That’s What Friends Are For
I’m from New Jersey. And that is why I live in New York. I don’t particularly enjoy traveling to (or through) New Jersey, the few exceptions being Grounds For Sculpture in Hamilton, NJ, Central Avenue above 51st Street in Ocean City, NJ, visiting my fam for the holidays in the middle of nowhere, NJ, and—as of this weekend—lake house life with girlfriends in Branchville, NJ.
Frozen lake view, 📸 February 2025
I think as humans, we are made for four-season climate lakeside living. Beyond the obvious elemental quality, lakes provide an compelling medley of year-round activities. When I envision ideal lake life, I picture late-summer dense greenery and small boats and people swimming through twinkling water (hello, Berlin), where everything is active and very much alive. The lake we stayed on this past weekend was polar opposite—frozen and covered in snow. Silent, still, dormant.
But that turned out to be just fine. More than fine. The view from the lake house—and the hot tub (I’d be remiss not to mention the hot tub)—was exceptionally beautiful, serene, even amusing, watching a spectrum of nothingness to locals peppered around the lake making the most of the icy conditions, zigzagging in broad strokes across the frozen body of water, snowmobiling, biking, jogging, dog-walking. When you’ve got a lake, you best use it all year long.
The weekend reading cadre, 📸 February 2025
The six of us traveled from our various pockets of the world, with two flying into JFK and one Amtraking to Moynihan Train Hall, all converging at Oslo Coffee for quick a cafe and round of tight, elated welcome hugs before packing into an SUV and setting out for our Airbnb destination.
The sole plan for the weekend was to read. To spread out around the house however we pleased, noses in books of our own choosing. And my god, how we spread and read like NJ ice queens—on the couch, the floor, the porch (respect), under blankets, in rocking chairs, beside the fireplace. Cozied up with cups of tea and coffee, glasses of port and bubbles, e-readers, paperbacks, and bookmarks aplenty, with oodles of conversation and cooking in the moments between. Aka heaven.
This morning—the morning after our lovely, unforgettable weekend getaway—I woke up with “That’s What Friends Are For” playing in my head. It’s a song from The Jungle Book, sung by a quartet of English "mop top" vultures. It's one of my favs:
So you can see
(We're friends in need)
We're friends in need
And friends in need
Are friends indeed!
(Are friends indeed!)
We'll keep you safe in the jungle forevermore
That's what friends are for!
The cadre on their way to live, love, lake, 📸 February 2025
I’ve known these bitches for 15 years. Five of the six women I met at my first job out of college as a broke, annoying young adult. How lucky am I, to have made such strong and sure bonds so early in life. Bridges, borders, and oceans be damned; whenever reunited, we pick up right where we left off, falling into the easiest of rhythms, never missing a beat. It’s really something special, and I’m grateful it’s mine.