The Central Hotel, Bainbridge, N.Y.
Mon., April 5, 1927
Spring has flown! Today, sitting in the best bedroom of this little hotel, I hear a man shoveling snow in front of the town hall across the street. But to lead up to this great eminence:
Yesterday Bill thought he’d like to camp early so we could get in a good walk before dark. Not far from a place called Hancock, we found a splendid camping location, out of the briskly blowing wind. Keeping the day-before’s experience in mind, we punctiliously got permission from the owner before setting up camp. Then we took a fine walk up a wood road beside a brook into the hills. As well as raising one partridge, we got our feet nice and wet. This night was even colder than the one before, with a lovely moon in a clear sky. We built a big fire and made careful preparations for keeping warm, viz: hot water bottles, heavy underwear, sweaters, shelter-halves placed under the bedroll as well as over it. Then, cozy as could be, I read “Lone Winter” out loud to Bill; but we found this story about Vermont rather sentimental and tiresome.
Very early in the morning it began to hail, raising the question whether to pack up immediately before it got worse, without washing or eating, or take a chance, get a leisurely bath and a nice warm breakfast. We chose the latter, as Bainbridge, where Bill wanted to look into the Casine Co., was only fifty miles distant. We knew we could make that in most any weather.
The hail soon changed to snow and then to rain, and now has almost drizzled away. Warming up the car before leaving camp, we were comfortable all the way here.
When Bill inquired at this inn for a room with a bath, the manager, looking at his camping clothes, contemptuously said, “We have a room beside a bath.” As much as to say, “You don’t look as if you could pay for that, let alone a room with a bath.” He did not even help him with the bags, until he saw he had a “lady” with him, then he became most solicitous. Dinner was past, he said, but he could bring us something to eat in our room.
Bill is downstairs now, pumping the gossips about the Casine Co. Above the steaming radiator I can hear music from a radio, probably from Schenectady, and reception is pretty good. We have both been interested in radio since Bill made several superheterodynes for the family, as well as selling a few in 1922. Although it is only 4 P.M., the day is so dark I have the light on, one dim, naked bulb. I wish we had brought in our new tent light.