Adirondack Weekends ~ Rathbuns Maple Sugar House

I thought I'd try something new here at Spilled On The Kitchen Table, as a way to fill you in on the places around my region where the Hubbs and I spend our free time. For the time being, these posts will not be a regular or scheduled feature. That could change down the road, if you all like them and as long as I have the time to do them. I'm tentatively calling this... Adirondack Weekends. (** See the note at the bottom of this post)

As many of you probably know, I'm a weekend golf widow. In the Winter months, it's "indoor golf" and then when Spring and Summer roll around, it's any/every golf course within 100 miles of our home. There are a couple of courses where he plays more regularly and he has a group of buddies who are right there every weekend with him. Yup... Golf. Saturday and Sunday. He's addicted to the game.

I really don't mind that Hubbs plays golf. Really. Put simply, it makes him happy. And when he's happy, I'm happy. Maybe that comes across as a little old fashioned to some. Maybe I'm a bit of a dinosaur, in this era of the (alleged) "war on women". But, I certainly don't feel that way. (Frankly, I don't see where a war exists, but that's for another day and another rant post.) Basically, we've been happily doing this marriage thing for almost 30 years and plan to continue doing it til death do us part, so I'm pretty sure that we're doing something right.

I do have one rule.... The weekends are 50% mine. On Saturday afternoons and Sunday mornings, I get his undivided attention. Simple, right? Not much to ask? He doesn't think so. Ya see, over the last decade or so (since I've been sick) I've learned that I have to lay low during the week, so that I'll have the energy and the physical wherewithal to spend time hanging out with him on the weekend. My illness tends to cause periods of extreme fatigue and more often than not, even small increases in physical activity can result in days or possibly weeks of elevated pain. Luckily, he totally gets that and we both feel like my "rule" is a fair one.

It doesn't have to be anything earth shattering. It can be as simple as going to the grocery store and/or running other errands that we don't get around to during the week. Or, we might work around the house or in the yard like we did this past weekend. Or, on a cold winter day, we might spend hours in the kitchen making a big pot of "Sunday Gravy".

We'll usually go somewhere for lunch or dinner on Saturdays, and every Sunday morning we go out for breakfast. From time to time, he'll pass on golf for the entire weekend, so that we can take a short trip to visit friends or family a couple of hours away.

Obviously, this little schedule is flexible. Even though he loves the game of golf like it's his calling, I can ask him to take the weekend off for absolutely no reason in particular and it's a done deal. Likewise, there are weekends where he might have a tournament that spans two or three days and he's on the course the entire weekend. Like life in general, nothing is truly set in stone.

Last weekend, we decided to hop in the car and head over to North Granville NY (about a 30 minute drive and just shy of the Vermont border) to a place that we've both loved since we were kids... Rathbun's Maple Sugar House. Rathbun's has been a working sugar house for over four decades and is owned and operated by three generations of the Rathbun family.

Of course, Rathbun's claim to fame is their pure maple syrup and a myriad of other maple products, but they also have a quaint, rustic little restaurant, where you can slather that maple-y goodness all over a big plate of made from scratch pancakes, eggs, french toast, Belgian waffles, old fashioned oatmeal and country sausage gravy with fresh biscuits. They also serve some of the most incredibly delicious sausage and crispy bacon that I've ever tasted.

They have a sweet gift shop out back where you can buy their syrups, candies and other maple products, plus a great selection of gifts, including enamelware, dried flower and herb wreaths and pottery. Of course, I always come home with a little something for my pantry or to add to my ever growing collection of dishes, serving pieces and accessories. (See what I just had to have at the end of this post)

We always enjoy wandering around the property after breakfast, taking photos of the old farming and sugaring equipment that's been left there for Mother Nature to do with what she will...

Or just soaking up some warm Spring sunshine or later in the year, marveling at the bright reds, yellows and oranges of the trees and breathing in that crisp New England Fall air.

In the very early Spring, during "sugaring time" you can watch them boil the sap down to make the syrup and weather permitting, you might even be able to take a sleigh ride around the property or have a little taste of their pure maple syrup on scoops of fresh snow... kind of like a maple snow cone.

In the Fall, they serve warm apple cider and sell pumpkins and other autumnal goodies to decorate your home and yard. Whether you make the trip to enjoy a delicious breakfast or just to browse around the grounds and gift shop, Rathbun's is a unique and thoroughly enjoyable way to spend a Saturday or Sunday morning. About 20 years ago, my inlaws went for breakfast on a Saturday morning and came home with a new puppy! Now, I'm not saying that's one of their regular offerings, but it just goes to show... you never know what you might find on a trip to the country on a weekend morning.

Here's a peek at the goodies that I couldn't live leave without on this visit...

** I have not been asked to review/write or been compensated for this post in any way. All opinions, photos and details are my own, or those of my family and friends.

Valentine's Day Edition STMUSS

It's time for another Songs That Make Us Sing Saturday!

So... This is the Valentine's Day edition of STMUSS and I didn't have to think more than a nanosecond about what I wanted to post this week.

Source

I have to preface this video by admitting that I've never seen any of the Twilight movies. OK. OK. Please don't throw rotten veggies or anything else horrid at me.  I just got the cat fur and fingerprints cleaned off the screen. I have nothing against Edward and Bella (is that right?) or the whole Twilapalooza thing happening all over the universe. I just never got around to watching the first one and then I didn't want to see the second before the first and.... well, I just didn't. Sorry.

Anyway... If you're still here and haven't unfollowed me on every possible social networking site, I'll just explain why I had to pick this song for Valentine's week. It's Christina Perri. And the words that she and David Hodges pulled out of my soul and put to music.

I'm probably gonna hate myself for spilling this, but last weekend when Hubbs and I were out for a mid-winter, sunny day, need to get the he!! out of the house drive, this song came on the radio. And... well... I looked over at his beautiful face with the dimples and the cleft chin that I see in my dreams at least twice a week and I started bawling like a baby. Yup. Mascara running, nose running, ugly cry kind of blubbering.  What can I say?  I just love the guy more than life itself and after almost 30 years, I still haven't figured out what I ever did right enough to deserve him loving me back.

So. Enough of my ridonculous simpering. Here it is. (Oh, and join the dang party, K?  It's a blast every week and you have no idea what you're missing.)




Here's the link. You know what to do.

Click HERE or HERE to join the fun!

Yup.... That's him.

The Ginger Cookie Connection

If you're here reading this post because you followed the link on my other blog, I need to include a bit of an introduction to what follows. For the record, the Mr and I have known each other far longer than the 30+ years that we've been together.  He was my older brother's best buddy and his sister and I were great friends as well. We all grew up together and yes, there was a time when we could barely stand to be in the same room together. But, as is the case with many things in life, feelings change and kids grow up to discover that sometimes the very things that you never would have expected to happen, well... happen. Hence, The Ginger Cookie Connection.



When I think back on my childhood, there's certainly no shortage of wonderful memories. Summers were spent riding bikes, playing kickball and spending hours and hours swimming in the beautiful lakes that dot the landscape of the Adirondack foothills and Southwestern Vermont. One of my fondest food related memories, is of an older couple who had a small farm along one of the roads leading North to Lake George.

Every summer, the farmer's wife would make batch after batch of chewy, sugary Ginger Cookies and sell them in small brown bags, rolled tightly shut at the top, out of a weathered old farmstand at the side of the road. If you were lucky enough to get there at just the right time of day, they'd still be warm and their spicy, sweet fragrance would hit you as soon as she handed over the bag.

Since most households back in the late 60's and early 70's had only one car and very few families had a pool, our mothers took turns hauling half the neighborhood to the lake to cool off on hot summer days. On the weekdays the car was usually filled to capacity with rowdy, sweaty, hungry kids and an extra mom or two to chaperone. (if there was enough room) Mind you, those were the days before the ubiquitous mini-van sat in every driveway in the neighborhood. There's a reason those old wood sided station wagons were so popular.

On the weekends, dads would take over the driving duties and moms would fill wicker picnic baskets and old metal coolers with sandwiches, cold salads and soda or Kool-Aid, along with an old blanket or two to toss over the ancient grey picnic tables that seemed to have just sprouted up out of the ground years before, along the shores of many swimming spots. These beleaguered moms and dads knew they'd have full blown anarchy on their hands if they failed to stop at the "cookie lady's" stand on the way to the lake. They also learned pretty quickly that it was best to buy several dozen of those heavenly cookies, if they had any hopes of getting one or two for themselves.


As the years passed, without explanation or fanfare, the cookie lady and her stand disappeared as if they'd never existed. The kids of summer grew up and the worn old picnic baskets and dented metal coolers were filled with something a wee bit stronger and maybe a package of hot dogs and some chips. Maybe. The now threadbare blankets were still brought along, just in case a couple or two felt the urge to slip away into the woods to steal a kiss or two.

The cookie lady and her sweet, spicy legacy became a fond but distant memory as the cars sped past the old farm, still filled to capacity with sweaty, hungry "kids" and not a parent in sight.  I've often wondered why the cookie lady stopped baking those wonderful ginger cookies. I never wanted to entertain the obvious answer, so I just imagined that she moved to a new town, miracle oven in tow, to introduce a new generation of summertime families to her delicious cookies and their own unforgettable memories.

I'm linking up today with: