Tag Archives: #friscoco

Torn between three places? Why we are comfortable where we are.

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Larry and I have just returned from visits with our children in California and Colorado. While enjoying our time, it is nice to return to our own home in Florida. This article, which was originally published in 2019, explains why we are happy where we are.

There is always, always something to be thankful for.  Author unknown

When my daughter Julie headed out to Colorado in 2003, it was originally planned as a nine month adventure teaching environmental science. Soon, however, Julie fell in love with the mountains, Colorado, and Sam, not necessarily in that order. They built a life together, completed graduate degrees, got married, bought a house in Frisco, and had a child. They have  settled into the life at 9100 feet.

Meanwhile, our son Adam chose a different path in another Frisco…San Francisco. After completing a law degree, he moved into an apartment in the middle of the city. This past December, he met Sarah. In a whirlwind romance, they dated, got engaged, got married, and now are expecting their first child. They have settled into life at sea level.

In the middle of all this, my husband Larry and I decided to move from Upstate New York, to a fifty-five plus community in Florida, close to 2000 and 3000 miles from Frisco and San Francisco, respectfully. There are those who ask us when we are moving closer to our children. The answer, for now, is NOT NOW.

Feeling gratitude despite living so far away may be difficult to fathom. However, I am thankful. Both my children have chosen to settle in two of the most wonderful places we have ever visited. Recent experiences bear that out.

Frisco, Colorado is nestled in beautiful Summit County. Surrounded by mountains reaching over 14,000 feet, it is for us a summer wonderland. Trails beckon us on hikes that bring us next to flowing streams, stunning wildflowers, and expansive vista. Larry plays with Summit County pickleball league while I take long walks with my granddog. Free concerts are offered in most surrounding towns Thursdays through Sunday. 

Our favorite is the one on Main Street in Frisco every week. Hundreds of people congregate around the pavilion in the middle of Frisco Town Park. The adults settle into lawn chairs and on blankets, pulling dinners out of coolers, while their dog or dogs settle near by. Meanwhile, the children dart around the lawn and path around the pavilion. It is a slice of Americana that I hadn’t seen since growing up in our Upstate New York town. In addition to the free entertainment, the area has several theater groups and a summer residency for the National Repertory Orchestra. Because of all it offers, Larry and I have rented there for the past four summers.

One thousand miles away, San Francisco is one of the most beloved city in America. When we visited Adam, we have taken advantage of all its attractions. We have walked through Golden Gate Park and across the iconic bridge. We have visited Alcatraz, Muir Woods, Sausalito, and Point del Reyes. We have used the city as a starting point to attractions as far south as Monterey and as far north as Astoria, Oregon. 

With our children living in such wonderful places, why have we have not picked up and moved? This question has taken on new meaning now that we have The Frisco Kid in Colorado and a soon-to-be grandson in California. 

Let me start with Frisco. Everything I wrote about my favorite town in the world is during the summer. In 2019, its residents experienced snow through the end of June, enjoyed a beautiful summer, and had its first dusting of the 2019-2020 season on a nearby ski resort on August 22. By September 19, the mountains got enough to get skiers excited. 

When we visited Julie and Sam in mid-October, snow fell on five out of six days. An Upstate New York girl, I always loved the site of clean, white snow on lawns and trees and trails. Unfortunately, sidewalks are not immune. After dropping The Frisco Kid at pre-school the second full day we were there, the sun was shining everywhere, including on the black ice on the sidewalks. We had to leave for the airport a day early as a major storm was expected to bring hazardous conditions to Route 70. The Weather Channel advisory recommended travelers to pack food, water, and blankets in case one was stranded. Although the snowfall never amounted to more than 2 inches (Denver actually got more!), the temperature dipped to 16 degrees above zero, without windchill. We love Frisco but cannot see us living there through their long winters.

The weather in Adam and Sarah’s now established home town  is admittedly better. Even if you factor in the famous Mark Twain quote, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco,” we would never have to deal with snow. , The city, however, is known for its steep hills and even steeper housing prices. If we sold our home in Florida, we could maybe afford a bathroom. No, I am not talking about a one bedroom, one bath apartment. I am talking about a bathroom. No shower included. And to get to that bathroom, we would probably have to walk up four flights of stairs, as the natives seem to eschew elevators. 

There are two more reasons not to move. First of all, a number of friends have relocated to be close to their children, only to see them relocate one or two years later because of their careers. 

Finally, Larry and I love where we are. We are in a one floor home that is a perfect size for the two of us. We have activities that fit our needs: pickleball courts; fully equipped gyms, olympic sized pools, restaurants, and entertainment venues. To add to our pleasure, we have our choice of over 250 clubs and organizations with which to participate within our gates. 

Within a forty minute drive, we have all that Orlando has to offer, including world class entertainment. The Frisco Kid experienced Disneyland for the first time last year, and she is already on a campaign to make it a yearly visit. Hopefully, she will h persuade her new cousin to do the same!

So we are here to stay for as long as we can maintain our independent lifestyle. This Thanksgiving, we are grateful that both my children have chosen to settle in two of the most wonderful places we have ever experienced. We have planned visits as well as a promise to them that we can be on a plane in a moment’s notice if needed. Meanwhile, the guest room is ready for them anytime. 

A version of this article originally appeared in the November 14, 2019, Jewish World News, a bi-weekly subscription-based newspaper in upstate New York.

Schooling in the Olden Days

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While in Frisco, Colorado, in August 2015 to welcome our new granddaughter, Larry and I visited the nearby Dillion schoolhouse, a two-room museum that was built in 1883 and served as the town’s main educational facility until 1910. Walking into that old building with its wooden floors, dusty chalkboards, and old-fashioned seats transported me back in time to my own experience in a two-room school house in the 1950’s.

When our family moved to Keeseville, all classes from kindergarten to twelfth grade were held in a big brick structure on top of Main Street that was built in 1936, when improved methods of transportation allowed for consolidation of the the area’s small one-and two room school houses.By the mid-fifties, however, a growing population fueled by the near-by Plattsburgh Air Force base necessitated the construction of a new elementary school. In the meantime, students were shipped off to other locations. My brother Jay spent fourth grade in the town’s old shirt factory. Two years later, I was part of the the group of students who were bussed the four miles to the two-room school house in Port Kent. 

I am not sure how the teachers felt about being transported back in time one hundred years, but we students loved it. The building itself was comprised of two huge rooms that were linked by a connecting door. Two wooden stoves provided the heat, the old oak floors were scuffed and the bathrooms were far from modern.  However,  it was fun for us in Mrs. Smith’s second grade class to be next door to the third grade class. The school was set on a hill in a large grassy lot that overlooked Lake Champlain. Lessons were punctuated with the sounds of train whistles from the Port Kent railroad station and horns from the ferries that transported cars to and from Burlington, Vermont.

Each day, we would be taught reading, writing, and arithmetic. The school would transport lunches, and we would eat at our desks. We loved our teacher, Mrs. Smith, who was sweet and kind and looked a great deal like Loretta Young. My friend Julie Thompson Berman had special memories of Mrs. Smith: A left hander, her second grade teacher tried to “convert her” until Julie’s father set the teacher straight; having Mrs. Smith was a relief.

Most of the students walked up to the high school and took buses to Port Kent, but some of the students lived in Port Kent. Steven Bullis and Barbara Klages lived within walking distance of the school. Barbara lived in a huge house right next to the railroad tracks. The trains went roaring past her front porch several times a day, and I thought she was the luckiest person in the world. No matter where we lived, the intimacy of the small school resulted in friendships that have lasted a lifetime. Along with Barbara and Steve, I met Julie, Betsy, Linda, Betsy, and Mike in Port Kent, and most of us remained classmates and friends throughout our graduation in 1968. It was also while in Port Kent I had my first heartbreak: I was in love with Jay Sussdorf, who moved away at the end of second grade. 

One of my clearest memories was our performing in Hansel and Gretel. As I had been a witch that past Halloween, I got to play the villain to Julie’s starring role as Gretel; she pushed me into the “oven,” a table covered in black construction paper with a drawing of the fireplace.

The next September, we started the school year in Port Kent. The elementary school was finished over the winter vacation, and we started going to classes there in January, 1958. The new school was shiny and modern and beautiful. However, looking back, I have fonder memories my year and a half in that little red schoolhouse than I do about the new building.

Ironically, many years later, Adam and Julie had the opportunity to attend school in a similar building.  Both children went to the Clifton Park Nursery school in the little red school house on the corner of Moe and Grooms Road. As a cooperative preschool, Larry and I participated as a helping parent in Adam and Julie’s classrooms on a rotating basis. One of Julie’s earliest memories is Larry coming in on Halloween as a clown with a big red honking nose. She thought she was the luckiest child in the world to have such a funny, talented father. Both children loved going  to nursery school in that old building with its wooden floors, huge old windows, and parent-made shelves lining the walls filled with toys and books and arts and craft material.

My Mountain Girl’s elementary school in Frisco, a modern building with a huge playground, is only a few blocks from her home. I doubt if she will follow in the footsteps of her grandmother and mother. However, she is  learning  about the history of her small Rocky Mountain town: the Ute Indians who originally lived along its rivers, the mountain men who trapped beaver in this territory in the first half of the nineteenth century, the miners and their families who settled the town in the 1870’s. She enjoys picnics and concerts in the town’s historic park, where she plays in original buildings that once served as homes, a jail, a chapel, a saloon and brothel! And she can explore the the Schoolhouse Museum, with its wooden floors, dusty chalkboards, and wooden seats. And on one of our visits, I will share the stories of my own adventures in a two-room schoolhouse on top of a hill overlooking Lake Champlain. 

A version of this article originally appeared in the Jewish World News, a bi-weekly subscription-based newspaper in upstate New York, on August 6, 2015.

Larry’s classic clown outfit in 1985. Adam and Julie were delighted!