It’s Been a Year in the Catskills
It’s been a year since I started this project, though at the time it didn’t feel like a project so much as a slow, inevitable pull.
I didn’t come to the Catskills with a master plan. I came because something about it kept staying with me. The mountains. The weather. The way time stretches a little differently up here. Each visit made it harder to leave, and easier to imagine staying.
Eventually, that feeling turned into action.
What I love about the Catskills is that it doesn’t try to impress you all at once. It grows on you. The quiet. The way a cloudy day feels just as good as a sunny one. The sense that being outside is the main event, not a bonus.
I spent a lot of time driving around, walking properties, sitting still and paying attention. When I found the house, it felt less like a transaction and more like recognition. It had good bones, good light, and a feeling of calm that didn’t need explaining.
That was the start.
The first months were about listening to the house and figuring out what it needed to be comfortable year-round. Not trendy. Not flashy. Just solid, warm, and welcoming.
Every decision came back to the same question: would this feel good after a long day outside?
That thinking shaped everything. The way rooms flow. The textures. The lighting. The outdoor spaces. I wanted it to feel like a place where you could arrive tired and immediately exhale.
As the seasons changed, the house changed with them. Summer light gave way to fall color. Then winter arrived, and suddenly the rhythms were about snow, skiing, and coming back inside to warm up.
Being close to Hunter Mountain made that shift feel natural. Ski days followed by quiet evenings became the pattern, and the house settled into itself.
Opening the house to guests was the most vulnerable part.
Once people arrive, the space is no longer just yours. It becomes something shared. I paid close attention to how guests moved through it, where they lingered, what they commented on without being asked.
What stood out wasn’t a single feature. It was the feeling.
Guests talked about sleeping deeply. About how quiet it was at night. About sitting outside even when it was cold. About how the house made them slow down without trying to.
That’s when I knew the work had landed where it was supposed to.
A year in, this house feels less like something I’m managing and more like something I’m stewarding. It exists for people who want a few days of space. For skiers coming up for winter weekends. For couples who want quiet. For anyone who needs a reset that feels real, not curated.
Being in upstate New York, especially in this part of the Hudson Valley, reminds you that rest doesn’t have to be complicated. It just has to be intentional.
This past year taught me that places carry energy, and if you’re careful with them, they give something back.
If you stay here, you’re stepping into a year of attention, trial and error, and a lot of care. Not perfection. Just thoughtfulness.
And honestly, that’s exactly what I was hoping to share.
Winter Notes from Hunter, New Yoek: Living with a Wood-Burning Hot Tub in the Catskills
This is our first winter with our wood-burning hot tub made by Alumi Tubs, and I was honestly a little nervous about how it would go.
Hunter winters aren’t gentle. Snow piles up quickly, temperatures drop hard at night, and anything outdoors gets tested fast. I wasn’t sure how often guests would actually use the tub, or if it would end up being more aspirational than practical.
What’s surprised me is how consistently people use it.
Most guests have braved the snow at least once, easing into a long soak after a full day of skiing at Hunter Mountain. There’s a particular kind of quiet that settles in after dark here in the Catskills. The snow absorbs sound, the air feels thicker, and sitting in hot water while flakes fall around you feels almost unreal.
Some guests build a fire. Others don’t.
One thing I didn’t fully appreciate before this season is how nice it is that the tub also has a built-in heater. On nights when people don’t want to fuss with firewood, or after a long ski day when energy is low, they can still soak without thinking too much about it. That flexibility matters more than I expected.
What I’ve noticed is that guests tend to treat the hot tub like a pause button.
They ski all day.
They come back tired.
Then, at some point, they wander outside, snow boots crunching, steam already rising from the tub.
Sometimes they’re in there for ten minutes. Sometimes an hour.
No phones. No rush. Just warming back up.
Living in upstate New York, especially in winter, teaches you that comfort isn’t about luxury. It’s about contrast. Cold air makes hot water feel better. Darkness makes quiet feel deeper. A simple ritual can change the whole tone of a night.
This winter in Hunter has made that very clear.
The hot tub hasn’t felt like an amenity.
It’s felt like part of how people experience the Catskills, especially after skiing, when the body is tired and the mind finally slows down.
Snow, steam, mountains, silence.
That combination keeps showing up in guest photos and messages, even when no one is trying to describe it perfectly.