If you follow the wide trail through thick pine woods above the Robert Frost cabin in Ripton, a more rugged path breaks off to the right.
It’s as much stream bed as it is trail. Especially in this stop-and-start winter when frost and mud and tree roots confound the skier and hiker.
Rambling up that trail eventually leads to what is, for some of us, a sacred little spot.
Today in that place sits just the sorry shambles of an old house.