Wandering In Western New York

Our intrepid explorer sets out, steering wheel in one hand, map in the other and wends her way southwest along the Seaway Trail. She is just beginning to mutter about Mapquest, when, around the next bend flashes a sign. No. Our heroine is not speeding. It came up suddenly, that’s all. She comes to an opening in the hedgerow and deftly executes a u-turn. Long time readers will recall she is a dab hand at the u-turns. The sign declares in elegant letters that this is Graycliff, proving once again, for those of little faith, that she can indeed read a map. Even if she does sometimes find it necessary to turn it upside down in order to get her bearings.





Graycliff is the summer home designed by Frank Lloyd Wright for his friends Isabelle R. & Darwin D. Martin. They don't live there any more. Nobody does. It is on the National Register of Historic Places and our intrepid explorer has applied steely eyed determination to the task of finding it. She is very happy to have succeeded.


Dawdling a little, so as not to be caught in the middle of the chattering tour group, she gazes up at the window above the entrance.





"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your golden hair," she silently cries, but Rapunzel doesn't reply. Must be working furiously on her knitting......




Our heroine pauses in the doorway, glancing back before stepping inside. Such a lovely view. She imagines for a moment that she is Isabelle, long deceased mistress of Graycliff, and Jeeves has just dropped her off at the front door......A tour guide comes and breaks the spell, urging her to keep up with the group.





"Oh, Oh!" Here we are, on the inside, at the top of the stairs. Turns out Rapunzel was never even there.....




....which really is a pity. These rooms are so full of light. She wouldn't even have needed her glasses.





That Frank , he had the right idea, bringing the outdoors in.





Washing dishes must have been painless with flowers like these crowding the window by the kitchen sink......




When the dishes were done you could take a stroll in the back garden. Nice how the windows reflect the lake. And turning away from the house you have this view before you.





You'd think Isabelle would have been happy as a clam. But, by all reports, she was not. Our heroine was. Happy as a clam that is, to have found her way out here. Loath to drive back to the city too soon, she went trespassing on private beaches, studiously ignoring signs that proclaimed them as such. The rich can have their mansions, but she'll growl at them if they tell her she can't walk along the shore. Nobody did. She had a lovely time, our intrepid explorer.