When you’ve got your foot to the gas for months on end, and actually relaxing on your weekends seems ridiculous, it’s sometimes hard to pull yourself away, physically or mentally. I’ve been on edge, longing for an escape, silence from the noise of the city. Life can get so clogged up with superfluous chatter and the need to keep up.
So this morning, I packed my small suitcase and boarded the train north. The industrial skyline faded, replaced by long views of wildflowers, and small country towns huddled around each train stop, as if not to be forgotten. The mesmerizing ebb and flow of telephone wires nearly lulled me to sleep as they meandered along the tracks. The long hair of Weeping Willows brush against red barns being filled with the beginnings of the September harvest, and I realized that the beauty of the Midwest is in the details.
My short trip carried me to a small lake in Wisconsin to celebrate a very special birthday. My mother and I enjoy our birthdays just a week apart, so every year, over Labor Day weekend, we celebrate together. It is the perfect weekend in this part of the country. The August heat and mug has died down and October’s chill hasn’t crept up quite yet. Upon my arrival to their home, I’m bound to be greeted with a glass of wine and a plate of food – genuine hospitality at it’s best. I didn’t just fall into a career in hospitality, I had been groomed for it my entire life. The women in my family were true mentors of care, comfort and giving. Our home was always opened up to friends, family and neighbors, and for a long time I thought having hors d’oeuvres before dinner was a commonality. Needless to say, coming home reignites my passion and the fire of hospitality, and gives me a clean mind to digest it.