#Neversink

[whereifindsanity]

Brian Masney: Neversink Pit in Alabama.

[travelella]

Neversink, New York, USA

Clay Banks

[belghast]

Sitting In The Waiting Room - Talking about the wait for Last Epoch Tombs of the Erased, creating a custom filter, new POE2 filter from Neversink, and the Mastodon Hunters

[xd33rx]

[readsofawe]

#readsofawe photo challenge: Apples and Honey

The Hotel Neversink is a Catskills Gothic about several generations of a Jewish family and their relationship to the hotel they run, their secrets, and one another.

[whatpandorasaw]

Neversink Pit, Jackson County, Alabama, USA

[doodleferp]

stormy night (cryptid!Vash x oc)

When Ari takes an ill-advised trip to the woods, she wakes up somewhere she definitely didn't fall asleep with a person she definitely doesn't recognize. Except...it's not a person. In a way.

Based off my cryptid Vash sketches! This AU isn't made for any specific Vash, so feel free to imagine whichever Vash you want! Neversink Cave is the closest idea I had of the one that Vash lives in, so look that up if you want a better idea of the environment we’re in.

EDIT 2025: Please note that this fic has now been retconned due to changes in my OC and the continuity of the AU.

triggers: uncanny valley, technical kidnapping

When Ari had fallen asleep that night, she had intended to spend a night in the forest as a part of her Environmental Science project. What she didn’t intend was to wake up in total darkness, soaking wet and covered in grime, with her travel bag, sleeping bag and the clothes on her back.

She groaned to herself and tried to climb out of her sleeping back, grimacing when her hands touched the wet stone floor. Her eyes were still adjusting, so she could only make out large amorphous blobs. But she definitely knew she was in a cave. If she had to guess, she was somewhere near Juneora Rock, which not only had some lovely waterfalls, but a large, deep cave that had been nicknamed “The Pit”. It was a long, long ways down, and people had definitely gotten themselves killed when they used improper techniques or climbed during wet conditions-

Ari was startled by a loud clap of thunder, and she groaned aloud. Of course. The fucking storm. She knew there was going to be a really bad storm this week, but she was so sure she’d been able to beat it. Of course. Fucking weather. No wonder she’d run and fallen asleep in a cave.

…wait.

Had she?

She didn’t remember getting up, nor did she remember sprinting through a storm to the nearest shelter she could find. So how the hell did she get here? In The Pit of all places?

Every hair stood on end as a strange sound echoed through the cave. It was vaguely human, but it sounded more like an animal.

Ari jolted upright and her eyes darted around the cave. And a horrible realization hit her. If she didn’t know she got down here, then that meant something had dragged her out of her tent and carried her here. More importantly, it meant she couldn’t get back out.

Another sound rang through the dark. A loud, clicking trill. Ari looked in the direction of the sound and froze, her heart dropping into her stomach.

A pair of bright-blue eyes shone in the darkness, leering at her from afar.

There was something else here.

The blob surrounding them was definitely human shaped, but something was wrong about it. It was too tall and too thin to be another person. But the way the eyes watched her felt too intelligent to just be an animal. 

Slow, methodical footfalls bounced off the walls of the cave as the eyes drew closer. Ari tried to scramble away, but there was only so much wall she could see in the dark. Suddenly, the footfalls stopped. Ari looked back, only to find the bright-blue eyes directly in front of her.

Oh, fuck.

A large hand took hers and held them up to the eyes. A soft hum echoed through the cave, causing her to jolt once again. Then, the eyes inspected her other hand, the head tilting in the darkness as a light trill echoed through the cave.

As the creature was preoccupied with her left hand, Ari’s right hand dove out of sight. She dug through her pocket, silently screaming for her keychain to be intact. The moment she felt the familiar fabric of the lanyard, she grasped for anything that felt round and metallic. Bingo.

Ari whipped out the keychain, pointing the flashlight directly at the eyes. The creature’s eyes slammed shut and it let out a squawk of terror as she blinded it, scrambling to get back into the darkness of the cave.

Ari scrambled back against the cave wall, pointing the flashlight in the direction of the sound. And as her eyes adjusted, they were in awe of what they’d found.

It was a man. Or rather, it was trying to look like a man. Gangly limbs that were far too long to be normal. A head of the brightest hair she’d ever seen. A long, lanky silver body riddled with scars, missing patches of skin, and dull markings. A large pair of wings wrapped around its upper body, that didn’t look like they were made of feathers.

The man-thing stayed at the other end of the cave, hunched over and trembling as it rubbed its eyes. After a few tense moments, it looked back at her. It looked like something out of Avatar. Breathtaking inhuman eyes, symmetrical markings on its face, and a pair of sharp fangs peeking out of its mouth.

When it seemed absolutely certain that she wasn’t going to attack, the man-thing slowly moved its body to face hers. Ari couldn't stop her eyes from wandering, and they quickly found the stub where its left arm should’ve been. The man-thing noticed her staring and immediately shied away, cradling its stub to its body and turning away from her.

The word “Don’t,” had left Ari’s mouth before she could stop herself. The man-thing tilted its head, letting out a confused chirp. “I-I mean…it’s okay. You don’t gotta hide.” Ari looked at the cave ceiling, trying in vain to find any sort of exit. “I mean, we’re gonna be down here for a while,” she chuckled.

There was a resounding thunderclap from outside, causing the two of them to jolt. Ari looked back over at the man-thing, who was now visibly shaking. “You, uh…ya don’t like storms, huh?”

The man-thing locked eyes with her from over its wings. Slowly, it shook its head.

“Yeah,” Ari agreed. “I don’t really like ‘em either. Rain’s fun and all, but also, like, no.”

Ari tried to stand, grasping around the cave wall for some support. She shone the flashlight around the cave, and, admittedly, was surprised at what she saw. Near the back of the cave, there was a large pile of what appeared to be old blankets and sleeping bags. There was an almost-shelf sitting near the pile, upon which rested a large pair of sunglasses, an ancient-looking burlap sack, and what appeared to be a hand-crafted prosthetic arm.

Unlike the other items, the arm was soaking wet. And, Ari realized, so was the man-thing.

“Did you bring me back here by yourself?” she asked.

Slowly, the man-thing nodded.

Ari felt something weird in her stomach. Guilt? Anxiety? “Thank you,” she said. “I probably would’ve bit it if it wasn’t for you.”

The man-thing appeared to relax a bit, but he still kept away. 

She frowned. “I guess I’ll have to sleep here. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to find a way out.”

The man-thing trilled excitedly. He ran over to her and scooped her up with his single arm, nuzzling her face and clicking excitedly. “Ack!” Ari exclaimed, taken aback by his sudden shift in demeanor. “Uh, hey, take it easy, buddy! I’m not a toy!”

The man-thing carried her across the cave, plopping them both down in the pile of fabrics. Though the dirt and grime on the fabrics made Ari’s stomach turn, they were still much more welcome than the cold, gross cave floor. The man-thing sat cross-legged behind her, but his legs were so long that she was effectively trapped between them.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness in the grody nest, Ari finally realized how much bigger the man-thing was than her. It looked like he had at least a couple feet on her. The way his wings suddenly began to unfurl made him look even larger. But his face wasn’t…as creepy as she’d first seen it. He had the face of a young man not much older than her, with smooth skin and gentle cheekbones. Most curiously, she spotted a small beauty mark under his left eye. If he’d been human and able to communicate, he’d be very attractive.

The man-thing was very aware of her staring, because he puffed up his chest and shook his wings, letting out a jubilant chirp. Ari wouldn’t keep herself from chuckling, and the man-thing’s smile blossomed into a childish grin.

Ari couldn’t stop the smile from appearing on her face. “So, uh,” she asked. “D-do you have a name?” The man-thing tilted his head, seemingly confused by her question. “I mean, we’re gonna be here a little bit. We should get to know each other.”

The man-thing straightened up a bit. He crawled over to a small hole near the nest and started fiddling with something inside. His wings were large enough to block her view, so she couldn’t do much but sit and wait for him to turn back around. When he finally did, he was holding a small set of dog tags on a simple beaded chain.

She strained to take a closer look at the tags. They looked absolutely ancient, and somehow had been kept in very good care since they were last worn. On what she assumed to be the uppermost tag, she could make out a single word etched into the material.

Vash.

“Huh,” she muttered. “I guess your name is Vash.”

Vash cooed softly, a smile coming to his face. He turned back around and put the tags back where he had left them. Then he crawled back over to her, circling around her twice before falling onto the nest. He didn’t close his eyes, no. That would be too normal. Instead, he laid his head directly on her body and stared directly at her face, big blue eyes glowing in the darkness as his chest rumbled with purrs.

Ari sighed wearily and laid down in the nest. The purrs were helpful for helping her relax, but it wasn’t really much in the long haul. It was cold and creepy down in this cave, and she couldn’t fall asleep knowing the man-thing was watching her like a hawk.

She closed her eyes and tried to forget she was there. In her mind, she was in her comfortably-shitty dorm room, typing away on her laptop while she snuggled with her dog-shaped pillow and played Say Yes to the Dress: Atlanta in the background. She tried to pay attention to the rain outside and not the incessant purrs of the man-thing laying on her chest. Not that the weight and vibrations weren’t a comforting sensation. She just wasn’t used to it.

Don’t worry, she assured herself. Morning will come. You can go home soon.

Ari sighed in her sleep, and tried to picture herself anywhere but here.

-*-

Vash watched the human’s body start to relax as she finally drifted off to sleep. It was a good thing he’d taken her before the storm hit. She would’ve been killed if he hadn’t come along. He knew Mama would’ve been very upset with him for stealing a human directly out of their nest. She’d have scolded him something terrible and refused him doughnuts for weeks after.

But this is different, he insisted. She wasn’t safe out there. He hoped deep down that Mama would understand. Wherever she had gone.

He still didn’t know.

He tilted his head, trying to shake out the sad thoughts with the presence of his new friend. She didn’t seem terribly afraid of him, but his rational side urged him to keep his guard up. He knew from experience that humans weren’t the most welcoming creatures. No matter what he tried, they would always run away.

But this one felt different to him. He felt drawn to her in some way. He didn’t know why, but something deep inside him, something deep inside him told him that this human would be an exceptional mate. 

He lifted himself off of her, shifting in the nest so he could lay his head next to hers. His unblinking eyes stared at her face. So gentle. So peaceful.

She was even more beautiful up close.

Vash snuggled closer and reached for her hand, his fingers gently tracing her knuckles. Her hands were so small, so soft compared to his. He couldn’t see any blemishes or calluses on them, but he could tell that her figure was much more full than the humans he’d seen before. Clearly, her frolick had done an amazing job taking care of her -- she’d been able to eat plenty without having to lift a finger to forage for herself. He had no doubt that someone would’ve claimed her, and he couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw that both her hands were bare.

His mate must’ve been accustomed to not foraging, so he would have to work even harder to find enough food for them both. The nest was big enough for him on his own, but he’d have to make it larger to give them both room to spread. Since she had no wings, he wouldn’t have to worry about her wandering out of the den and getting hurt. The rocks and weather would be problems, though. But he could handle that. And if something else came, he would fight it off. He was big and strong. He could protect her.

His wings unfurled and wrapped around them both as he closed his hand protectively over hers.

Yes.

He would protect her.

c. doodleferp, 2023. please do not steal or repost.

[regisafoster]

Port Jervis, New York - A Historic Canal and Railroad Transport Hub

With roots as a pre-automobile transportation hub, Port Jervis, New York, is a historic burgh with a history of colonial settlement extending to the 1690s. Northeast of New York City, it’s situated amidst the fertile valleys of the Delaware and Neversink River systems. The valleys mark the boundary between the Appalachian Plateau and Shawangunk Mountains, and hundreds of miles of state and nationally-managed recreational lands surround it.

Initially known as Carpenter’s Point, Port Jervis was a landing point for timber raftsmen who plied the upper Delaware River. It was also a stop on the Old Mine Road, the country’s first 100-mile road (now United States Route 209), which took travelers south from Kingston.

Carpenter’s Point was incorporated into Deerpark in 1798. The locale was named Port Jervis in 1827, and it officially became a port of the Delaware River and Hudson Canal in 1828. As a repair point and boat basin, it formed an essential station on a 171-mile-long transportation network that brought anthracite coal from Pennsylvania’s northeastern mountains to New England and New York City. The name was in honor of the Hudson Canal’s chief engineer, John B. Jervis, from Rome, New York.

In 1847, Port Jervis became a hub for railroad operations and grew to house a main engine terminal facility while serving as the Delaware Division of the Erie Railroad’s headquarters. This property included the railroad’s primary maintenance and yard facilities.

Port Jervis officially became a village in 1853 and ultimately incorporated as a city in 1907. In the late 19th century, several glass factories began business, and an influx of employees producing glassware, silk, gloves, shorts, mittens, and saws moved in. The railroad yards and light manufacturing shops were a major part of the local economy through the 1960s.

Today, tourism is the mainstay of Port Jervis, with historic Front Street featuring eateries, a bookshop, antique shops, and other small businesses. The well-marked Delaware River Heritage Trail provides a walking tour of various gardens, historical structures, and an exceptional view of the Delaware River.

Among the well-preserved sites worth exploring is Fort Decker, a stone house on West Main Street that was initially constructed in 1760 and burnt by Joseph Brant alongside Native American allies in a 1779 raid during the Revolutionary War. Serving as the Minisink Valley Historical Society museum, Martinus Decker rebuilt the house in 1793 and used it as a tavern and hotel during the years of the Delaware and Hudson Canal construction. Indeed, John B. Jervis stayed at the location while engineering the canal.

Another historic remnant is the Port Jervis turntable, which comprises a circular area with a 115-foot diameter and a bridge. Able to carry a weight of more than 440 tons or a locomotive loaded with coal and water, the turntable is the largest that still operates nationwide.

Befitting its status as a scenic tourist destination, Port Jervis offers several popular events each year, including the Fall Foliage Festival, for which volunteers place 50 corn stalks on light poles decorating Pike and Front Streets. There are also popular holiday events such as the Downtown Spooktacular and the Chriskindlmarkt, with the latter featuring horse and carriage rides and traditional juggling as entertainment.

[coffeebarnllc]

🎉🎉Come join us at this awesome festival 🎉🎉

So much delicious😋😋 food 🥫🥣🥨🍓🍕🍨🍦🥞🥘 can't get enough❤️❤️

Country music it's live 🎼🎸

517 Neversink Dr Port Jervis NY

#coffee #coffeebarn # Coffee Barn LLC ☕

[rockislandadultreads]

Read-Alike Friday: Hang the Moon by Jeannette Walls

Gods of Howl Mountain by Taylor Brown

Bootlegger Rory Docherty has returned home to the fabled mountain of his childhood - a misty wilderness that holds its secrets close and keeps the outside world at gunpoint. Slowed by a wooden leg and haunted by memories of the Korean War, Rory runs bootleg whiskey for a powerful mountain clan in a retro-fitted '40 Ford coupe. Between deliveries to roadhouses, brothels, and private clients, he lives with his formidable grandmother, evades federal agents, and stokes the wrath of a rival runner.

In the mill town at the foot of the mountains - a hotbed of violence, moonshine, and the burgeoning sport of stock-car racing - Rory is bewitched by the mysterious daughter of a snake-handling preacher. His grandmother, Maybelline “Granny May” Docherty, opposes this match for her own reasons, believing that "some things are best left buried." A folk healer whose powers are rumored to rival those of a wood witch, she concocts potions and cures for the people of the mountains while harboring an explosive secret about Rory’s mother - the truth behind her long confinement in a mental hospital, during which time she has not spoken one word. When Rory's life is threatened, Granny must decide whether to reveal what she knows...or protect her only grandson from the past.

The Bourbon Kings by J.R. Ward

For generations, the Bradford family has worn the mantle of kings of the bourbon capital of the world. Their sustained wealth has afforded them prestige and privilege—as well as a hard-won division of class on their sprawling estate, Easterly. Upstairs, a dynasty that by all appearances plays by the rules of good fortune and good taste. Downstairs, the staff who work tirelessly to maintain the impeccable Bradford facade. And never the twain shall meet.

For Lizzie King, Easterly’s head gardener, crossing that divide nearly ruined her life. Falling in love with Tulane, the prodigal son of the bourbon dynasty, was nothing that she intended or wanted—and their bitter breakup only served to prove her instincts were right. Now, after two years of staying away, Tulane is finally coming home again, and he is bringing the past with him. No one will be left unmarked: not Tulane’s beautiful and ruthless wife; not his older brother, whose bitterness and bad blood know no bounds; and especially not the ironfisted Bradford patriarch, a man with few morals, fewer scruples, and many, many terrible secrets.

As family tensions—professional and intimately private—ignite, Easterly and all its inhabitants are thrown into the grips of an irrevocable transformation, and only the cunning will survive.

This is the first volume of “The Bourbon Kings” series.

The Hotel Neversink by Adam O’Fallon Price

Thirty-one years after workers first broke ground, the magnificent Hotel Neversink in the Catskills finally opens to the public. Then a young boy disappears.

This mysterious vanishing—and the ones that follow—will brand the lives of three generations. At the root of it all is Asher Sikorsky, the ambitious and ruthless patriarch whose purchase of the hotel in 1931 set a haunting legacy into motion. His daughter Jeanie sees the Hotel Neversink into its most lucrative era, but also its darkest. Decades later, Asher's grandchildren grapple with the family’s heritage in their own ways: Len fights to keep the failing, dilapidated hotel alive, and Alice sets out to finally uncover the murderer’s identity.

Told by a chorus of Sikorsky family members—a matriarch, a hotel maid, a traveling comedian, the hotel detective, and many others—The Hotel Neversink is the portrait of a Jewish family in the Catskills over the course of a century.

The Roanoke Girls by Amy Engel

Lane Roanoke is fifteen when she comes to live with her grandparents and fireball cousin at the Roanoke family's rural estate following the suicide of her mother. Over one long, hot summer, Lane experiences the benefits of being one of the rich and beautiful Roanoke girls.

But what she doesn't know is being a Roanoke girl carries a terrible legacy: either the girls run, or they die. For there is darkness at the heart of Roanoke, and when Lane discovers its insidious pull, she must make her choice...

[deanturtle]

Welcome aboard the HMS.SmoothSailing, I’m your captain, Captain Neversinks.

hold on sorry you're telling me the name of the boat was "the terror"?? i always assumed that was a retroactive name! did they WANT things to go horrifically awry???

obsessed with the implication that nominative determinism could have saved them

[finishinglinepress]

FLP CHAPBOOK OF THE DAY: Views from the Lanai by Patricia Barry

On SALE: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/views-from-the-lanai-by-patricia-barry/

When poet Patricia Barry moves from New York City to Palm Coast, Florida, she is overwhelmed by the iconic #wildlife, particularly the magnificent #birds, which she observes from the #lanai behind her new home. In these deeply felt and intricately described poems, she reveals how her familiarity with osprey, herons, ibis, and the varieties of flora and fauna educates and awakens her senses. With #Nature as her primary teacher, Barry gradually overcomes feelings of dislocation and isolation in the time of COVID and beyond. Her journey of #exploration and #self-discovery leads her to embrace this once-strange habitat as #home. #poetry

Patricia Barry belongs to a long-term writing group that blossomed from noted author Madeleine L’Engle’s workshops; the group continues to meet, virtually now. She has a B.A. in English from Central Connecticut State University and a J.D. from St. John’s University School of Law. Her love of writing and the law led her to New York City where, for thirty-three years, her practice encompassed writing appellate briefs in the workers’ compensation field. In 2018, she and her husband, Robert, retired to Palm Coast, Florida. There, inspired by native wildlife—especially the many birds—viewed from her home’s lanai, she writes poems and essays full time. As Nature opened her heart, mind, and senses to adapt to an entirely new environment, her hope is that this poetry chapbook may inspire and uplift others in their daily lives. Some of her poems have appeared in St. Anthony Messenger; The Palm Coast Observer; and Of Poets and Poetry, a publication of the Florida State Poets Association.

PRAISE FOR Views from the Lanai by Patricia Barry

“Flame-feathered cardinals. Herons stretching their wings. A sheer blue sky reflected in a still pond. The soft sounds of rain. Through Patricia Barry’s wise and inspired poetry, we come to love what she loves. Join Patricia on her lanai, and allow her to escort you into her luminous and ever-changing world.”

–Katherine Kirkpatrick, editor of A Circle of Friends: Remembering Madeleine L’Engle

“Filled with original and precise imagery, this collection of twenty-five gorgeous poems not only captures Ms. Barry’s unique visual acuity, but her gentle metaphoric interpretation of what it means to be a newly retired and transplanted New Yorker in Florida’s world of tropical splendor. With assured insights, the author paints a cinematic portrait of her surroundings and delights in her new and exotic “microcosm of life.” A true excavator of the soul, Patricia Barry does not waste a word. This chapbook is compact in its observations of the limited boundaries from her kitchen nook to her backyard lanai, and especially the pond and golf course beyond. From this tunnelled viewpoint, the author’s “backyard guests” include all kinds of birdlife, from the all-important heron, egret, and osprey to the more infrequent mourning doves and woodpecker. There is no flying creature that escapes her notice, none that fail to teach her a lesson in transplantation and adaptation. Occasionally, we find other animal life such as an alligator, butterfly, deer, or her dogs; and there are subtle reminders of human habitation, such as a tractor, golf balls, the neighbors, and the threat of the coronavirus. Patricia Barry tells us that her “new life calls to me,” and we readers are only too lucky to be her houseguests.”

–Andrea Simon, author of Bashert: A Granddaughter’s Holocaust Quest, Esfir Is Alive, and Floating in the Neversink

When this gifted poet moved to an altogether new life from the city to Florida, she had a spiritual awakening. As she stood on her lanai facing the pond, she began month after month to observe the changing skies and the egrets, herons, ospreys. A whole new world opened within her which became this small book of deeply-felt poems. “We coexist, the birds and I,” she writes, “…turning our heads in a nod to silently acknowledge the other.” A radiant collection about self-discovery, birds and water, and the particular light that certain places hold if you are still enough to really see them.

–Stephanie Cowell, author of Claude & Camille: a novel of Monet and The Boy in the Rain. Recipient of an American Book Award

Please share/please repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #poetry #chapbook #read #poems #nature #birds #life #wildlife #home

[bewitchingbooktours]

Banquets and Bootleg Bounty by Lily Barrish Levner #CozyMystery

Banquets and Bootleg Bounty 

Catskill Capers 

Book One

Lily Barrish Levner

Genre: Cozy Mystery. Historical. 

Publisher: Neversink Press 

Date of Publication: Nov. 11, 2024

ISBN: 979-8990895201

ASIN: B0DM1JFPQS

Number of pages: 222

Word Count: 50,000

Cover Artist: Jaycee DeLorenzo

Tagline: A 1944 Cozy Mystery with a Dash of Mobster Gold. 

Book Description:

It’s the summer of 1944 as Dotty and Abe arrive at the bustling Concord Hotel in the heart of the Catskill Mountains’ famous Borscht Belt. They are eager to start their new jobs as waitress and busboy but soon discover that serving demanding diners and dealing with unruly guests—including Abe’s impossible-to-please mother—is the least of their worries.

Rumors swirl that a notorious Murder, Inc. gangster has hidden a fortune in cash somewhere in the area. As Dotty and Abe are swept into the race to discover the whereabouts of the legendary loot, they find themselves dodging more than just grumpy guests. With dangerous characters lurking around every corner, the duo must stay one step ahead if they want to keep their future in the mountains from crumbling.

Will Dotty and Abe hit the jackpot, or will they become the next victims of a deadly game?

Fans of Dirty Dancing and The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel will love Banquets and Bootleg Bounty, the first in the Catskills Capers series by Lily Barrish Levner.

Amazon     BN

“Mrs. Maisel meets Agatha Christie in this engaging debut!” ~New York Times bestselling author Wendy Corsi Staub “This book is such a treat. Banquets and Bootleg Bounty is a fantastically fun romp through the height of the Catskills with spot-on historical accuracy. Author Lily Barrish Levner gives readers a bird’s eye view of the dining rooms at the Concord, with a dash of romance and a side of danger. Grab a bowl of matzo ball soup and enjoy the ride!” ~ Meredith Schorr, author of As Seen on TV “It’s really great that the golden era of the Catskills is remembered. This book brought back a flood of memories.” ~Steve White, Concord tennis pro/Arthur Winarick’s great-nephew “Lily Barrish Levner captures the Catskill Mountains of 1944 with love and longing for a by-gone era in this triumphant debut. Banquets and Bootleg Bounty is more delicious than Shabbat dinner at the Concord Hotel.”~ Marilyn Rothstein, author of Crazy to Leave You “If you want a taste of delicious food the Concord served to its guests while experiencing the thrill of a dining room mystery in the Catskills, it’s time to read Lily Barrish Levner’s debut novel, Banquets & Bootleg Bounty.”~ Patti Posner, author of My View From the Mountains “Mystery meets History in this engaging debut!” ~ New York Times bestselling author Wendy Corsi Staub

Excerpt - Week 1, Friday

Dotty

“That sure is a fancy ride,” a passerby called and whistled while a black Buick Roadmaster rolled to a stop next to the curb on E. 167th Street.

Dotty fanned herself with one hand and clutched the handle of her large, olive-green bag with the other. She was winded and shvitzing after she schlepped from her family’s third-floor walk-up apartment during a Bronx heat wave.

Cars zipped past, and the elevated Jerome Avenue subway rumbled along the tracks. She said,

“Good riddance” to the concrete and brick buildings she was leaving behind. It was thrilling to escape the city heat for a couple of months.

Just last night, she had been surprised when Papa told her there was a seat available in the taxicab. She planned to take the bus. She waved goodbye to the neighborhood, flashing a sunny smile over her good fortune. A hack was such a decadent way to travel to the mountains.

“The middle seat is open,” said the driver, rearranging luggage in the trunk.

A gentleman stood outside the car so she could crawl into the center of the three-person bench seat. She rested her handbag on her lap and settled in for an adventure. “I can’t believe I’m going to the Concord!”

“Oh, the Concord,” the silver-haired woman sitting to her left said in a dreamy voice. “I’m going to the Heiden Hotel in South Fallsburg.”

“I’m visiting my aunt and uncle at the Hotel Evans in Loch Sheldrake for the weekend,” volunteered the gentleman, who was back inside the car, sitting to her right.

“We’ve got one more stop to fetch a wife staying at Sunny Oaks bungalow colony in South Fallsburg for the next two months. Her husband won’t be in the mountains until next week,” the driver said, speeding off.

“Are we in a vaudeville act?” Dotty asked a few minutes later. She watched the middle-aged woman bringing out suitcases, food, a lamp, an ironing board, dishes, pans, and sheets. It seemed she had packed her entire city apartment.

The driver huffed and puffed as he tied a rope around the roof rack. The lamp wobbled, a casserole dish crashed, and a flock of pigeons hijacked a loaf of bread.

Once everything was loaded and everyone was seated, the driver was chatty. “It’s the first year the Concord has been open year-round.”

“I’ve heard wonderful things about it.” Dotty shimmied her shoulders, gazing at the scenery roll by. “I’m one of the first waitresses under the new maître d’, Irving Cohen.”

The driver removed one hand from the wheel to snap his fingers. “You are going to a happening place. How’d you end up at Arthur Winarick’s masterpiece?”

“My papa said you can make real nice money in the mountains. So, I went to an employment agency down in the Bowery. Since most boys are off at war, they are desperate to hire workers.”

“I’ve stayed at Grossinger’s. Never at the Concord,” said the gentleman heading to Hotel Evans.

“The Grossingers are the reason I have such a thriving business. They attracted the vacationers to the Catskills. People love to stay under Jennie Grossinger’s roof. They don’t call it the ‘Waldorf of the Catskills’ for nothing,” said the driver.

Dozens of people had mentioned Grossinger’s to her after learning she would be waitressing in the mountains. She pictured a stately hotel sitting on sprawling grounds.

The driver snapped his fingers again. “Here’s a little mountain history for you. Grossinger’s was the most lavish resort until your new boss, Arthur Winarick, cropped up with a fortune in hand. One night he couldn’t get a room at the G because the hotel was booked. Right then and there he vowed to build a bigger and better hotel to lure the guests away. After the prior owner of the Ideal House defaulted, he lucked out and acquired it. Renamed it and rebuilt it. That’s how the Concord started. There were thirty guests in the beginning and look at it already—there are three hundred guests now.”

“It’s true. Grossinger’s has the name recognition, but the Concord has the finances,” said the woman heading to Sunny Oaks.

“Every building at the Concord was designed to meet Winarick’s vision of richness,” said the Heiden Hotel guest.

“Bet you didn’t know that Winarick bought concrete and steel structures in their entirety from the 1939 World’s Fair. He also purchased a ferryboat at 125th Street and dismantled it for steel.

He didn’t have to borrow a penny,” the driver said, veering to the left.

“How did he become so wealthy?” Dotty asked.

“Winarick was a barber during Prohibition. He’s one lucky son of a gun. On account of his profession, he had rights to alcohol, and his brother just so happened to be a chemist. They set up a basement barber shop. Sold bootleg liquor on the side and made a killing selling Jeris Hair Tonic—largely consisting of alcohol and perfume.”

“He’s a real clever man,” she said.The driver sang the jingle, “Jeris hits the jackpot for greaseless good grooming and healthier, handsomer hair.”

She had high hopes that her pockets would soon be overflowing with tips and she would be able to buy Papa some of the hair tonic for his birthday.

“It’s hot in here!” shouted the wife in the front, fanning herself with a handkerchief.

“Roll down a window!” shouted the gentleman in the back.

“The wind is blowing on me,” complained the wife.

Dotty raised her hand and caught the silver-haired woman’s pillbox hat before it flew out the window. The woman sighed in relief.

“Have you considered trying out for the Yankees with a catch like that?” asked the driver.

She smiled and leaned her head back. She remembered the one time her family had stayed at the Delano Hotel in Monticello. She loved playing the pinball machine there.

About midway through their trip, coasting on the narrow, two-lane Route 17 highway, the hack turned off and into the crowded parking lot of the Red Apple Rest. Dotty stared at the large red apple that sat on top of the roof as they waited for an overheated car’s engine to spring back to life. Once the parking space opened, she sprinted under the multicolored striped awning.

Astonished by the impressive roadside eatery, she surveyed the wide selection of hot and cold food. Papa had told her the washrooms here were the nicest public ones anywhere. He had also said Reuben Freed, the owner, showed genuine care for his patrons. The outdoor line for frankfurters and ice cream was long, so she settled on a root beer soda pop from inside. She did not have an appetite anyway. The lively waystation made her even more excited to reach her destination.

They drove through Chester and Goshen. In Middletown, the traffic became bottlenecked on the winding streets. From Middletown, they traveled back roads. At the bottom of the Wurtsboro mountain, the hack was so overloaded she feared they would not clear the hill. Abe

Riveted by all the billboards lining the country roads directing guests to the Catskill Mountain resorts, Abe kept his nose pressed to the window. As the black Buick Super wound through towns and villages that made up Sullivan County, he saw bungalow renters unloading their jam-packed vehicles and airing out their summer bungalows. They were his first glimpse of summer vacationers in the mountains.

A rectangular-shaped building painted a buttery shade of yellow with brown trim came into view. The Buick skidded to a halt in front of it, and the driver said, “You can make a real comfortable living here. Arthur Winarick created something special.”

Abe jerked forward and his glasses slid down his face. It was a grand version of the architecture he was used to back in Brighton Beach. He counted the windows on the four-story building that could stretch the length of three Brooklyn blocks as he crawled out of the back seat. He ran his eyes over the lush landscape, inhaling fresh mountain air, already filled with respect for this Arthur Winarick fella. Exquisite gardens and dense trees lined the pristine grounds. Crystal-clear Kiamesha Lake, to the left of the main building, faced the perfectly maintained nine holes of the golf course.

Three entertainers were wedged together in the backseat, surrounded by costumes and props that would not fit into the overstuffed trunk. He retrieved his bag from under wigs, cards, and a top hat. “My pockets might not be full yet, but I’m only returning home once they are overflowing,” he vowed, waving goodbye to the fella behind the wheel who’d given him a lift to the mountains. He spent the entire ride memorizing every piece of advice he received, determined to make a success of himself with the fortuitous opportunities in front of him.

He threw his shoulders back and held his head high. He fit right in. Back in New York City, the lack of men on the streets made him ashamed that people believed he was a malingerer not returning to war. The doors to the hotel were pulling him to something special. He followed the bustling bellhops and energized guests into the lobby.

Luggage began to pile up in front of the doorway while he waited for his room assignment in the staff living quarters. An unassuming man wearing a white shirt, suspenders, and faded pants hurried over to haul the suitcases to a corner, so Abe trooped over to help. He stacked suitcases one on top of another, presuming the man must be an older lobby porter and well-liked since everyone who passed by smiled his way.

After they stacked all the suitcases, the man stuck his hand out. “Thank you. I can already tell you’re a hard worker. I’m Arthur Winarick. Welcome to my hotel.”

His heartbeat doubled its normal rhythm. He expected a sharp-dressed gonsa macher, not just an ordinary fella with thinning hair and lackluster clothing.

Already counting his luck, he received his room assignment and trekked the short distance to the staff living quarters, a separate hotel called the Colonial. It sat behind the main hotel where the guests stayed. The white-painted building reminded him of an oversized bungalow. He let out a low whistle as he pushed into the first-floor room.

A boy with wavy brown hair and a polite smile said, “I’m Leon.”

Introducing himself, he took the bed on the left since Leon had already chosen the one on the right.

“Hello, Abe. Where did you travel from?”

“Brighton Beach. And you?” He inspected the empty drawers of the dresser. He omitted that he had grown up in Philadelphia, only moving to Brooklyn once his mother had reappeared.

“I’m from Warsaw. I escaped at the start of the war.”

Speechless, he unzipped his bag. He knew Poland was thousands of miles away and Leon’s journey must have been dangerous. His childhood in foster care had been no picnic, but Leon’s life in Europe had presented greater challenges. He tossed a pair of socks into the drawer.

Leon continued. “I was working at a luncheonette in Manhattan, struggling to make a living, when I heard they needed help in the hotels. Can you believe I was completely unaware that there were hills north of the city?”

He had previously traveled to upstate New York, so he was familiar with the countryside. He pulled more socks from his bag. “As soon as I heard about the high wages and all the luxuries that came with living in the mountains, I signed up on the spot. I prefer this to being cooped up inside my stepfather’s garment factory all day. I didn’t expect such a dandy space to call home for the summer.”

“How come you aren’t enrolled in the army?”

He shifted his eyes to the single window in the middle of the room. “They discharged me.”

Leon remained quiet. His kind eyes encouraged Abe to say more.

“I was a drill sergeant in Miami until a doctor diagnosed my eyesight as too poor to continue to serve.” He returned from duty, at 19 years old, with his brunette hair a shade more golden, his skin tanned, and his muscles bulging from a year of physical activity under the Florida sun.

“There is no shame in wearing spectacles.” He tapped the rim of his glasses. “My eyesight isn’t that terrible.”

Leon reached for his checkered newsboy hat; his voice was friendly. “Ah, a Jewish doctor who didn’t want to see another Jewish boy come home in a coffin.”

He raked his hands through his hair, swallowing hard. Here he was a young man in perfect health, while both of his brothers were still serving in the U.S Army. He never wanted people to think he was less patriotic. His Ma’s words rang in his ears. “Abe-ala, this means I won’t lose all three of my boys.”

That comment had stung.

“The Concord is lucky to have you.”He snapped back to the present. “I have had the pleasure of meeting the owner already.”

Leon’s eyebrows shot toward the ceiling. “Arthur Winarick? Making a good impression right away is smart.” He pointed to his head. “I made sure to use Jeris Hair Tonic today in case I bumped into him. That’s why my hair is so glossy.”

He scratched his ear, not admitting he did not understand the reference. “How come you speak such fluent English?”

“I had a neighbor back in Poland who was a diplomat and a resistance fighter. He taught English classes.” Leon placed the newsboy cap on top of his head.

Sprawled out on his mattress, stretching his legs and wiggling his toes, Abe knew he had made the right decision. And he was glad he had someone like Leon by his side. “I feel like a king.”

“There’s tremendous potential.”

His smile spread from ear to ear. “I think I can pave my own way up here.”

A whole new chapter was beginning. Dotty

Dotty tried to read every single one of the hotel billboards cramming the landscape. When they approached the sign that said, “Turn Here to Concord Hotel,” she was jiggling her legs.

The Hotel Evans guest hollered, “Can you drop me off first?”

“I have specific directions. She’s number one on the list.” The driver tilted his head toward the woman en route to the Heiden.

At the first drop-off, Dotty could not take her eyes off the Tudor-style building as the driver announced, “The Concord is the next stop.”

Now she could not sit still.

Minutes later, after zooming up the mountain, the driver said, “We’ve arrived. Good luck.” He handed her olive-green bag over.

“The Bronx has no space that compares to this.” She gawked in awe at the size of the building nestled in rich grounds.

The yellow paint on the exterior reminded her of their kitchen’s wallpaper at home. Oh, she could not wait to tell Ma and Papa about this exquisite place. Her parents, Merke and Isaac, expected her to write to them all summer long. She would send a postcard soon.

She took a moment to smell the sweet floral scent from the colorful flower gardens before she schlepped her bag through the entryway. People crowded the lobby, greeting each other as long-lost friends. Some staff were new hires, like herself. Others were returning for another season in the mountains.

A helpful bellhop tapped her on the shoulder. “I’ll carry your bag to the Colonial, where you’ll be staying.” He led her to another building.

She blinked hard. “I get to live here? It’s an entire hotel!”

“Staff living conditions like this certainly aren’t the norm. Nobody sleeps on a cot in a closet around here. Arthur makes sure we have the best.”

“I’m so lucky the Concord hired me.” She watched two fellas stride into the Colonial.

“It’s coed,” said the bellhop, winking.

She raised her eyebrows, never having stayed in co-ed living quarters. She stepped into her new home. The blue and white floral wallpaper caught her eye. Her papa, who worked as a wallpaper hanger, always made sure to do careful work. He would be pleased with the job done here.

Once she reached her assigned room, she straightened her skirt and blouse. A striking girl with chestnut-colored curls appeared in the doorway. “I heard you thumping down the hallway.

Welcome. I’m Eva. I’m a waitress in the main dining room. Do you play cards? How about poker?”

She plopped her bag onto the ground and sat on the empty bed to catch her breath. “I’m a waitress as well. Yes, I love playing cards.” She ran her hands through her dishwater-blonde hair, wishing it had as much volume as Eva’s.

“I’m organizing a Sunday night game, after we collect our tips, of course.” Eva touched the opal heart-shaped stone hanging on a gold chain she wore around her neck.

“I’ll be at the table,” Dotty promised. She would have to ask Ma for some hints since Ma played cards every day on the Grand Concourse back home in the Bronx.

“Very good. We’ll be working hard, but don’t worry, there’s lots of time for socializing.”

She began unpacking as Eva peppered her with questions. “Do you have experience waiting tables?”

“Oh, yes. I learned everything I know at the Lido Beach Hotel on Long Island. I spent a season there before the Navy turned it into an amphibious base and discharge center. I worked at a resort in Far Rockaway and another one out in Lakewood, New Jersey, after that.”

Eva put her hands on her hips. “How old were you when you started waitressing?”

“14,” she admitted. “I told the man I was 17 and he told me to say 18.” She chuckled at the memory. She had worn high heels and bright red lipstick, clomping down Skid Row to the employment agency in the Bowery. Today she was 18 years old and did not have to fib about her age to work at the Concord.

“You’re an old pro,” Eva said, sweeping her hand through the air.

“How long have you been waitressing?” Dotty, too, had questions.

“After I traveled over from Germany, Arthur Winarick hired me. That was Pesach (Passover) two seasons ago.”

“Are you a refugee?” She placed her hand over her heart.

“Yes. I’m very lucky to be here. My German mom and British dad raised me in Southern

Germany. I’m an English citizen. My parents wanted me out of Europe. They felt it was safest for me to come over to the States. Arthur has a soft spot in his heart for refugees. I landed at the right hotel.”

Glad about that, Dotty rested her head on the pillow, enjoying the comfort of her own bed for the first time. She stretched out her legs and closed her eyes. “I’ve shared the sleeper sofa with my sister and listened to the Jerome Avenue train my entire life.”

“You’ve spent the day traveling; a snooze before Shabbat dinner might set you right.”

She jumped back up and parted the curtains to gaze at the greenery. “I hope Irving Cohen isn’t too strict.”

Eva flung her wrist in the air. “People call him ‘King Cupid.’ How harsh do you think a man with that nickname can be?”

“What if, since it’s his first summer in charge of the dining room, he’s extra tough?” She took a deep breath.

“Bet you didn’t know he was recently married. Consider him still in the honeymoon phase. Act confident and you’ll do fine.”

“I’ve always received compliments from my bosses. I’m not worried.” She bit her bottom lip and watched Eva study her reflection in a handheld mirror.

Eva had a twinkle in her eye. “Stay away from Hershel. He’s my bashert.”

Suddenly, Dotty cared a lot more about her appearance as she slipped into her white waitressing uniform. For breakfast and lunch, the two dairy meals of the day, the required dress code was yellow dresses and white aprons. The meat dinner was served wearing white dresses and white aprons.

Eva wiggled into her uniform. “Don’t forget the trick is to stay ahead of everything and not lose control of your station. What are the three important terms to measure success?”

“‘A breeze’ means the meal ran smoothly, a ‘good meal’ needs no explanation, and a ‘bomb’ means everything went terribly.” She spritzed Chantilly perfume onto her right wrist. The fruity notes of orange blossom mixed with jasmine and other citruses filled their room.

“Very good. What’s the worst thing you can do?”

“Anger the chef. I must wait until several guests ask for things from the kitchen. I want to avoid making too many trips back there.”

“What’s the second-worst thing?”

“I can’t get hung up, or I’ll never meet all the guests’ demands, and I’ll fall behind the kitchen’s schedule.”

“I don’t have to tell you tips depend on how pleasant we are to guests and how quickly we feed them.”

Thankful for all she learned that first summer on Lido Beach, and confident in her food-serving abilities, Dotty swung the door open. The same two fellas she had seen earlier were now exiting their room a couple of doors down. They wore stark white jackets. I have a feeling this is going to be a very good summer.

About the Author:

Lily Barrish Levner comes from a family that cherished books and learning—her mother was a schoolteacher, and her father was the director of the Monticello library, so it’s no surprise that storytelling has always been a part of her life. Growing up in Kiamesha Lake, New York, Lily spent her childhood sleuthing around the iconic Catskills resorts with friends and soaking up the vibrant atmosphere. Her grandparents worked in the resort industry, a connection that inspires her stories.

As a fourth-generation Jewish American, Lily deeply connects to the Catskill Mountains and the Borscht Belt, where her heritage and childhood memories blend. Her fondest recollections are tied to places like the Concord, Kutsher’s, the Pines, the Raleigh, and Sunny Oaks bungalow colony—sites that have left an indelible mark on her writing.

With a BA in Creative Writing and a Master’s in Library and Information Science, Lily has spent the past decade as a copy desk researcher at Bloomberg Businessweek while working on her novel and contributing monthly articles to the Hurleyville Sentinel. She currently lives in the Catskills with her husband and their dog, Gus, where the magic of the mountains still influences her work. 

Stay tuned for the further adventures of Dotty and Abe when Book 2 of the Catskills Capers series is published in the summer of 2025.

Website: https://lilybarrishlevner.com/

Hurleyville Sentinel: https://hurleyvillesentinel.com/ 

[readsofawe]

#readsofawe 2023 is over and I got a blackout! I read 16 books, met some incredible people, and had so much fun! Thank you to everyone who read, posted, came to a live, or liked any of my posts. I'm so happy to be going into a new year with all of you.

------- Wrap Up:

Sorrowland by Rivers Solomon | 5 stars | Blue cover, Jews of Color, Adult, Disability/Neurodivergence Rep, LGBT Rep, Sci Fi/Fantasy

The Lost Ryū by Emi Watanabe Cohen | 5 stars | Blue cover, Themes of Renewal, MG/Children's, Non-Holocaust Historical, Jews of Color, Sci Fi/Fantasy

The Hotel Neversink by Adam O'Fallon Price | 3 stars | Out of my Comfort Zone, Non-Holocaust Historical, Adult

The Thick and the Lean by Chana Porter | 4 stars | 2023 release, Adult, Sci Fi/Fantasy

Maus I by Art Spiegelman | 5 stars | Published before 2000, Nonfiction, Comic/Graphic Novel, Adult

The Hardest Word by Jacqueline Jules | 5 Stars | Themes of Forgiveness, Fall Setting, Picture Book

What's the Buzz? by Allison Ofanansky | 4 stars | Fall Setting, Picture Book, Nonfiction, Blue cover

Other Covenants ed. Andrea D. Lobel | 4 stars | 2023 release, Poetry, Frum Rep, Blue Cover, Short story, Adult, Sci Fi/Fantasy

The Terraformers by Annalee Newitz | 4 stars | 2023 Release, Themes of Renewal, Adult, LGBT Rep, Sci Fi/Fantasy

Sooner or Later Everything Falls Into the Sea by Sarah Pinsker | 5 stars | Blue cover, Short Story, Adult, LGBT Rep, Sci Fi/Fantasy

The Ghosts of Rose Hill by R. M. Romero | BUDDY READ | 5 stars | Poetry, Jews of Color, YA, Romance, Sci Fi/Fantasy

Naomi Teitelbaum Ends the World by Samara Shanker | 5 stars | MG, Disability/Neurodivergence Rep, Contemporary, LGBT Rep, Sci Fi/Fantasy

The Sisters of the Winter Wood by Rena Rossner | 3 stars | Poetry, Frum Rep, Themes of Renewal, Non-Holocaust Historical, YA, Sci Fi/Fantasy

Rebecca Reznik Reboots the Universe by Samara Shanker | 4 stars | 2023 Release, Themes of Renewal, MG, Disability/Neurodivergence Rep, Contemporary, LGBT Rep, Sci Fi/Fantasy

Unholy Land by Lavie Tidhar | 4 stars | Out of My Comfort Zone, Blue Cover, Adult, Sci Fi/Fantasy

The Chateau by Jaclyn Goldis | 3 stars | Out of My Comfort Zone, Blue Cover, Adult, Contemporary

Akedah | Translation, Published before 2000