There was this place. Perched on the shores of the Saranac River, balanced just perfectly so it didn’t disappear into the deep pine and hemlock woods and so it didn’t topple into the roaring spring rapids, it became a place for people to gather, to build, to meet others, to allow themselves to relax into the rhythm of peace.
One day, fifty years ago, I was fortunate enough to be one of those people. It has been my home ever since. Over the course of my life here, I have discovered many intriguing books and artifacts. About thirteen years ago, I rediscovered two ancient deep-red leather-bound volumes on my office shelf. They are handwritten minutes of the Saranac Club (precursor to the Bartlett Carry Club) written by Robert Dun Douglass with the first entry January 17, 1889.
I decided the time had come to dive into those Minutes and write a book! At first it was just going to be about the history of the Bartlett Carry Club, but over the course of years, it has evolved into two stories: my story of living and working here for fifty years woven in and around the stories of those who came to this same incredible place starting with Virgil and Caroline Bartlett in 1854.