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But Maxwell Farm? It’s an idyllic, look-how-salt-of-the-earth-and-how-cute-are-we-in-these-overalls "farm" In the late 1800s, when the Maxwells were already firmly entrenched into New York’s social elite, they purchased a large plot of land in the Hudson Valley This was not uncoies all owned fares, beautiful and elaborate stone "far paths, teahouses, fountains, and gazebos And occasionally, these farht actually plant a crop or two

It started out as a place to get away fro wealthy--as one does The h on a bluff overlooking the Hudson River The enormous stone barns weredairy faretables and fruit orchards--but e was set aside as a nature preserve So, as the Maxwells hosted large parties for their city friends, theup quail and pheasant, while the ladies visited the gardens and the orchards and the orangerie

The Maxwells were in residence only a few times a year The rest of the tiroundskeepers,sure it was always ready for the city folk As time passed, most of the land went fallow, the fields were retaken by the woods, and the house was shuttered for years at a tiet away" to

The home and barns fell into disrepair, and the property becae of town In the 1970s, the new Mrs Maxwell became interested in the history of the faan a restoration of the house No one ever lived there for any length of tiiven on special occasions, and rade class trotted up there on a field trip to randeur

I saw all that land not being used, all those barns not filled with livestock, a cold stone house filled with flowers but no other forlad to see it’s going to good use now," I said

"Agreed"

"And Leo is the guy that delivers all the produce? Well, that’s great Just great"

"Agreed"

"Do they have a stand at the farmers’ market?"

"They do"

"Well, ht?"

"Mot in season, for the diner"

"Agreed" My mother sipped her coffee, a drea race

"Let’s go hoetable soup, and then I’edMy jeans literally creaked as I walked, stiff with dried potato and snap pea water, re me of the tumble I’d taken with the cutest farmer this side of Little House on the Prairie

"Why are your jeans creaking?" ets by her Except final due notices fro her driver’s license But walk in the kitchen and find your daughter spread-eagled on the floor with soar snap peas skate around? She won’tLet’s go ho she also didn’t miss my blush

I drove in my car, my mother drove hers, and despite my exhaustion, I used the few otten what it sounded like, after the diner chaos) to take stock Soed since I was home, and I tried to really see it

It was beautiful, actually Drive through Bailey Falls pretty much any time of the year and you’ll convince yourself that there’s not a prettier town on the planet Autue and yellow and red that raced through the forest and turned everything into a blanket of crispy, crunchy, kicky leaves--there’s nothing like it Except maybe the winter When the snow piles fortakes on a hushed quality, all stars and silver andwas pretty extraordinary, when the apple blossoms pillowed out, and the air was soft and warreen scent Yeah, plenty going for it in the scenery departo ho sure my mom knew this was temporary? It wasn’t to be hurtful

My eyes swept over the quaint and cute once again It was just that Bailey Falls was like quicksand to et out of it left you with a cold, wet foot and your shoe behind you in the puddle It was like a whirlpool, a black hole, a Norman Rockwellian SuckSpace that was nearly impossible to escape

That small-town Arown up in it And for a shy, dorky, apt-to-trip-over-her-own-feet teenager, I was beyond ready for an adventure when it was tih I hadn’t lived there since I was eighteen, there was like a tiny rubber band tucked into the back of my pants, and no matter where I went or how far I traveledHelloooo, Roxieyour past is callingthat sh, here I was