Bridget's family has a country house. She grew up going there in the summer and it's currently owned by her super cool sister Nora. The first time she told me this, I said, "Well, looky-loo, a country house. Ain't you fancy?" She laughed, and invited me up soon after to show me just how high-brow the place was.
There was no shortage of wood paneling, and you have to turn all the lights off to use the microwave or risk blowing a fuse. There were intricate spider-webs on the screened-in porch and gingham wallpaper that made you dizzy after too many Heinekens. We slept under blankets knitted by her grandmother and opened the windows so we could hear the crickets chirp through the night. It was rustic, and warm, and very well lived-in. It was better than I'd imagined.
This is my friend Bridget. She is full of spunk and fervor and she is a damn fine hostess.
It's become my absolute favorite place to go antiquing.
And shopping for farm-fresh produce.
And gathering around the table with friends to eat it all up.
Thank you dear Bridget, for another perfect Palenville weekend.