Dachas in the Adirondacks

As soon as I'm back from traveling abroad, it never fails, I'm drawn back to the great Adirondacks to enjoy what no other country can offer: familiarity. Thanks to a family who loves the outdoors I was born not with a silver spoon in my mouth but a paddle in my right hand. I'm as comfortable paddling a canoe as most people are driving a car.

Our little stretch of inlet is as smooth and polished as a pocket mirror. Our canoe skims over hundreds of yellow budding lily pads and a clean sandy bottom. Along the banks grow tall white pines, silver maples and stubby ferns. Layered hills and forested islands surround us. The narrow tributary flows into the largest lake in the Adirondacks, Lake George. It's a Sunday so the lake is filled with city slickers living large in their jetskis and speedboats. Mutti and I opt to canoe the shallow waters near the edge where we can observe fish and dead logs.

New York City tycoons have carved out what the Ruskies call dachas or summer homes. Unlike Russia's modest dwellings these mansions could accommodate extended families from several generations without every bumping into each other. It's sort-of silly as well being a blight on the beauty of the natural environment.

Mutti and I find ourselves a smooth rock face to dock our canoe and take a dip. A sign reads "Be Careful - Rattlesnakes." We slip into the warm waters floating on the surface with our life perservers underneath us. This is living.