The Blue Line

I was somewhat familiar with the Adirondacks because I lived in Connecticut when I was growing up. S wasn't, but she had read Woodswoman by Anne LaBastille and was captivated by the story of a lone woman in the vast wilderness. In the summer of 1987, while on a visit to my parents, we drove into the park. When we crossed the blue line (the park border is called the blue line) Suzy was instantly transformed into a different person, as if she found her true home.
We hiked around the High Peaks area, in the ostensibly touristy and upscale town of Keene Valley. The woods were cool and peaceful and even though Suzy was 4 months pregnant we hiked what we considered to be a long way, actually only a few miles to Johns Brook Lodge, on the trail to Mt. Marcy.

We returned to the park innumerable times since then, taking many family vacations to the High Peaks, Cranberry Lake and Speculator. We seriously considered moving up there but I couldn't find a job that would pay enough to keep us out of abject poverty. We considered buying a motel but after chatting with an owner I decided against it. But we promised ourselves to leave Florida someday.
Our vacations always included long drives in the park, looking for the ideal area to settle down someday. I circled the map around Jay because it was secluded and the mountain views reminded me of what I imagined an uspoiled California to look like.
We kept looking and dreaming of buying our own piece of the park. Although the Adirondacks are a state park, designated "forever wild" by Article 14 of the state constitution, it is so large (about the size of Vermont and larger than 8 states) that half its 6 million acres are held privately. That means that one can actually live inside of a state park, and it is constitutionally protected against overdevelopment. I lived in Florida long enough to experience the devastating effects of unchecked development so I appreciated the blue line. The developers aren't going to ruin this area!