5 Reasons to Take a Getaway to the Middle of Nowhere

5 Reasons to Take a Getaway to the Middle of Nowhere

Wednesday, June 20, 2018

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I've written before about the cabin my family has been going to since I was a kid. It's technically a hunting club, & my three of my dad's childhood friends have long been members, which means that they each get one weekend a year to invite family & friends to come up for a weekend getaway (no hunting involved, unless you want to).

Now, one of my dad's friend's sons (who I've always called my cousin, even though we're not technically related) is a member, too, so he gets his own weekend.

The cabin is in Lycoming, PA, which is essentially the middle of nowhere. It's about an hour & a half northwest of State College, PA, home to Penn State. Google Maps can't find the cabin; you have to map to the nearest house, then use handed-down written directions to find the cabin itself, which is behind two locked gates. It's about a five-hour drive from Cleveland, but it's an easy one, given that it's a pretty straight shot across PA.

Whether or not you've got a family cabin to visit, I can't speak enough to the concept of getting away in the middle of nowhere. It's worth seeking out a remote space of your own to visit!

1. Take a much-needed break from technology.

Our cabin has no wifi & no Internet connection whatsoever. In fact, once you hit the base of the mountain, you'd better have written directions on hand, because you'll have lost service about 15 minutes earlier.

There's something so darn freeing about not having your phone on you at all times  - or any of the time. I didn't even take any photos because I left my phone in my room the whole weekend. Particularly as a social media manager who's allllways on the Internet, this is the best part about going to the middle of the woods.

2. Connect on a more personal level. 

When you don't have phones & TVs to turn to, you're forced to - gasp! - interact with the other humans around you. When we arrived on Friday night, everyone was drinking around a bonfire, playing a stupid game someone made up where everyone just went around in a circle & named their top three TV crushes.

There's something special about having to really try to connect with others, with no Google to turn to when you're not sure of something or can't remember the name of James Franco's Freaks & Geeks character (Daniel DiSario, FYI). It results in a lot of laughing, for starters, which is always good for bonding.

3. Books & board games & beer darts, oh, my! 

I finished a book & a half, went three rounds of Secret Hitler, and won two rounds of beer darts (which has literally never happened before). We also played three games of beer baseball, which is an excellent way to get drunk only if you're good at beer baseball, which I am not (proven by the fact that I was the last to be drafted, ouch).

We played board games & pub trivia, hung out on the patio & chatted, watched as three new-to-the-cabin guests were initiated by lake-jumping, & just generally found creative, non-technological ways to have fun.

4. Get back to nature.

We didn't see any bears this time around (probably because there were four dogs & five babies staying at the cabin with us!), but we did spot a waddly porcupine & a giant deer on the way into camp, & I caught a few newts with my cousins' kids, teaching them their dads' & my favorite cabin pastime from our own childhood.

Being in the middle of nowhere is the perfect time to explore nature, whether you're catching newts, swimming in the lake, exploring the creek, or just picnicking in the grass.

5. It's pretty darn cheap.

We paid for gas & for the food we brought with us, & we'll pay my cousin for cabin cleaning & maintenance fees, but beyond that, the weekend was practically free.

We're lucky to have such an inexpensive place to visit every summer, but even if you don't have a similar option, staying in cabins is rarely an expensive getaway - & once you're there, especially if you're staying in for the weekend, there's nothing to even spend your money on.

If you're local to the Cleveland area, here are a few great weekend getaways I'd love to try. I've never been to most of these spots, so I can't endorse them, but they all look pretty nice!
  

• The Inn at Cedar Falls: Stay in a fancy yurt! 
• Ohio State Parks: Stay in a less-fancy yurt! 
• Deer Creek State Park Lodge: I stayed here in 2007 & loved it. 
• Coblentz Country Cabins: These look gorgeous. 
• Cricket Hill Cabins: These are a bit more rustic but slightly more woodsy-authentic.
• The Mohicans: They've got six adorable treehouses to choose from. 
• The Camp Cabin at The Darst-Myers Hallstead: Hartville is the ultimate nowhere-getaway.
• Amish Blessings Cabins: I'm forever obsessed with Amish Country. 

  
Anywhere else you'd recommend? What's your favorite way to get away from it all? Leave a comment & let me know.

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Rocky Raccoon Checked Into MY Room

Rocky Raccoon Checked Into MY Room

Wednesday, May 4, 2016

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We have a raccoon. Did you hear me? We have a goddamn raccoon.

OK, OK, maybe I'm exaggerating. It's not like there's a raccoon inside our house - completely, anyway.

Wait, let me back up.

Last month, Mike & I invited a few friends over to hang out on our new deck (which is glorious, by the way) when I spotted a smallish raccoon skittering across our neighbor's roof. The raccoon was about the size of my cat (who weighs 15 lbs., so maybe my cat is actually the size of a raccoon?), & it was just, like, wandering around. In daylight.

The other day, Mike spotted the raccoon again - on our deck. While he was out there. They stared each other down, & the raccoon backed off, scooting away to some unknown critter den.

Except what if the den is inside our walls?

On Saturday morning, we were awakened by a very loud scrabbling noise. At first, I thought it was the cat being a jerk, as he is sometimes want to do, until I realized that he was staring at me, terrified & mesmerized by the noise. Then I thought it was coming from the deck, until I realized the deck doesn't connect to our bedroom wall. And then I thought it was on the roof, until I realized there's an attic above us. That means this thing, whatever it was, was not on the deck or the roof but, yes, inside the walls. (I am quite sure of this, though Mike is less confident; then again, he kept snoozing through most of it.)

And then, the kicker. On Monday, nervous that a raccoon is lurking in the walls behind my headboard, I wandered the deck looking for any sign of how it might've gotten in - a hole, a loose shingle? I don't know how houses work, man. I didn't find anything like that, but I did find five piles of raccoon scat (that's shit, for all you non-outdoorsy people) neatly crapped upon the roof that borders our deck. I took a picture of it, but you're welcome for my not including it here.

So, yeah, I emailed our landlord yesterday. Obviously. And I think I was very calm & professional about it, considering the fact that I am now convinced that Meeko or Bandito or Bright Heart or whatever this little dude goes by is about to bust through my bedroom wall, Kool-Aid Man-style, yelling "Oh, yeahhh" & eating all my snacks & strangling my cat with his creepy, bare raccoon hands.

You guys. Who finds a freaking raccoon in their apartment complex? What's next, a deer on the deck? A bear in the basement? Damn, Cleveland. This is not the city life I was promised.

P.S.: That photo isn't our raccoon. That's Pumpkin, beloved Instagram star & Internet icon. Pumpkin can come to my apartment any day, creepy hands & all.

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All Day I Dream About Decks

All Day I Dream About Decks

Friday, January 15, 2016

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 All I really want in life is a deck/porch/patio/balcony.

OK, OK, maybe that's not all I want in life - but it's pretty high up there.

The back deck at my mom's house is divine. Divine. There is nothing better than sitting on the porch on a sunny day, reading a book & drinking a beer. In colder weather, I retreat to the sunroom, which is insulated & heated but has that deck-in-the-winter feel. These two spaces are my favorite places in my childhood home.

Decks are the indoors moved outdoors. They allow me to go outside without having to really venture outdoors, to enjoy the weather without having the weather the elements. They are perfect.

Alas, in my adult life, I've never had the pleasure of having a deck/porch/patio/balcony of my own, & it's a conspicuous absence that I mourn regularly, especially when the weather is nice.

My first apartment was in Kent, OH, my senior year of college, & I could climb out my bedroom window to drink PBR on a small, fenced-in window ledge. Still, I wouldn't exactly call it a porch, & removing the screen on a regular basis was a real pain in the butt.

My first apartment in D.C. was called a "bachelor studio," according to the management company, & it was the equivalent of a shitty hotel room. It didn't even have a kitchen, so it certainly didn't have a balcony. My second & third apartments in D.C. were did not have luxuries such as balconies, either, although both, fortunately, had kitchens.

My apartment in Portsmouth, N.H., was on the ground floor, set halfway into the basement with the windows at ground level. Everyone above us had a balcony, & all the other buildings in our complex has first-floor patios, but we had the good fortune (blergh) of living in the one building where first-floor units had nothing but dirt & rocks outside their windows. I never once saw my upstairs neighbors use their balcony, & I regularly cursed them for squandering their actual good fortune.

My apartment in Red Bank, N.J., was in a big, old building on the Navesink River, & though it had a lovely view of the water (if you could look past the parking lot that came before it), it did not have a balcony of any sort. The backyard had a little yard with a strip of cement along the waterfront, where someone had set out chairs for relaxing & reading, but a communal patio isn't quite the same as a walk-out-your-door patio. Still, this is the closest I ever got to The Deck Dream.

My apartment upon my return to D.C. had only one window, period, & it overlooked someone else's awesome patio, so I could regularly hear their parties & drinking games. I am already prone to extreme crankiness about external noises, & the combination of that & my deep longing for a patio of my own led me to ruminate on my loathing for these neighbors with some degree of regularity.

My current apartment in Cleveland's Tremont neighborhood is in an old house, with four residential units & a storefront below me. My unit has big, beautiful bay windows that open out when it's warm, but I have no porch, patio, or balcony. Last summer, I set up a folding beach chair on the small strip of grass outside the building, reading a book in the sun while I waited for a maintenance guy to show. Though it was relaxing, it had a distinctly hillbilly vibe.

The unit behind mine, though, has the holy grail: a private deck. It's up high, with a perfect view of downtown Cleveland, & it's big, too. It's beautiful. And I want it so badly.

My neighbors just moved out, so that apartment is for rent. Mike & I seriously considered moving from our current place to that one, just schlepping our stuff across the hall & settling in there instead. We'd be giving up a parking space but gaining a deck, which seems like a winning trade, given all the outdoor reading & writing we could do.

I literally dream about this deck, you guys.

Alas, the rent is $100 more than what I currently pay, which is already slightly too much. My landlord didn't seem too keen on the switch, either, quickly reminding me what a pain it is to move (a pain I know well, given all the moves I just recounted for you here). And I like my current apartment - love it, even, despite my many frustrations with living in an old, individually owned building. I love my bay windows & the furniture layout I've finally decided on, &... everything, really. Everything is in place. This apartment finally feels like home, & I don't want to move again, even if it's just 20 feet away.

But the deck. The deck.

Yes, the apartment behind me is for rent, & someone will move into it soon, & every time my windows are open this summer such that I hear them puttering around on their deck, I am going to kick myself. I am going to dream of decks forever & ever, until the day comes that I can claim one as my own.

And until then, you can find me on sunny days, sitting in the front yard like a hillbilly.

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I Went Camping & Did Not Even Come Close to Dying

I Went Camping & Did Not Even Come Close to Dying

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

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The first/last time I went camping, I was probably about 7 years old. My Uncle Jim & my dad took my younger cousin Emily & me to God-knows-where campground in bufu Ohio for a quick weekend in the woods. We probably stayed near a covered bridge, because my dad & my uncle used to explore them together. Neither of them is/was particularly outdoorsy, though (sorry, Uncle Jim), so I can't imagine we were very hardcore about any of it. I remember that a raccoon stole our food in the middle of the night & that we might've gone home early because of it.

As you can imagine, when my boyfriend Mike asked me if I wanted to go camping this month with him & his friends, I was both skeptical & enthusiastic.Mostly, I was very gung-ho about making my triumphant (ha) return to the activity of communing with nature.

Uh, did I mention that I am basically the opposite of outdoorsy?

I am so indoorsy, in fact, that Mike made fun of me when he arrived at my mom's house to pick me up. I had chosen to forgo my anxiety medicine in favor of being able to booze with the gang that night, so I was, shall we say, on high alert. I was all packed, with no idea whether I'd actually brought any of the right things, & no one was sure whether my parents' old tent, purchased circa 1992, still had all the right accoutrements to make it a passable outdoor dwelling. I had brought, like, four small bottles of Purell & was planning to subsist on PB&J sandwiches & small bags of goldfish crackers all weekend.

In other words, I was ready.

The campground where we were headed, Mohican Reservations in Loudonville, OH, is less than two hours away from my hometown, but the differences between them blew my mind. How is it possible that there's so much old-timey farmland just around the corner from my suburban oasis? On our drive south, we passed half a dozen Mennonite churches, three Amish buggies, two men standing in a field pushing a cow, & a man in overalls asleep on a riding mower in the middle of a field. Though we'd agreed to turn off our cell phones once we got in the car, I couldn't stick to it because everything was passed along the way was hilarious enough to deserve its own tweet. I felt like I'd time-traveled to the early 1900s.

When we arrived at the campground, I was surprised to find that it was nothing like I'd expected. I knew we'd be, like, on the ground in the woods, but I'd imagined it it to be much more "Fend for yourself" than "You can buy toilet paper & marshmallows at the general store at the center of camp." As it turns out, Mohican is basically a huge, open plot of land along a river (the Mohican River, incidentally), & there are literally hundreds of people camping there at any given time during the summer. This wasn't, like, stranded-in-the-woods camping. I was both relieved & disappointed.

We were camping with a group of about 30 (!!!), so we were relegated to a portion of the campground that was somewhat segregated from the rest of the guests. We could hear them, & certainly we could see them as we trekked the quarter of a mile to the outhouses in times of bodily need, but for the most part, we didn't have to interact with anyone else, which lent a more secluded vibe to the weekend.

And it went so well.

Our tent wasn't missing any pieces, even though we assembled it drunk. I slept on a sleeping bag set atop a yoga mat & somehow got a good night's sleep. I sweated so much that I had five bottles of water on Saturday morning & never had to pee. We tubed down the river, full of beer & covered in mud, & I somehow wasn't afraid of aquatic life. We cooked copious hotdogs over the grill & a very kind veteran camper let me make breakfast bacon on her grill (OK, she mostly did it for me). I did not eat a single PB&J sandwich, but I did consume a lot of PBR & exactly as many Goldfish crackers as predicted.

I don't know what I was expecting, but I didn't need that Xanax, after all. I sneezed more than usual, but not as much as expected (thanks, Zyrtec). I wore zero makeup but lots of extra-strength deodorant, & my organic bug spray miraculously shielded me from every single mosquito that might've bitten done me harm. I rinsed off in the campground's communal showers after floating down the river, & I felt like it got me cleaner than I'd ever been in my life. My back hurt from sleeping on the ground, but at the end of the weekend, my heart was so full that it didn't really matter.

Camping had me out of my element, to be sure, but it was also one of the most relaxing, enjoyable experiences I've had in a long time (not mention one of the sweatiest). I'm already hoping to do it again - but maybe I'll wait until autumn?

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Hard River to Cross: Two Lessons in Facing My Fear of Water

Hard River to Cross: Two Lessons in Facing My Fear of Water

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

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I'm afraid of open water, & I always have been. I remember being a little kid, 9 or 10 years old, & being terrified to go into Crystal Lake, the perfectly nice, members-only body of water that I went to with my best friend Christina what seemed like every day of the summer. I'd yelp whenever my toes touched something that wasn't just sand, & I finally stopped jumping off the diving board because I couldn't bear to feel the slimy stuff that grew on the ladder back out.

Before you ask: Yes, I can swim! I'm not afraid of, like, drowning. I'm just afraid of... I don't know, of stuff. Of creatures. When I'm in a lake, I'm scared of fish, of feeling something brush up against my foot or my thigh that I can't see through murky waters. And when I'm in the ocean, I'm scared of the same thing, but on a larger scale - of God-knows-what lies beneath the surface wriggling up against me or worse. My fear isn't even of sharks, specifically, like it is for most people. I mean, sharks are scary, yeah. But I'm also afraid of crabs & eels & jellyfish whatever the hell else lurks in there.

If you follow me on Instagram, you know that I recently went on a week-long vacation. To an ocean. To the Atlantic Ocean, specifically. I spent seven days relaxing on Hilton Head Island with my mom, Christina, & three other beloved friends in celebration of a few milestone birthdays, including my own. Because we were on an island, it follows that we spent some time at the beach, which was... hard for me. I waded about hip-deep into the water a few times, but I ran flailing out of it whenever sea creatures revealed themselves to be in close proximity. I yelped when I stepped on a sand dollar, I called it a day when my mom got stung by a jellyfish, & I nearly cried when I saw a guy catch a stingray.

Still, I wanted to force myself to keep facing my fear - so I bought a Groupon for a two-hour stand-up paddleboarding class on the May River. Early one morning, four of us drove out to Bluffton, SC, where we were greeted by our instructor, a toned & tanned 50-something yogi-slash-photographer named Roddy. After a brief how-to during which I nearly keeled over with anxiety, we got out on the water. 

And it was... so, so pleasant. Not scary at all, despite the fact that I was scared as hell. Maybe I was compelled by the fact that I'd spent $100 on it, or maybe I just didn't want to ruin the experience for everyone else, but I wasn't nearly as panicky as I thought I'd be. It was a surprisingly calming experience, out there in the sun, in the peace & quiet, trying something new & foreign & borderline terrifying. Ever vigilant about water-dwelling critters, I committed to not falling into the river, & no one was more surprised than me that I was able to stay on my board the whole time. But as it turns out, I was so proud of myself that at one point, as we hung out on our boards on calm waters, I decided to celebrate my accomplishment... by jumping in! 

(That part was short-lived, but... hey, I did it.)

 

I had a great time stand-up paddleboarding, but it didn't cure me of my fear of what lies beneath. Still, I decided to keep pushing myself out of my comfort zone by going sailing on the Potomac River last weekend with my friend Emily, who kindly invited me to join her on her father's boat.

Yes, I'm scared of boats, too. Obviously. Because boats could collapse, you see? And then I'd be in the water with all the creatures. Shudder. (And yes, this was quite an ironic & amusing fear for me to have while I was dating a member of the U.S. Coast Guard - & even for both of these recent water excursions, when I was joined by a friend who's a Navy vet. Sailors, man.)

Early Sunday morning, four of us made our way to an adorable marina in Alexandria, VA. With the new Capital Wheel visible across the water, we boarded a little boat & set off... which is when my anxiety kicked in. Thankfully, I only succumbed to about three minutes of serious panic before finally evening out & enjoying the morning, albeit nervously. If I thought too hard about where I was or what I was doing, I started to freak out again, but for the most part, it was a perfectly lovely two hours on the water - & it helped that the shore was visible on both sides. I mean, how perfect are these blues?

Am I still afraid of water? YEP. But I'm proud of myself for pushing past my absurd fear of fish & sharks & other slimy things & making some memories I can hang onto for awhile. 

Because while I've moved around a lot, I've always lived along major rivers - the Cuyahoga, the Ohio, the Potomac, the Piscataqua, the Navesink. I'm not much of a nature gal, but if there's one thing I find comforting, it's the sight of open water, no matter how much I don't want to go in it. Blue sky over blue water? From Ohio to D.C. & everywhere in between, that's what feels the most like home to me - & it feels good to make some peace with it.

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