A pine dock reached out from the edge, dotted with beautiful old canoes and rowboats, but I could see several kayaks and paddleboards stacked up as well.
Twisting off from the main porch off the lounge were walking paths and hiking trails, some leading around the lake and some heading up the mountain. And high above, almost at the farthest reach of the lake, was a stone observation tower at the top of the nearest cliff.
In a word, it was stunning. The sense of peace I got just standing on the porch for a few minutes was restorative, soothing. It was so easy to imagine carriages full of wealthy families from New York and Philadelphia, just off the sooty train into Poughkeepsie station, traveling those last few miles up to Bryant Mountain House to spend their summers out of the hustle and bustle of the big city, and the sense of wonder they must have shared at this glorious landscape.
No wonder the Bryant family settled here, determined to share their love of nature with their guests.
A summer up here could be exactly what world-weary families could still benefit from.
Rejuvenated, I headed back inside, ready for my tour.
Two other guests had joined us. Two. Both at least in their eighties, if I was being generous. Very generous. Both ladies were gazing adoringly at Archie as he chatted with them—clearly they knew him well and had been coming here for years.
“Thank you for joining us, Ms. Morgan.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it. You were right about the lake, by the way, it’s beautiful.”
He looked pleased. “Well then, let’s begin. Ladies, I know you’ve accompanied me on this tour numerous times, but we’ve got a new guest today, first time up on our mountain.”
“Oh my, welcome, welcome!” one of the ladies squealed, clutching her handbag to her chest as though it were a teddy bear. “Isn’t it just the most?”
“Yes.” I smothered a laugh. “It is the most.”
“You’ve been a guest with us since, oh, since you were a little girl, isn’t that right?” Archie asked Handbag, and she squealed in delight.
“Since Archie’s father was just a young boy, I used to look forward to coming here all year. My parents brought me, and then I brought my children, and that’s how it goes!”
“I used to spend every single Fourth of July here, my family would rent out a few rooms for the entire summer,” the other woman chimed in, eager to add her story to the mix. And perhaps to bask in the glow of Archie’s grin as well. “Back then, the wives and children would stay the entire time and the husbands would drive up on the weekends.” It was like this at many of the old hotels I worked with, generation after generation full of similar memories. Fourth of July and Handbag smiled at each other, then at Archie, and I coughed to hide my chuckle.
“Well then, I should let you ladies give the tour, I bet you know it as well as I do,” Archie said, giving them a grand smile that made them giggle once more. I was struck suddenly with an image of Cary Grant, smooth and suave and a real old-school charmer. That’s who Archie reminded me of, complete with an upper crust East Coast accent.
Once the giggling subsided, the tour finally began. And almost instantly, I was immersed in the history of this place. It all started in 1872 when the Bryant brothers—Theophilus and Ebenezer—purchased the small eight-room Sky Inn on Sky Lake, just outside Bailey Falls proper. Construction began the following spring on a larger hotel, specifically aimed at bringing in wealthy families from around the Northeast to take in the mountain air and rejoice in the church of nature. The Bryant brothers were strong proponents of being stewards of the earth and protecting nature, buying up much of the surrounding countryside and farmland and setting it aside as a protected nature reserve for generations.
“That’s when they began hosting what they called the Greater Good Society. The brothers felt, from early on, that if they could bring world leaders, heads of state and heads of industry together in a place as beautiful as Sky Lake, they could influence one another to work together for the greater good.”
“Well, that’s genius,” I said.
He whipped his head toward me, looking skeptical. “Are you speaking sarcastically, Ms. Morgan?”
“Not at all, Mr. Bryant,” I replied, wondering if we’d ever move beyond the Mr./Ms. stage. “I actually think that’s genius.”
“Well, yes. And very much ahead of its time.”
“How’s that going these days?”
“Oh, the Greater Good Society was officially disbanded back in the thirties, just before the US got involved in the war. There was talk about reviving it afterward, but by then Ebenezer had passed away and Theophilus had ceded control to his son, who was running the day-to-day operations of the resort. Remember, after the war was when things really picked up around here, every single day there were people coming and going, the lines at checkin sometimes spilled back outside!”
I was about to ask him how he knew—his own father was only a baby in those days—but he answered my unasked question. “I’ve seen the pictures,” he explained, and I nodded. “I had a feeling more sarcasm was on the way.”
“It was,” I admitted, but then asked, “Given the times we’re living in now, Mr. Bryant, getting that society back up on its feet might be a great way to increase community involvement. And if we can market this strategy through Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, etc., we could introduce an entirely new set of visitors to the resort. Hopefully ones with an enormous social-media presence.”
“Are you suggesting if I get Taylor Swift up to my mountain she can solve world peace?”
“Now who’s speaking sarcastically?” I asked, giving him a pointed look.
He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, then hurried us along. “Now you’ll see here, ladies, as we head into the music parlor, when they designed this room they had the utmost concern about acoustics . . .”
The tour lasted a little more than an hour, and it was the best crash course in all things Bryant I could’ve gotten. We peeked into the dining room as they were setting up for lunch, went to the fourth-floor balcony to see the view of the lake from there, and made a stop at the spa, which I was pleasantly surprised to see had been renovated recently. I’d be taking advantage of the spa as soon as humanly possible.
And my favorite part? The old-fashioned soda fountain. Located inside the gift shop, it boasted a long counter with twisty barstools, a mirrored backsplash, penny candy, and rows and rows of barrels of homemade ice cream. In addition to all the sweet treats, they served a very limited selection of lunchtime snacks for those who didn’t want the more formal and full-service lunch buffet in the main dining room. Several signs hung behind the counter depicting some of the menu highlights, and I noticed one along the bottom called—