of an audio book. But most of the time I ran with my thoughts. At times I didn’t like my thoughts, but often I was happy with the inner chatter.

The running gave me stability during a time of change. Something I could commit to when life sometimes felt out of my control. My family and friends supported my endeavor and cheered me along which was, perhaps, the most meaningful experience.

In 2023, I might do it again, or I might not. It may be the year to focus on others, but I imagine I’ll still be running 3 days a week. It’s hard to think of another way to so easily keep myself moving through the world.

Lessons from a house plant

A couple of months ago, we decided to buy new pots for our house plants. The occasion was our wedding anniversary and it felt fitting to buy a lasting gift we could both enjoy. I’m the plant fanatic but my husband enjoys them also, so he was onboard. Happy wife, happy life, right?

I measured the plants and built a list of needed pots for transfers and upgrades in space. After pondering many options, we left with a cart loaded down with pots of various shapes and sizes and some soil.

At home, I began transferring the plants in the garage. As I did so, I tidied up the plants, trimming away dead material, sometimes reducing overgrowth. They looked beautiful in their new homes. I was satisfied with the progress until I came upon one plant.

I see this plant every morning. It lives near the sink and mirror in the bathroom. It is a corn plant, Dracaena fragrans, we bought at an antique store going out of business. It came in a wicker planter with not much soil. It sad forlornly tucked away in the corner and I recall feeling like I rescued it.

The plant continued to grow, but the size above ground clearly justified more soil for growth. Nevertheless, it survived, grew a bit, and flowered regularly. It produces a fragrant flower that drips nectar, a pleasant surprise the first time it bloomed.

I began working on this plant, wondering how it would handle moving. I’m certain it had been in the old pot at least 10 years. The roots were bound and running in circles into the wire. It required some effort to carefully extricate it from the plastic liner in the wicker basket. I did not know if it would be a welcome move or a challenging move. Plants typically don’t like being moved, so it’s always a risk.

I settled it into a much larger pot with fresh soil. Covered the top of the roots which have previously been exposed. Then gave it a drink of water.

Within a day, the plant had perked up and looked happier than ever before. It continues to grow like crazy with new space for roots and room to breathe. Now I fear it could reach the ceiling soon, which I would welcome. I might need to move it into the living room for more ceiling space and that would be ok.

As I look at the happy corn plant every morning, it is teaching me lessons:

1. Don’t cramp your roots – provide yourself the place to grow. a smaller space could be comfortable until it becomes constraining.

2. Provide yourself proper nutrition. If you want to grow, you need the food to do so. Nutrients are more than food, it is also sunshine, air, spiritual feeding, creative acts and movement.

3. Welcome change. In life, we can become comfortable with suboptimal conditions. Because they are our conditions we begin to feel we own them and they become part of our identity. Open yourself up to new opportunities and growth. Yes, in the process you may also change and outgrow friends, jobs, hobbies. Allow yourself to become a new version of you. The person you are meant to be.

My corn plant continues to grow. It is a luscious green color the leaves stand alertly to attention. It has not bloomed yet in the pot. It might be the wrong season. Or it could be so focused on putting down new roots it has no energy to bloom. Time will tell. For now, I’ll continue welcoming the daily lessons of growth and joy courtesy of my friend, the corn plant.

Seeds of patience

Today I stopped into our local farm supply store to buy some seeds. I inquired about them a few weeks ago and the owner informed me they’d appear Wednesday this week. When I called on Friday, he said they’d arrive by 1 or 2. Being a wee bit impatient, I contemplated just buying them from a big box store. But, I really wanted to buy from our local farm store which has been in business since 1885. I’d like to do my part to keep it running!

This morning, after feeding the chickens, having some steel cut oatmeal for breakfast and starting a load of laundry (yes, we are truly feeling like homesteaders), I headed over to the store to buy some seeds. Pushing open the door, a bell tinkled and I found a group of men huddled around a TV watching a car show. The owner greeted me, and I said “hello, I’m the one who kept calling about the seeds.”

“They’re here”, he said, “what would you like?”.

“Where is the rack with the packets?” I inquired.

“Oh no, we sell the seed by the weight”, he responded.

Well, this was fascinating. I approached the counter and pulled out my gardening notebook, which contained the list of seeds I needed. He was behind the counter, with a jumble of mason jars and pickle jars of all sizes with labels taped to them. Dozens of familiar names sprung out at me. “Mustard greens” was written on a piece of lined paper and held in place with tape. Jars of “watermelons” and “pumpkins” perched up on the shelf.

My first request was for peas. “How much would you like?” he asked. I had never bought seed in anything besides a packet on a rack. What volume of seed would I require? The confusion clear on my face, he gently asked “how long are your rows?”. “Well, about 12 feet in total” I estimated while gesturing with my arms as I guesstimated the footprint of the pea teepee I plan to grow them on this year. “An ounce will do it” came the response.

We continued down my list with me calling out plants and him finding the jar, weighing out the seed and depositing it into a envelope that he marked with the plant type, variety and weight.

Along the way, I learned I was probably over-fertilizing my cucumbers, and that I shouldn’t plant beans until the soil temperature was 50. I also learned the history of my neighborhood and confirmed that it was, in fact, an old tobacco farm.

As he rung me up at the register I was amazed at the price, much more affordable than the tiny packets of seed I usually buy. As I left, he welcomed me to the neighborhood (one in which I’ve lived for nearly 8 years).

I gently settled 2 mint plants into the back of my car and the bag of seeds beside them. With a beaming inner glow, I thanked myself for being patient enough for the seeds to be in stock and was reminded again of the power of seasons, and gardening and good neighbors.

I’ll be back for sunflower seeds when they come into stock, and some tomato seedlings come April 15. In the meantime, my collards made an appearance today!

What are your growing this year?

Yoga and the unexpected

Yesterday, 90 days after I started, I finished 30 days of yoga with Adriene on amazon prime. What a glorious yoga series. I discovered it as 2020 came to a close and kept at it (somewhat frequently, as you can tell from the progress) in the morning before opening my laptop in my home office.

Being stuck at home, I sorely missed my weekly yoga practice. One day I found the 30 day series on prime and thought, let’s give it a shot. I was amazed at how calm I felt on the days I practiced. I also discovered many friends and acquaintances had discovered the series online.

Well, yesterday I fired up Day 30: Be You. After a nice intro and congratulations on making it to Day 30, the music started and the instructor began moving through her flow. She said no words. I was confused. Was the audio broken? No, I could hear music. How could I move through my flow without her instructions?

Exasperated, I paused the show, walked the few steps to the kitchen and railed at my poor husband. With a raised voice I complained about how I would not be able to complete the 30 day yoga. She wasn’t instructing us and it was difficult to constantly look at the screen to see what pose she’d moved to next. My husband suggested I calm down (good advice) and do episode 29. But, I wanted to complete the series!

I returned to my mat, rewound the episode and listened to the instructions. You have completed the course, Adriene remarked, now you know what to do. Breathe and follow your flow.

Ok, I can do this, I thought. I have been practicing yoga for more than 20 years. Again, I started the movements, focused on my breathing. Sure enough, the flows came naturally, I knew what to do. The music filled my ears and my breathe came in deep, restorative waves.

We ended in corpse pose, with my good mood completely restored. I realized I had learned a lesson that Friday morning. Stop waiting for the instructions and trust myself to know how to follow the flow. In yoga, in life, in work, in play, in the kitchen, in the garden. I go forth with the confidence to Be Me.

Thank you Adriene. Namaste

Photo credit: https://yogawithadriene.com/

Piedmont Forest in Fall

Bonfire smoke in the air.

Leaves crunching underfoot.

Geese calling as they fly in formation overhead.

The rattling of the engine on the splitter filling my ears as the wedge cuts through a pine round, wood creaking as the grains split open.

The smell of pine needles as they’re raked into piles.

The delight of discovering a clump of mushrooms under the leaves.

A flash of green moss near the trail.

This is fall in the piedmont of North Carolina.

Facebook break and how I learned to knit

6 months into the pandemic I started to feel overwhelmed by the time I was spending on electronic devices. Between 8 hours a day of zoom calls for work, checking Facebook on my phone during breaks, the occasional glance at LinkedIn triggered by email notification and retweets on Twitter, I was frazzled. My brain racing to process the growing pile of content. I listen religiously to the Art of Manliness Podcast where I learn about all sorts of fascinating things and pick up new life skills and habits. I found a podcast on reducing electronic cutter and went on a crusade to clean up my electronic life. The author recommended a 30 day electronic detox. Remove everything unessential and then intentionally add back in as you decide.

Facebook felt like an easy thing to cut. I didn’t like the way I compulsively checked the site. I felt mixed emotions when I found memories. I have been through many significant changes in life and wondered if it was useful (or helpful) to so often reflect back to a very different time? I wondered about the psychological cost of loose ties. Loose ties are defined as people we know but don’t see much, or perhaps saw a lot at one time in our life, but may never see again. I wondered if it brought me happiness or sadness to see their faces in my feed? One way I could find out was by taking a break from Facebook.

I also wondered what motivates my actions. Do I do the things I do because I am intrinsically motivated to do them or because I want to look exciting on Facebook? Now, keep in mind, I have had a rich hobby and activity life since the days before Facebook, but back then I had a dozen pen pals from all over the world and I journaled regularly. Come to think of it, sort of the same features that Facebook offers… truth is I like to share my experiences and document them. I’m that type of person, take it or leave it.

I did some math and figured that if I spend just 1 hour a day on Facebook between things, that means I spend about 7 hours a week on the platform. What else could I do with that time? I could (gasp) call someone, have a directed text message conversation, write a letter, or just be alone with my thoughts. Was the one-sided and visual-only communication on Facebook actually meetings my social needs? Or, would I be more fulfilled by re-introducing phone or video calls again with that one hour a day? Or sitting down to write a letter to my primary pen pal – my aunt in California.

After pondering these variables and more, I decided to take the steps to close my Facebook account. I had convinced myself there were far more negatives than positives. I discovered that I would lose the easy connection to some friends and sent them a direct message in Facebook seeking their contact information. I could still keep up with them through the more traditional means of email and phone (but, wait, is that the traditional means nowadays???).

The flurry of responses I received validating my decision to leave and providing contact info led me to some remarkable discoveries and that’s what led me to write this blog. Also, because my aunt suggested it after I told her these stories. She’s good at inspiring my content.

As I received emails and phone numbers from friends, I followed up by emailing or texting to say hi and thanks for the contact info. These turned into fascinating electronic conversations and sometimes actually a call (yes, shocking) to learn what was REALLY going on in my friends lives! I discovered 2 had been laid off during the pandemic and fortunately found new work. One had taken a fantastic sailing adventure on a break between jobs. I had a glorious email exchange with a friend about life philosophies when he asked why I had taken the decision to leave. These exchanges reminded me that Facebook gives one glimpse into a persons’ life experience. It’s the one they chose to share with the entire world. It was a reminder that it’s not the entire story. How could the full scope of a human experience be captured in an electronic platform? Fortunately, it cannot.

My husband suggested I wait a bit to delete my account and think about what I was trying to accomplish. So, I did, he’s wise and he knows me well. I kept myself off the platform for a month. My desire to check it reduced every day. I enjoyed rediscovering boredom and found myself one evening (having finished my book) staring down a night in a hotel room with nothing to do. I found a craft store, bought some yarn and a “how to knit” kit and sat on the veranda of a historic hotel in Augusta, Georgia teaching myself to knit.

My birthday arrived in October and I felt compelled to check in to acknowledge birthday wishes. The ease of remembering birthdays is a wonderful feature of Facebook. I was, as I always am, washed in a sea of love from my friends.

In the weeks that followed I occasionally checked in. I found that I began to miss seeing what was up in people’s lives. COVID has us all so sheltered in place that it is reassuring to see that others are still thriving and having new experiences.

I missed sharing my life with others and when I had some fun experiences – a gorgeous bonfire in our backyard and successfully completing my second mountain bike night ride, I wanted to share it with my friends. So, I did. Then we bought 12 chicks and I figured the world can be uplifted by the hope that comes from baby chicks. I shared some photos and videos.

I quickly found myself being drawn to the platform again multiple times a day. And, I honestly don’t know the best way to meter my interaction to a “moderate” level. I have heard it can be a good thing to schedule the time, but when is the best time, morning, evening, lunchtime? Does it even matter? If I’m getting my work and chores done and having fun in person, is it so bad to take a little break to see what’s up with friends?

60 days after I started my re-evaluation, I have decided to remain a Facebook user. (Yes, the irony is not lost on me that the term user is applied to this platform) I continue to challenge myself to be intentional about my use of the platform. To share what is uplifting and use it as a way to support others. To resist compulsive scrolling and not use it at the expense of other activities. I will continue to spend more time in directed reach-outs to family and friends via phone, text and letter. I am already thinking about what will go into our holiday letter and the recipient list has grown this year…

What’s your experience with Facebook and hitting pause? Also, for the laughs, here is my first knitting experiment which I’m currently repurposing as a dog sweater. Everything can find a use if you get creative enough.

Learning to knit in Augusta, Georgia.

My cat approves of the knitting hobby as it requires sitting.

First project turned out to be abstract art… 😆

Turning lemons into lemonade…first prototype of the dog sweater from the wacky scarf. Needs a bit more work, but will do the job.

A tale of two typewriters

My first two mechanical typewriters: a 1950’s Underwood and a 1960’s Smith-Corona.

What follows is the story of how they entered my life.

I would like to thank Mahogany Rhino for their excellent article on how to find a typewriter. It certainly worked for me!

Sweltering and Steamy DC

As we approached DC the transition from sleepy countryside to urban metropolis struck like a switch. Traffic slowed to a crawl as we rolled past embassies that looked like plantation houses and an imposing stone elk’s lodge guarded by a pair of Egyptian Sphinx. (Is Sphinx plural?)

The hotel was a block from the White House and by this point traffic was total chaos and we were ready to get out of the vehicle. With a sigh of relief we parked in front and handed it over to the valet for parking.

Opening the doors, the heat hit us like an oven. We had been dreading the weather which was forecasted to read in the high 90s on the thermometer with a feel around 115 F! We rushed into the lobby for some air conditioned relief and checked in to our rooms.

In any other city, and perhaps with any other guide, we would have wisely waited out the heat in our rooms. Unfortunately, the guide was me, a DC lover who was anxious to show the city to my parents and husband who were DC virgins. We sweated down to the White House and snapped a photo.

One thing I noticed was that DC blocks are LONG! They are even longer when it’s 115 out! The walk made us thirsty and I thought a visit to the rooftop bar at the W would be a win-win: cool drinks and a nice view. We soon discovered it was minimally air conditioned and seating was reserved for high dollar customers ONLY. We rambled back down to the lobby to enjoy some interesting city band music (electronic genre) while we cooled off before the walk back to the hotel.

Our plan was to eat at a famous DC restaurant, which was packed and we happily discovered a Subway near the hotel. Winner winner subway dinner!

Settled into our cool hotel rooms, we enjoyed dinner and left mom and dad to relax. Chas and I took off for a bit of refreshments followed by a night-time walk on the national mall. I was eager to show him my favorite spots.

We visited the Post Pub where we met some friendly patrons. Then, stopped in to one of my favorite spots Old Ebbitt’s Grill.

Luckily, we were in town for the 50th anniversary of the moon walk. The event on the mall was a projection of the rocket launch and moon walk in the national monument. We made it there just before the show began.

After admiring the show in awe with thousands of fellow Americans, we roamed toward my favorite place to watch the sunrise over the capital: the Lincoln Memorial. The steps were crowded with people out to the enjoy the festivities. Along the way, we found some ducks sleeping next to the reflecting pond.

The next morning, we grabbed a quick breakfast at a cafe and then rode the DC metro to Arlington to watch the changing of the guard. It was dad’s first time on a metro and I was thrilled to share this experience with him.

The short walk from the metro to Arlington left us, shall I say, glowing. The thought of trekking miles through the blazing sun to the tomb of the unknown soldier being unthinkable, we hopped a ride on the tram. Rolling through this cemetery was a sobering experience. It drives home the sacrifices hundreds of thousands of soldiers have made to preserve our freedoms.

We arrived at the tomb with about 10 minutes to wait before the next changing of the guard. The ceremony was a moving experience for me. I found myself thinking of many veterans I have known in my life. Those who have passed from this life and those who are still with me. Mostly, I thought of my grandmother Potje who was a nurse in WW2. To my surprise, tears joined the sweat rolling down my face as we silently watched the ceremony unfold.

After it concluded, we visited the museum for a bit and then rode the tram back to the exit. We hopped the metro to the Smithsonian museum to visit Old Glory. An exhibit on the roots of mountain biking also caught our eyes.

Late afternoon, Chas and I took off for a bicycle adventure on the National Mall. We had observed kiosks all over the city loaded up with rental bikes. We grabbed a couple and took off toward the Capitol. Along the way, we passed the Smithsonian Castle.

Behind the capitol we popped into a local pub for a bit before pedaling toward the Jefferson Memorial.

The Memorial houses an imposing statue of Jefferson. One of my fondest memories from previous visits to DC was pausing in the Jefferson Memorial during a run as the snow had just begun to fall. Swirls of snowflakes danced between the columns and around Jefferson like fairy dust.

As we left the memorial, Chas rode a path on the edge of the basin, slid on some goose poo and narrowly avoided a swim! Laughing it off, we raced past the Roosevelt and Martin Luther King, Jr. memorials. Having completed our loop back to the national monument, we started to search for a spot to return our bikes. This is where the bike rack system got real tricky. All the spots were taken and we pedaled from rack to rack until we finally found 2 spots. Oh well, otherwise the system was awesome and I’m thrilled to see these commuter bike rental systems popping up across America.

The next morning we checked out and took a driving tour around the basin and by the capital to snap a quick photo on our way out of town.

Say what you want about DC and the crazy politics, but I gotta say visiting this city always makes me feel proud to be an American! You’ll find friendly people from all around the world and be amazed at our history and what goes into keep the capitalist machine that is America running.

This post puts a wrap on my recap of our Great Northeastern American Road Trip. It was one for the record books. I hope you enjoyed the tales of our adventure and that you can make a similar trek with friends or loved ones some day.

Gettysburg

After touring Thacher Island, gorging on lobster and taking in the dramatic storm from the back deck of our Inn, we woke up the next morning and headed to Gettysburg. This would prove to be the longest driving day of the tour. A colleague who hails from Pennsylvania had recommended a scenic country highway route. We sleepily rolled through the countryside and along ridges of mountains where the trees enveloped the highway. Everything was green and tall sillage corn filled the fields between bucolic dairies with their beautiful milking parlors and silos.

Along the way, we saw the sign for the Yingling brewery, but determined to arrive at our B&B before dark, we charged on.

We pulled into Gettysburg around 5 pm and drove up the roads through the hallowed grassy battlefields toward the Doubleday Inn. I had located this inn the way I find most places nowadays – good old google maps. The Inn is the only accommodation located on the battlefield. It remains there as a historical legacy because the people who established the Inn were the same people who first amassed a collection of historical artifacts from the battlefield and the first museum dedicated to Gettysburg. The Inn-keeper himself was a descendant of the original owners.

He greeted us at the door and quickly oriented us to the Inn. Noting we only had one night and a morning, he was concerned about ensuring we had a good experience and generously loaned us a CD and Book combo for the auto tour of the battlefield. Resources in hand and stomaches rumbling, we were at the moment more concerned about dinner. He recommended a cafe in the center of town and off we went. Mom and I enjoyed the special which was delicious meatloaf.

After dinner, we roamed a bit of downtown. We took turns posing for photos with the statue of Abe Lincoln located outside the building where he wrote the Gettysburg address.

Satisfied with dinner and wanting to enjoy a tranquil sunset over the battlefield, we headed back to the Inn. We were rewarded with a lovely evening as we watched the lightning bugs dance over the grass. As the sun sank lower, we strolled up the main road to watch the last rays of sun from a viewing tower over the battlefield.

To wrap the night, we enjoyed a round of cribbage in the inns’ parlor room – decorated with civil war and baseball memorabilia. I do believe I won that night, finally!

When we headed to bed that night, I set the alarm for 5:30, so I could get in a sunrise run on the battlefield. It was a bit tough to keep my motivation when the alarm woke me, but I crawled out of bed and pulled on my gear. As I was lacing my shoes at 5:45, I received a text from dad – “when are we going to start our driving tour?”. I roused Chas and, after a quick outfit change, off we went to tour the battlefield at sunrise.

The auto audio tour proved to be a great way to experience the history that unfolded here at Gettysburg in a short window of time. It turned out to be a bonus that we started at 6 am, as it allowed us to beat the crowds. Here’s a bit of what we saw:

It was a somber morning, contemplating the sacrifices of tens of thousands of men here on this hallowed piece of land. Then, to ponder the momentous task of the citizens of Gettysburg who buried so many people. The details of war are easy to forget until you witness the magnitude of such a conflict.

Our tour complete, we returned to the Inn for a lovely breakfast of homemade waffles and bacon before bidding farewell to the innkeeper.

Leaving town, we traveled The Baltimore Road, which was the way the confederates had intended to march in and take the capital. Had the outcome of Gettysburg been different, that march might have occurred. The route took us through more countryside scenery and we stopped at a deli on the way for lunch before we hit the hustle and bustle of DC.

Next up: a 48 hour whirlwind tour of DC where we melted in the extreme heat!

The Breakers

I hinted in the last post that I had forgotten a stop and would get back to it. Here it is: The Breakers.

Located in Newport, Rhode Island. This is the lovingly preserved home of the Vanderbilts. Constructed during “The Gilded Age”, this lavish American Castle was interesting to explore.

A wise and well-traveled girlfriend had told me about this gem and some other neighboring properties. Since we made a quick stop-thru on our way to Thacher Island, we just went for the most famous house.

It was worth the stop. The first impressive feature was the iron gates. Such intricate detail and they literally loom over your head!

We sprung for the headset tour to learn more about the history and followed the prompt though the house. The tour pointed out little details and cultural aspects of the period in the late 1800s when the house was lived in by one of the wealthiest families in America.

If you want to read more about the Gilded Age, I recommend Mark Twain’s entertaining take on this audacious time in American history. It was a time before personal income tax and anti-trust laws. A time when monopolies were the norm. The men who invented and commercialized the railroads, shipping, steel manufacturing, and oil extraction and refinement lived very, very well. Or at least they loved large, you be the judge.

Walking through the house, I experienced alternating waves of admiration and repulsion. The emotional roller coaster was a bit like touring a plantation house. While the labor at The Breakers was paid, the living quarters for the help were certainly not prime. Fortunately, modern tours do give us a more honest take on the balance of power. Nevertheless, it is jaw-dropping to roam through rooms with walls literally coated in gold lined by mirrors plated in silver. The ceilings were covered in paintings drawn but the great Italian master.

I particularly enjoyed many of the little details, especially those featuring dragons and nymphs. For some unexplainable reason I have a soft spot for dragons.

The surrounding grounds were also tastefully manicured and the house is named such because it sits high on a cliff above the breaking waves of the Atlantic. There is a cliff walk visitors can explore, but we didn’t have time on this stop.

I did, of course, make time for a purchase in the gift shop, which is cleverly located at the tour conclusion. I purchased a Christmas tree ornament to compliment the one I’d purchased at the Biltmore on a visit this spring.

If you’re noticing a similarity in names, it’s because these two houses are related. The Biltmore was the brain child of a Vanderbilt boy who grew up spending summers at The Breakers. The homes are very different and also similar in some ways.

Next up – we leap back into the Civil War with a stop at a classic B&B on a battlefield.