Beacon, New York

Beacon is one of those cities that either is closed on Mondays or (quite admirably) honors Martin Luther King Jr. day, perhaps both. Whatever the case, a day trip on the holiday I recommend if only you are humored by the discovery a majority of businesses are closed. In the event you are open to this experience, I reckon there is fulfilling value in both (1) noting places you would enjoy visiting in the future and (2) seizing the opportunity to stroll with a contemplative, curious spirit.

The river town feels distinct, far from the metropolitan New York City. Constituted primarily by a single stretch of commerce on the aptly named, “Main Street,” the vibe is comparable to Stillwater’s relationship to the Twin Cities. Two identical signs tout the city’s history, one outside city hall and one obscurely set on a narrow, snow-covered shoulder where the road bends just prior to a dead end. The primary themes seem to be gratitude for the geography, pride in the significance of the location during the revolutionary war, and an embrace of the present; I notice an electric car charging station just beyond the sign at city hall.

On what feels like a particularly calm day, I’m reminded of my time in Aguilar de Campoo where I felt like the locals knew I was visiting before they saw me; and when they did see me, they know I was a visitor. Akin to the small Spanish village, the citizens are friendly save for a few who are hard at work shoveling snow who, while not overtly kind, pause to acknowledge my passing. I am surprised to be confronted by two people asking for a dollar; both accepting, unchanged when I politely decline, expressing I do not have any cash.

I count three gas stations and three coffee roasters, adjacent a series of boutique shops, galleries, restaurants, and cafes. Aside from a Verizon, Compass Real Estate, and (New York or at least Northeast based?) Key Foods, I gather the place is entirely local.

At a plant-forward cafe (I qualify as the place is not exclusively “plant-based” yet flexes only into vegetarian territory), I sit at a communal table with a couple, their daughter, and I infer a family friend. The friend broke a borrowed item and the couple is very forgiving, assuring the thing was already cracked (I missed and cannot figure out the object they’re discussing). I reckon they do not realize I am journaling about them, let alone eavesdropping. Or does the convention go, “eavesdropping, let along journaling,” I don’t know. Lovely people.

The vegan tempeh reuben is fabulous: flavorful, creamy, crunchy. After losing my taste and smell for what I feared would be an eternity and what fortunately ended up being just a few days last month (covid, yes, and after some shame followed by self-forgiveness, I now bask in my “superhuman immunity”), I am especially appreciative of my senses. Waiting for the wash room (the fourth on my visit to Beacon) I am alerted I accidentally turned off some lights, leaning against the panel on the wall. True to the shared spirit, the teammate is friendly, forgiving.

Further confirming any suspicion I am a tourist — or rather, unveiling any mask I attempt to blend in — I dash in full stride to the station, determined to defy the “26 minute walk” my maps app predicts to make the train due in fifteen minutes. Mid-sprint I pause to capture a few more photographs. In doing so, I realize a few stores I thought previously closed on Mondays or specifically this MLK Day are open, I just was too early upon my first pass. Through my work, I have learned (my colleagues and I joke with some sincerity), “no one reads.” Despite boasting this sentiment, I am not exempt from the mantra: I did not care to look past “closed” at the hours of any of these businesses.

I arrive at the tracks with a few minutes to spare. Make that three identical signs touting the city’s history: I notice a another at the train station.

The approximately ninety-minute ride makes for a great time to reflect and refine these notes. With a forecast of rain and snow, I am overjoyed the sun graced my morning and only harmless clouds rolled in this afternoon. About six hours total was ample and I’m glad I caught this train. I wrap feeling fulfilled with the round-trip, thirty-five dollar ticket, coffee and chocolate purchases, curation of photos and videos, introspection and notes, and the greater journey. As we approach Grand Central Terminal, I feel at peace; grateful to be living here, now, in this life, in this reality.

A Thrillist piece inspired today’s venture, rejoicing Beacon is the “Best Cultural Getaway.” Defending the title, authors Lauren Matison and Kemi Ibeh share, “once an old factory town, Beacon has completely remade itself into both an art and food destination.” In their article titled, “The 13 Best Weekend Getaways Within 5 Hours of NYC,” the two go on to offer, “Beacon is famous for its street art scene so as you amble the mile-long Main Street, look out for street art depicting social justice, food, nature, and even the odd sculpture.”