Before coming to New Orleans,  I was going through the old letters from Comfort and found this wonderful postcard, dated March 20, 1900, with the spooky character on it. 

It’s a quick message from Mancel T. Clark to his mother.

Dear Mother,

I will write you a letter tomorrow, but we are pretty busy just at present giving New Orleans a good time.

Yours, MTC

One hundred and twenty-six years later it seems we’re still giving New Orleans a good time! 

My son Brody and I often clash on the music front when he visits. Music is a constant in his life. One of my all-time favorite photos is him at eight years old, singing to himself and walking on the beach. Today, his taste is far more current and sophisticated. Mine is more…well, mainstream.

Paul and his crew labored for eight years and turned a place that had been featured on CNBC’s “13 Scariest Places to Buy” into what is now arguably, the Queen of the River.

They started in 2014 with the outbuildings, rehabilitating the pump house, the coal house, and the boathouse. 

Silly me. I thought that one summer and a boatload of cash would get the house into shape.  I was wrong.  It was eight boatloads of cash over eight summers.

Here is his letter to Mancel Clark Jr., the owner of the house at that time, and the supporting photographs.  

Frankly, the pictures are heartbreaking. The giant boathouse, which once held a steamship, had collapsed into the river. The house was deteriorating and the grounds were overgrown.

Mancel, as soon as I can will take pictures and show you how it is cleaned up.

Did you know the lightning struck roof on the house and I bet water has gone inside.

You know I have no right to do anything. Shutters are not on yet. I really think it is a shame.

Mancel C. Root.

Here’s the thing about Comfort. There’s nothing really wrong with the property, but there’s always a project that could make it better.

We can now accommodate up to 13 boats at Comfort.  

Generally, on Fridays, we pack the group of visitors to Comfort Island onto the big boat with a cooler, gin and tonics or Hugo Spritzes and our boaters.  I have 40 straw boaters of various sizes for the players to wear.  There are no protests of “I look odd in a hat,” or “it screws up my hair.”   If you’re going to play, you wear the hat.  And only if you play can you win a cash prize.

Here’s that poem my mother wrote to my father.

There are times

When you can smile in such a way

That I’d forget a ten-year war

and lie down in your shadow’s shadow

and live on sounds your stomach makes.

In these brief times

I could die against your side

and never make a warning sound

content to suffocate

within the circle of your back-

GWB

While I was raking and trimming, my neighbor Dimitri came over and chatted.  We talked about cooking classes and the neighborhood gathering in one of Ansley’s small parks.   Later, my other neighbor John stopped by.  He was performing at the gathering and wondered if we were going to make it.  I assured him we were.

And while I was sweeping up the pine straw and leaves, Silla, Dimitri’s daughter, who had watched the house while I was gone, came over with a freshly baked loaf of banana bread.

Neighborliness is one of the things I love about Atlanta. For years in LA, you and I lived in various apartments and houses.  Did you ever really know or speak with your neighbors? I didn’t. Perhaps this neighborliness is a Southern thing.  Regardless, I like it.

This morning, we went for a walk in the small forested areas of Ansley Park, to get “right” and reacquaint ourselves with the city, and Duke with the five million smells.  There is something calming about walking through the forest, no phone in hand, just you and the birds, with Duke running free.

Yesterday morning, Conor loaded up the car and the ‘72 Ford truck while I did the last loads of laundry, emptied and cleaned the refrigerator and did one last pass around the house. I was procrastinating but knew that we needed to get out of there by noon if we were to make any progress south.

Conor and I both said our goodbyes to Comfort as we boated past. The house looked shut up…not the welcoming, open door and window house of the summer.

For the last two weeks, Conor and I have been prepping the house for its hibernation. Bringing in the paint, gathering all of the liquids, zipping up the silver,  putting up the tarps on the tower and coal house.   And covering all of the furniture in white sheets. 

My sister Regan thinks it’s foolish to do that, but I think there is something symbolic and old school about shrouding the furniture in white…waiting again for the spring.  My sister also thinks I might be reading too much into the “fancy house” ritual.

My sister Regan believes that the St. Lawrence River water is magical.  Once you slide into it and feel the comfortable, softness of the water, and then dunk your head beneath the waves, you will have been “baptized.”  Once in, you will ALWAYS find a reason to come back.

This weekend, when you were here for dinner, you saw the first work of art that I bought back in 1993.  It’s a monumental figure by Wayne Forte that I could barely afford and it’s hanging in the dining room. Over the years I’d buy one or two new pieces, but it wasn’t until I bought Comfort that I really started leaning into collecting art.

Yesterday we went to Clayton to witness a hugely popular event in the North Country- Punkin Chunkin.  You should have been there.

Earlier in the day, Brigid and I set the big table for sixteen, along with a smaller table Conor had brought in for six. I'm a big advocate for china, crystal, silver and linen. If you invite someone into your house, I subscribe to giving them the best you have. Otherwise, why have it?

Now Comfort is a busy place. We had over 500 people through here this year, between the tours and fundraisers and weekend guests.  And I have Duke, who thinks that when we leave the house, he has the right to get on the furniture. Bad dog.

The channel between Comfort Island and Wellesley Island is at its narrowest and deepest, almost 200 feet deep.   Across from Comfort is Stony Crest Island. Half of the island was dynamited and its mansion demolished in the 1950s to make way for the St. Lawrence Seaway, which opened in 1959.

At first people were taken aback by the large folly atop the newly reconstructed tower.  Now when I say I’m from Comfort Island, I add…it’s the one with the bear, and they nod and smile knowingly.

As you know, I love a party…and so does Duke.  He’s not a grabber or a counter surfer, nor is he a chronic beggar.  He will look at you…you will give in. That’s the end of it.

Portrait of Duke in my 72 Ford by Scott Dove

I want to make this clear, this next statement is NOT a brag. I have six wooden boats.   Four of them however, are out of the water being repaired because of wood rot.  Two had catastrophic board failures, one of which almost sank with 12 people aboard.  One has soft boards here and there and is on a trailer.  And the fourth, a 1941 Hunter,  is undergoing a renovation by Rich Jury, who restored Buzz. Thankfully, the “Buzz” is doing just fine.  The Hunter however,  has a double hull and as we are peeling back the layers, we’re finding more and more damage.  The sixth boat, a small Lyman utility is leaking so badly we have to keep the battery charged constantly because the bilge is running every fifteen minutes.