Stop number four on the trip and, ohh wow, what a stop — The Bennett School for Girls. I admit to getting a little (lot) excited about some of these places, but I don’t think I had swooned quite so much, over a location on the trip, as I did here. It was the exterior that captured my imagination — the interior was fun but nothing compared to the outside. Even from a mile away it was just incredible. Perched atop a grassy hilltop stood the majestic but decaying school, which can only be described as the perfect set for a Hollywood horror movie. 

We planned The Bennett School as our last stop before heading into New York for New Year’s Eve. I can’t recall, now, what made us swap Hudson Valley Psych. for the school.  I think it was the impending snow storm, and a “what do you want more, if we have to not do one” kind of thing. I think it was also a case of Poughkeepsie being closer to New York than Millbrook, whatever, we swapped days, and I am so glad we did, I wouldn’t have missed the school for anything.

I know the decision must have taken a long time—all our decisions take a long time. To an outsider we would be the most exhausting pair of women to listen to. Our conversations generally go along the lines of, “well, what do you think?” “I don’t know, what do you think?” Well, what do you want to do? “Well, I don’t know, what do you want to do?” “You make the decision.” “No, you make the decision.”  This kind of conversation can sometimes go on for 20 minutes. In hindsight it’s amazing we actually ever get into anywhere let alone take any photos, or for that matter ever eat—restaurant decisions take even longer—and usually result in no decision, followed by an hours silence, followed by severe hunger pangs which drive us to give in to another round of decision making.

At Bennett, however, I wasn’t buying into our inevitable and circuitous should we, shouldn’t we bullshit—I was going in, that was it. And so our first and only and very minor disagreement of the trip occurred. I should be more respectful of other people’s hunches, I respect my own, but sometimes I, maybe, suffer from a little tunnel vision when I really want to do something. My fellow explorer developed her first case of “I don’t think we should do this one.” She was convinced the school was leaning in on itself from both sides and would collapse around us. I think maybe she was just over-tired.

I didn’t even volunteer to begin a will we, won’t we discussion. I simply, in an exasperated tone, stated, “fine, go back to the hotel room, I’ll call you when I’m done and you can come and get me." Of course this didn’t work. If I was going in she was going in—but ohh man the whining—I think the 20-minute decision making process is less torturous. To her credit she did apologize at the end of the day. And I was right—lo and behold the building didn’t collapse around us. My theory is this: if it’s been there 100 plus years and it’s still standing the odds of it collapsing on the day we’re there must be slim. I’ll take my chances. It’s gotta be safer than taking 95 home, late, on a Saturday night.

So, the Bennett School, where to start the story, I guess with our unexpected but very sweet visitors. But I’ll leave that until next time. I have photos calling me.

A friend of mine said to me when I started this blog, "it’s hard to find time and stay committed, think about it before you start." I was my usual, it won’t be a problem self. But it actually is really hard. I want to finish the Pines Resort story because I said I would.  But work is so busy—too busy—I’m not even getting my photo galleries done. If I have to choose between blogging and photos—photos win. But I do want to at least complete the Pines day of our trip. 

If you’re a reader of this blog you’ll know I like the funny moments stuff. I occasionally digress, but not often.

The residential and recreation areas of the Pines are joined by very long, very wide walkways, bordered on either side by large windows. We were photographing one of these walkways when we encountered our first visitors of the day.

The grounds surrounding the resort were a mix of sheer ice and snow. I heard the spinning of tire upon ice, not the usual inner city, “I have to concentrate and get out” spinning. But very aggressive “I’m gonna burn my clutch/transmission out” spinning. It was very loud and very desperate. Next came the clanging and banging of metal falling. I immediately went into my 007 mode—get down, hide now! I am so ridiculously not spy material I make my self laugh. But I read too much Nancy Drew as a kid, and I’m having so much fun doing this I might as well be ridiculous.

So, as we nervously peeped out from the walkway—our noses barely above the windowsill—we encountered our first scrappers of the trip. Their truck had a trailer attached and it was full of their acquired stash: copper pipes, stainless steel, maybe some porcelain, anything worth stealing /selling. And they were stuck and losing their loot. They eventually became unstuck and floored it out of the place. We were relieved to see them leave.

We didn’t, however, hear or see them return. But while we were photographing the outdoor pool complex we became aware of the sound of hammer pounding steel, or crow bar or whatever it is these pathetic scavengers use to desecrate other people’s property, begin to taunt us. We watched from the outdoor pool complex as they completed another load and left. We wondered if they would return. The grounds became silent once again.

I don’t think we were the only ones who heard the constant noise throughout the day, as our next visitors were the police. Maybe neighbors called them, who knows? I doubt they do a regular drive through of a deserted complex. But trust me, on a scale of one to ten, the thought of talking my way out of what I’m doing with police versus scrappers, well the scrappers win hands down. I probably wouldn’t even talk to scrappers— I’d just run like hell. 

We had made our way into what was once the entertainment complex when I spotted them. I was up on the stage area, drooling over the sunlight beaming in, when I saw red and blue flashing lights. You guessed it—007 mode. Get down, NOW, it’s cops. This is all yelled in a whisper (I know I can’t yell in a whisper, but I try) combined with exaggerated hand gesturing to my exploring partner. I swear she would not make it a minute doing this on her own. She’s totally oblivious. I admit to being preoccupied when I’m taking photos, but I have explored and photographed alone so often I have learned to become acutely aware of every sound and shadow. She is so blissfully unaware I could kill her sometimes. Thank goodness she responds well to my 007 antics.

We hid. The police continued their search for the scrappers. I lost concentration for 30 mins and missed out on some great light. But at the end of the day we waltzed right out of the Pines—just like we had Middletown Hospital and Wheatsworth Mill—three down, two to go, and my lucky exploring charm seemed to be still in place. Ya gotta love it!

Nothing came to mind song title wise for our next stop, the Pines Resort in South Fallsburg, so I give in; I’m back to regular entry titles. I don’t often write two nights in a row, (I struggle with once a week) but I’ve had such a rotten day at work I figured if I thought about all the fun I had at the Pines, and wrote about it, maybe I would stop thinking about work. And I just don’t feel like doing photos (which I do every chance I get), because apparently, according to someone at my place of employment, I’m not very good at anything creative I do. But as I don’t write for work I at least have the freedom to do this without feeling inadequate.

I shouldn’t say it’s work I’m upset about, it’s not work, I love my job, I really do, I’m one of the lucky ones and I’m very grateful. It’s just one person, and sometimes it only takes one to ruin your day. There are some things people say, which are completely unjustified, and for which, I believe, I understand the uncalled for motivation. But I am struggling to excuse it, and I’m hurt. If there’s one thing that makes me really, really mad—crazy mad—it’s injustice. I did not deserve today, or rather what was bitterly said about me today, and which I heard about second-hand. But I’m supposed to be brightening myself up with Pines Resort memories. So I shall do just that whilst reminding myself there is Karma—and she’ll get hers.

So the Pines—wow! I don’t think I can remember one place, over the past year or so, which amazed me more at every turn. Initially, I was a little disappointed. I think we both were.  I thought to myself uhh ohh this is just going to be an abandoned hotel complex. Massive, but with lots and lots of identical rooms and identical halls; I wasn’t sure we were going to find anything of interest. How wrong I was. Talk about a diamond in the rough.

After our initial investigation of the paint ball ravaged reception area, and the repetitive rooms and halls, we discovered a wonderland of photographic possibilities. The further into the various buildings we explored the more excited I became. I feel very saddened by the damage the paint ball warriors have caused, but also fascinated by the colors the paint created and the reflections on the ice-covered floors the spatters manifested themselves into. I despise what vandals do, and I think vandalism is so very wrong and senseless—but at the Pines it made for some amazing shots. So, as with most things in my life I’m really torn between two possibilities—the Pines pre-paintball and the Pines post-paintball—I wish I’d had the opportunity to photograph both.

I don’t think I have ever said, “wow, come look at this,” so often, to my fellow explorer. I was fascinated by the indoor pool then went outside and was even more fascinated by the outdoor pool, which had become a solid sheet of ice, surrounded by broken, rotting and buckled deckchairs. Now, when I say fascinated, I mean fascinated by the light falling on them and the feeling you get when you see a thing that you have never seen in an abandoned state before.  I’ve seen countless indoor and outdoor pools (so has everyone) but not like this—not completely forgotten and discarded and unusable for their originally intended purposes.

There’s so much more to say about the Pines, we found so much more, (I can’t tell it will spoil the next entry) we almost ran into scrappers, we hid from the police, so the adventure is far from over. And the memories make me smile, but I have run out of word space (again) so, I’ll break my rule again, (I love breaking rules) and say to be continued…. It’s also late and I have the day from hell ahead tomorrow.

Ohh, to be back in South Fallsburg taking photos.

I couldn’t think of a song title for this entry so I went with an album title instead (I will stop this song thing, it will only last for the NY trip entries). I don’ t know if an album title counts but it sure felt like there was something interfering with what we were trying to do at our next stop— Middletown Psychiatric Center— hence the title

I am not into ghosts. I don’t explore abandoned buildings so I can run into them—I just want to take photos. Some people do deliberately ghost hunt, I am not one of them. I have absolutely no desire to run into anything that will spook me anymore than I spook myself when I’m inside these places. I have many beliefs, and I don’t disbelieve in ghosts, but I don’t think they’re gonna jump out and bite me either.

So, now, back to Middletown Psychiatric Center and its, possible, ghosts.  Once inside we encountered very hot and freezing cold rooms (right next door to each other). We suffered lens fog that seemed like frustratingly more than just lens fog. We had battery issues. You name it—we had it. I am not even going to try and explain it and nor am I going to go into all the details, but it was tough—it was probably a “ghost in the machine.” Good for the ghost, it probably thinks it won—it didn’t, we did—we have photos.

I think camera, problem, wise it was the toughest shoot I’ve had. Even the back-up camera I had tucked, safely, away in the camera bag didn’t want to participate once I needed to call on it. I had two screwed up cameras. I was not happy. I wasn’t really spooked at the time, well maybe a little, but I was as frustrated as all hell.

We only explored one building of, what I hadn’t known was, a multi-abandoned- building campus. I don’t have any desire to go back and explore any more of the campus. One of the many things I believe in is energy, and this place has bad energy. I’d revisit anywhere else on our trip—but not this one. Some things are better left alone.

In all honesty, I went to Middletown because I knew there were coffins in the basement. And come hell or high water I was going to take coffin photos (much to my exploring partner’s dismay). I didn’t have any shots like that from anywhere I’d been (I do have morgues) and there was something morbidly exciting about the whole idea of coffins. In reality they weren't morbidly exciting, or any other sort of exciting—they were just plain distressing. I’m not the big tough urban explorer I think I am. I’m just me, and I’m a woos (according to my exploring partner I'm really girly, so go figure, with what I do, who would ever have thought). But, anyway things like coffins distress me, and death scares the hell out of me, so I don’t know why I try to get close to it— photographically— or challenge it, or do any of the dumb ass things I do—but I do what I do (to many peoples dismay). Perhaps, I just want to make peace with it before it gets me, who knows. It’s one of those things I think is a good idea to not think too much about.

I did find a book, though! I do love books, passionately, and it was a 1903 copy of Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, with the gold leaf and leather binding, and the most beautiful illustrations—it was just incredible—but mouldy beyond belief, and completely worthless in its deteriorated state. I carried it all the way out of the dark, evil basement, containing the coffins, with every intention of taking it with me.

I accidently left it behind—somewhere.

Middletown Psychiatric Center was a good place to leave behind too—forever.