This past Saturday, with daylight contracting and fall descending more heavily, I drove up to Nyack, NY. Though longtime readers of this blog know that I have strolled through this Rockland County village filled with lovely Victorian homes a fair amount in recent years, I visited more often in the 1980s, when a good friend of mine lived here.
My friend, who moved down to Florida in the early
1990s, passed away in late May. Though the warm temperatures down south were
better for her health during the winter, she had thought of moving back up here
several years ago, only to defer the decision because of the pandemic and insufficient
income in the changing real estate market.
On one of our many long-distance phone calls, she grew
weepily nostalgic about the changing seasons she missed from the Northeast.
Unable to pay my final respects after her death in Florida, I thought of
revisiting the town that had once meant so much to her.
Veterans Memorial Park, which I managed to photograph
just before sunset, seemed a pretty good spot to bring my friend viscerally to
mind again. It was just down the street from her home, and from the shoreline
she would often push off into the Hudson River with her kayak.
Nyack is a unique community, with a long history and
bohemian vibe to go with its picturesque riverine setting. But a place is more
than a point on a map or a real estate agent’s listing, but a collection of
souls.
In the restless journey of her life, one such soul
settled here for a while. Last Saturday afternoon, the sunlight along the
Hudson may have faded, but I knew that my friend’s impact on my life would not.
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