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A Summer Romance in the Catskill Mountains

July 1978: Stagnant air is thick in the Catskill valley, heavy, and adorned with thirsty mosquitoes. He pauses at the top of a meadow, waits for the breeze that bends lazy blades of grass to cool his clammy skin. And just as the grass moves, she tosses her golden hair into a vivid blue sky, and swats the pestering bugs. This catches his attention, and with his pick in hand, he poofs his "fro", adjusts his thin-striped orange and white crew neck, dusts off the grime of his old hotel room from his short white shorts.

Out of the corner of her eye, she's seen him approach, but trying not to be obvious, turns to the pool and acts preoccupied. Standing tall as he leans against a rusted chain link fence, he gives a half smile, and tries to think of something witty to say.

It starts with some small talk, then a horseback ride under a strong summer sun; followed by Christmas dinner with the family, a diamond ring, the huge Italian wedding, the house in the country, a dog in the back yard, three kids, a driveway full of cars.

And in the end, was it worth it?

They are my parents, and if it weren't for a old wooden farm house hotel in upstate New York I wouldn't be here to tell you about true love.

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