"Birdsall, Smoke, and the Last Good Hour (with MacGregory Brook woven in)"

Birdsall House, Main Street at N. Division, Peekskill, NY

Less smoke in the air this early afternoon. After two days of breathing through that burning‑forest haze, I hid out at Peekskill Coffee House for a long stretch — coffee, quiet, the Flatiron’s old bones holding the day steady. I didn’t plan on going anywhere else. Birdsall House was a spur‑of‑the‑moment drift.

When I got there, I ran into a good friend from Whiskey — someone who always lifts the day a little, though I’ve never said that plainly until now. Birdsall is closing at the end of the month, which feels wrong for a place with that much history. Washington’s old tavern stood across the street; the marker mentions him, Benedict Arnold, and the old Birdsall Tavern. Peekskill keeps its ghosts close.

The artwork inside is all for sale now. I didn’t realize the guy with the big beard and tattooed biceps was the painter until my friend pointed him out. I kept staring at that big blue sun‑like piece. If I had $750 lying around, maybe I’d join the crowd and go into debt like everyone else.

Met Tyler for the first time — a native Peekskillian. I hate introductions. Everyone wants to know where you’re from, and my answer is always a small civil war. I’m tied to California, especially San Francisco, but I was born in South Carolina. Not Charleston, though that used to be the lie I told in the Bay Area. Sometimes I wish Charleston could secede from South Carolina and join Georgia or North Carolina — anything but the deep red state.

We talked about New Orleans, that city layered with culture on culture. It reminded me of the old quip: There are only three great cities in America — New York, San Francisco, and New Orleans. Everywhere else is Cleveland. Except maybe not Boston, Chicago, and Atlanta.

All of this unfolded over a smash burger, fries, a Goose Island IPA, and Birdsall’s mustard — so good it ruined every other mustard for me. Rock music rising, more people drifting in. We helped a couple from out of town figure out how to get to Central Avenue and back to the train. Told them to take the stairs by the new apartment building on Main for the best view of Peekskill. Then we laughed after they left, imagining them accidentally wandering toward Bohlmann Towers — the tall project perched over MacGregory Brook, the little stream that runs from the high hills, under downtown, and downhill toward the Hudson — and thinking they’d get mugged. Unlikely, but the joke sealed the moment into a good memory.
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I need to go back for the final hour before it’s all gone.

Hurricane
CaNNoNs