The Windows Come Down A Mile Out, And By The Time The Road Runs Under The Trees And Opens Up You Already Know. There It Is On The Rise, A Log Home With 9 Acres Around It And Not Another Roof In Sight. Your Shoulders Drop Somewhere In The Driveway. Step Inside And The Living Room Goes Up To The Peak, Beams Stretching Across It And A Stone Chimney Anchoring The Far Wall. Outside, The Wind Works Through The Trees And The Seasons Change Around The House. By December, This Is Where Everybody Lands, Coats In A Pile, Headlights Swinging In After Dark, Snowmen Out Front Into February. It Is The Kind Of Room That Feels Made For Winter, When Everyone Comes Inside And Stays Awhile. All That Wood Is Why The Room Feels The Way It Does, Pine On The Walls, The Ceiling, The Stairs, The Railings. Almost Nobody Builds This Way Anymore. Whole Logs Run Far More Than Framing Lumber And The Crews Who Can Stack Them Are Harder To Find Every Year, So Building Costs More Than Buying. Warm Weather Moves Everything Outdoors. The Screened Porch Runs The Whole Front, And From May Until The Leaves Turn You Eat Out There, Though The Best Afternoon On It May Be A Winter One, A Small Heater Going And The Snow Coming Down Close Enough To Hear. Hot Afternoons Go To The Pool. Float On Your Back And Warm Pine Comes Down Out Of The Trees While Wild Fern Rises Off The Ground At The Lawn's Edge, Nothing Overhead But A Hawk. You Can Stay In There For Hours And Never See Another Person. The Pool House Beside The Deck Is Brand New, The Side Yard Is Fenced The Whole Way Around, And The Garden Beds Are Already In. When The Light Goes, The Second Floor Belongs To The Primary Suite And The Loft. The Bedroom Has A Walk-in Closet, Full Bath, Skylights Over The Bed And Sliding Doors Onto A Balcony The Length Of The House, South Facing And Sunny All Day, Warm Enough For A Sweatshirt In November, Level With The Treetops. The Loft Beside It Runs Nearly 23 Feet, Open Over The Room Below And Lit From Both Ends. Downstairs, Two More Bedrooms And A Full Bath Give Weekend Guests Their Own End And Bath, With A Full Basement Underneath. Past The Mown Grass The Ground Gives Way To Forest And Stays Forest, With Trails Running Through All Of It. You Walk Them In Summer And Ride The Sled On Them In Winter, Both Starting At Your Own Door. The Land Wrapping Your Back Line And Both Sides Belongs To The City Of New York, Held To Protect The Drinking Water, So It Cannot Be Subdivided Or Built On, And Closed To The Public. Most Quiet Depends On What A Neighbor Decides To Do Next. This One Is Protected By Law. Closer In, The Detached Garage Takes Two Cars And A Workshop, With A Third Bay And Lean-to For The Tractor And Sleds, And Above It All Sits 400 Square Feet Finished With Electric. Separate Building, So The Noise And The Hours Up There Are Your Own. Ellenville Is 15 Minutes Out For Everything Else. The Farmers Market Sets Up At Center And Market On Friday Afternoons, Shadowland Stages Puts On Real Theater, And The Common Good Pours Drinks Among The Bookshelves. The Library Has A Museum Inside And Lends Passes, And In August The Village Turns Out For The Blueberry Festival. The Shawangunk Ridge Runs Along One Side Of This Valley And The Catskills Sit On The Other. Minnewaska State Park Preserve And Sam's Point Are Close For Ridge Trails And Ice Caves, The Rondout Reservoir Up 55. Manhattan Is 95 Miles Southeast, About 2 Hours When The Road Runs Clear, Thruway At Kingston 30 Minutes North, Metro-north At Poughkeepsie About 50. Something Older Runs Underneath All Of It. You Keep A Fire Going, You Eat Out Of A Garden You Planted, You Watch The Weather Because It Matters Again. This House Hands A Piece Of That Back. It Starts As The Place You Come Up To On Fridays, Then You Learn Which Stair Tread Creaks, Where The Ferns Break Ground In April, How The Woods Smell On The First Hot Afternoon In June. Then Comes The Sunday You Do Not Pack The Car.