Hang in There: A Baby Tree Grows on Conesus Lake

Dear Adelaide,

Your mother and I are not religious people, but we believe in a sense of something larger than ourselves and humanity. God is both a construct of mankind and the constructor of mankind all at once. God has made appearances in popular literature and texts since the beginning of time, so as far as I’m concerned he exists because we talk about him like he does.

One of my favorite texts is the TV serial Fargo. Your mother and I followed the third season together from a distance while she was in Türkiye waiting for her K1 visa. You might one day know him as Obi Wan Kenobi, but Ewan McGregor starred as two brothers in this season of the backwards crime series inspired by the original 1990s Coen Brothers film of the same name. Don’t worry— I have an entire college film course planned for you when you get older.

At one point in the third season, one of our protagonists— the love interest of McGregor’s scheming, jealous probation officer brother (played by the actor’s IRL wife Mary Elizabeth Winstead)— finds herself on the run from two assassins and seeks shelter in an old bowling alley. The bowling alley location is a deliberate choice by Fargo writers, an homage to another gem of the Coen Brothers universe, The Big Lebowski. Which is why, while taking a break at the alley bar, Winstead slowly becomes aware of a presence sitting beside her— an effect of the camera slowly zooming out while panning right— revealing a charismatic gentleman played by the brilliant Ray Wise. Coen Brothers fans would be quick to recognize this device in the form of the Mysterious Stranger sitting at the alley bar when Jeffrey “The Dude” Lebowski ponies up for a White Russian after a tough day of detective work trying to find the men who stole his rug. Played by Sam Elliott, the Stranger offers some wisdom to the Dude: “Sometimes you eat the bar, and sometimes the bar eats you,” in a voice instantly recognizable not only from Elliott’s vast repertoire in American Westerns, but also as the narrator of the film itself. Is he a main character? No. But he has some influence, a slight breeze that pushes our hero to keep moving the plot forward.

Jeff Bridges (the Dude) and Sam Elliott (the Stranger) in The Big Lebowski (1998, Gramercy Pictures)

That’s what God is to me and to your mother. As the protagonists of our version of Fargo, the choices are ours, our will is free. But sometimes God steps in at certain moments to make sure we go in the right direction. Likewise, in season 3 of Fargo, Ray Wise offers some comfort to Winstead in the form of a kitten and a getaway car parked out front. (I won’t spoil what the kitten is supposed to represent.)

God revealed himself at least twice to your mother and me. Once was in a Rust Belt city we lived in a long time ago, before you and before Conesus Lake House. My personal history in that place spanned decades and countless experiences— one of which found me working at a high-class restaurant in the cultural district where I rubbed elbows with the food scene elite. One of those elites was the owner of the city’s most famous fish market, a rather eccentric man who would stand outside the store on a busy Saturday with a megaphone hawking lobsters and criticizing ladies’ sidewalk fashions. He would come into the restaurant with a different date every time. He was wealthy but didn’t dress or act like it. He could have been the Millionaire-Next-Door.

His son started a fish restaurant where your mother and I found ourselves one summer day before we visited and ultimately purchased Conesus Lake House. Something told us this lunch date was special, like it would be one of the last in our old city. We had been searching for a new house for almost two years at the height of the COVID era and its subsequent skyrocketing housing market. We saw offer after offer beaten by corporations scooping up single family homes for 100k over asking price. All we wanted to do was upgrade so we could grow our little family. Needless to say, we were feeling as defeated as the Dude in the bowling alley that day.

Cue God in the form of the fish empire patriarch, who happened to be hanging out at his son’s restaurant. It had been years since I saw him as a young 20-something trying to figure out my life. Your mother and I sat at a patio table sipping martinis and munching on calamari when a familiar voice floated out of the cultural district murmur: “I remember you.”

I immediately recognized him, like a recurring dream surfacing after years of sleepless nights. I told him I remembered him, too, back from the restaurant days. He had a glint in his eye but a confused frown on his face, like he wanted to engage in camaraderie but was held back by something neither he nor I could see. He looked around the restaurant and the busy sidewalk of the district, searching for the right words among the crowd. I tried to help, offering that I had since become an admissions officer and had gotten married. I introduced your mother, who proudly proclaimed she had come from Türkiye.

Conesus Lake House hosts / Adelaide’s parents at the Rust Belt City fish restaurant

This activated him in some way. “Things are changing all around,” he smiled. Now his eyes found what he had been searching for, directing our attention to the old warehouse building down the block. “I used to run Turkish delight in bulk from Europe.” Now his eyes turned dark, escaping mine. “It was a great deal, but it took years to empty my stock. And now…” his voice trailed off. He didn’t need to say what I had already known. It was no secret in town that the warehouse had been sold to developers.

Things were changing all around, indeed. The cookie-cutter mixed-use buildings, bland boxy panels with the same Starbucks anchor and same Xeroxed design echoing street after street in every run-down city attempting to revitalize, were taking over. The McUrbanism of America was just hitting its stride, forcing the old heads to retire, and hammering the final nail in the coffin of any remnants of Main Street USA. The same forces who had been preventing us from buying our dream middle-class home were kicking out the self-made Millionaire-Next-Door, too.

“Anyway,” the fish mogul sighed. “Good luck to you, and I hope you enjoy your meal.” He smiled a sad smile and retreated back to the bar, where his son the executive chef had been watching us the entire time. It wasn’t until after we bought Conesus Lake House that I understood this exchange. The fish mogul, the Rust Belt City, the Old American way of life: all disappearing before my very eyes as if to say, it was time to move on.

So we searched even farther out, beyond state lines, back to the towns and villages I grew up in. We zeroed in on the Finger Lakes, of which I had fond memories — swimming in Cayuga Lake at a friend’s cottage, gazing at the gorges in Montour Falls and Ithaca, road-tripping to Penn Yan as a courier for my father’s business. Growing up in upstate New York, there was nowhere near as beautiful in all of the United States as the Finger Lakes. It was here that we would plant our new roots. It was here that we would bring you into the world.

But it wasn’t easy, and nothing worth doing ever is. The first two years at Conesus Lake House leading up to your birth have been the happiest years of our lives, but they weren’t without turmoil. Your mother and I spent seven years working hard, saving up, and facing internal battles to get where we are today. You will one day understand the joy and the struggle of marriage. I hope you will not have to experience the uphill battles we faced just to move to Conesus Lake House in the first place. We were building something so that you can grow up in a safe, happy, healthy environment— just as our parents had hoped, to create a better life for the next generation.

A toast to signing the papers for Conesus Lake House – at the Beachcomber, Conesus Lake NY

Which brings us to the second time we saw God. Your mother was seven months pregnant with you when we decided to treat ourselves to a date night at our favorite BBQ place in Lima, New York. The Normal’s one year anniversary party — set appropriately on April 20th — was too good to pass up, and we could hardly wait to set foot in the premises around opening time one sunny spring day. “Are you guys ready for us?” I asked the counter girl as we went inside. I noticed Adam, the owner and executive chef, whisper something to her, and as we sat down she approached with menus and beamed: “I’ve been told you guys are V.I.P.’s, so we’re starting the Munchies Menu a little early for you. And,” she added with a wink, “anything can be infused if you’d like.”

Your mother — who by this point was starting to show— grinned but politely declined, proud to explain that she was pregnant with you. The hostess was all too happy to suggest any of the locally brewed Fiz Sodas Adam kept on rotation. Despite the special time of year, I declined the infusions as well out of solidarity and elected for a regular craft cocktail instead. We were excited for the Munchies Menu anyway, opting to sample the Wonder Bread-based “Trash Tacos” and the Brisket Nacho plate. By now several other regulars began to crowd the dining room, and the place was electric— or should I say atomic— with laughter, conversation, and healthy appetites.

Brisket nachos, “trash tacos,” atomic old fashioned, Fiz cola at the Normal BBQ in Lima NY

We’ve never had a bad meal at the Normal, and the anniversary party was no exception. Stuffed to the gills, we started winding down our dinner. It was by now that your mother and I became aware of a presence immediately beside us. A young (but not too young) couple, man wearing a trucker cap, woman sporting an eclectic but classy outfit complete with eye-catching shoes, appeared like a mirror image of us sitting at the next two-top. You could almost imagine the camera slowly zooming out while panning to the left, Coen brothers-style. And while neither us nor the couple acknowledged one another at first, I could tell both parties were scoping each other out from the corners of our eyes.

It wasn’t until after I paid the bill and we started to get up from the table that the wife of the couple piped up: “Hang in there.”

“We’re trying!” Your mother and I chuckled, unsure of how to respond.

“I know it’s hard,” the husband said, “but just hang in there.”

We grinned and thanked them, heading back home to Conesus Lake House with more questions than answers. Was this couple a pair of time travelers? Were they us from another dimension?

“What did they mean, ‘Hang in there’?” I asked.

“I think this was God,” your mom said to me. “Like in Fargo.” I nodded in agreement, though the experience still left us puzzled. Their advice hit the nail on the head, though: to this day, your mother and I still utter the mantra “Hang in there” to each other whenever we are stressed or under pressure.

No pressure compared to the night you decided it was time to come out to the world. We had been informed you would have to be induced sooner than your original planned birth date, so we had scheduled a delivery at Strong Memorial Hospital in Rochester. The night before I found myself unable to sleep (as I often am), and went out to the living room to hang out on my phone. At 11:50 PM, I was probably knee-deep in some dumb meme page when I heard your mother cry from the bedroom: “Water geldi!” No one warns you about the last moment of your life before you enter a new dimension, before your life changes forever. I could have just as easily been asleep, or in the bathroom, or in another ad nauseam meeting for work. Nope, just on the couch laughing at the Internet when suddenly a voice like Navi in Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time shouts Hey! Listen! Your daughter’s coming!

And like Link, sometimes we need to plunge deep into the dungeon to fight the monster that plagues us before retrieving the treasure within. Strong Hospital was our dungeon that night and for the following 48 hours. But you were the treasure so valuable, so pure, that even the scariest monster or the most difficult boss were well worth the trouble. Labor wasn’t easy, but nothing worth doing ever is.

Your mother and I have always shared a special bond. We are always next to each other, through thick and thin. Being together in the hospital brought us even closer together. I watched your mother grow a thousand times stronger. The pains of her contractions grew worse by the minute as we waited for the epidural team to arrive. All I could do was try to comfort her with my words and my presence. Childbirth is something only a mother can ever truly understand. And after her pain subsided, and the contractions came faster and faster, I cheered her on alongside the midwife team, watching and waiting for you to change our lives forever. As I watched your mother push and breathe, I saw her life flash in front of my eyes: standing outside Cyber Cafe in Binghamton when we first met; sneaking up behind me in Heathrow Airport like a butterfly; taking me by the hand through the streets of Tarsus; walking in her bride dress through our first backyard in that Rust Belt city so long ago. Things were changing all around.

And when you finally pushed out and the midwives placed you on your mother’s chest, I wept with joy. How perfect you were, as beautiful as all the memories of your mother and me rolled into a golden ball. When you first cried— a cute tiny squeak like a kitten or a baby lamb — it was a voice I felt I had known my entire life. And once again, in this hospital room at 5:28 AM, I felt the presence of God.

Our baby girl

Your grandparents instilled in me a love for planting and gardening, so it was only natural that they gifted you with two baby plants to grow alongside you: a maple sapling from grandma and two climbing roses from grandpa. In view of Conesus Lake, I planted them in the grove where we keep the fire pit. Right now — at 19 inches — even you are taller than the maple tree. One day it will grow taller than Conesus Lake House itself. But everything you do in this life will be bigger than all the trees in the forest.

Welcome to the world, Adelaide. It’s a tough one, but if you hang in there, it’ll be worth it — I promise.

Love,

Babasi

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