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In 1971, after we were married, Richard and I began a life's journey that would span six states, 16 cities, and 13 houses. During this time, we raised three wonderful boys and I had the opportunity to teach in a plethora of school districts a myriad of courses. Later in my career as an administrator, Richard and I talked about what we would like to do after we retired from our "jobs." Travel? Maybe. New career? Perhaps. Move back home to New York? Possible. All this talk planted seeds for a different life. What would I like to do? Although I had taught most of my life, I had experiences as a writer, a librarian, a public relations specialist, a marketing manager, an accounting supervisor, and a few odd jobs to add to the mix. My interests were wide and varied, from cooking and baking to sewing and knitting to redecorating a room and painting my house. Richard enjoyed gardening, working outside, building and repairing things around the house. I wondered how I could put all of these things we love to do into one life. This became the dream - the dream of another lifestyle.
I've always enjoyed living in older homes and appreciate the historical significance. Wouldn't it be cool to own a bed and breakfast? Then we could do all those things we love and work out of our home. Now that was a very neat idea!
So the search began. The biggest question was where. Where did we want to live? There were so many choices and so many decisions to make. Do we want to live in the city or in the country? How many rooms do we need? Do we want private bathrooms or shared bathrooms or both. I looked all over Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Maine, of course. I think I knew every bed and breakfast that was for sale in New England. I read about owning a bed and breakfast and dreamed about owning my own. Richard and I had lived in the northeast, Florida, and Arkansas but knew New York is where we belonged.
It took six years for us to find the perfect place. The very first time we walked onto the property of the Genesee Country Inn, we knew this was the place. The Inn had 10 rooms with private bathrooms, eight acres, and a separate little house for us and our pets. Unfortunately, Richard was not ready to retire, but I was ready to leave my work to start this new life. We knew this was the right move. The question was how were we going to do this. Richard and I were still living in Arkansas at the time. We decided that I would move to New York and he would remain in Arkansas until he could retire. It would be eight months before Richard would retire from Travelers and join me in New York to live the lifestyle we had dreamed about - owning a bed and breakfast and enjoying the "romance" of the Inn. What a great life and we are living the dream!
Deborah and Richard Stankevich own the Genesee Country Inn Bed and Breakfast in Mumford, New York. They live in the "little house" behind the Inn with their dogs, Bentley and Cooper, their cat, Sam, and a tank of community fish.
Deborah Stankevich
July 1, 2008
I'll Be Home for Christmas
The last ornament was gingerly placed on the middle bough of the Douglas fir while the soft candle light gave the parlor almost an ethereal glow. Sounds of Oh, Holy Night and Jesus, Joy of Man's Desiring filled the room with sentiments of family and warmth. The Genesee Country Inn had three beautifully decorated trees that year: one in the parlor, one in the dining room, and one in the garden level foyer, each one unique and a reflection of the season to come.
Sitting alone on the couch in the parlor, I sighed. This wasn't exactly what I imagined my first Christmas at the Inn to be like. It looked festive. The smell of homemade cookies and sweet breads filled the house, but something was missing. Even with all the brilliant colors and sparkling lights, I looked longingly out the window at the snow gently falling and gathering in the corners of the divided window panes. It glistened and shimmered and spoke of a time that elated three young boys on the night before Christmas, waiting in anticipation for Midnight Mass and the promise of presents under the tree on Christmas morning.
This year was special. The Inn would be filled with family spending the night and sharing Christmas morning together. This was Richard's dream for our first Christmas back in New York. And it was going to happen.
The shrill sound of the phone broke the silence and disrupted my musings of Christmases long ago.
Merry Christmas and happy holidays. This is Deborah at the Genesee Country Inn. How may I help you?"
"Hello. Merry Christmas, honey. You are okay?" my husband Richard asked.
"Merry Christmas to you, too. Sure I'm okay. How are you? When are you coming in?"
"My flight arrives the day before Christmas Eve after work at 8:10. Will you be able to pick me up?"
Of course, I would be there. It had been over a month since he was home. This separation until he decided to retire wore thin at times. It was six months ago when we purchased the Genesee Country Inn and Richard returned to Arkansas. Our house remained unsold and he continued to work in Fort Smith.
"So what are you doing?"
"Nothing. Just sitting here and listening to Christmas music. I just finished decorating the Christmas tree and it's snowing outside. What are you doing?"
"Watching TV."
"I wish you were here. The tree looks beautiful."
"I bet it does. I'll be there soon. I love you."
"I love you, too."
"Do you have much snow?"
"Snow? I spend more time pushing that white stuff off the driveway and parking lot than doing anything else."
"Doesn't your snowplow guy plow you out?"
"Sure. When there is 3-4 inches or more, but not when there is only an inch or two. Someone has got to push it out of the way. I mean the driveway needs to be clear for guests."
"Are they predicting snow for Christmas?"
"Babe, I'm in New York...It always snows in New York."
The conversation continued with talk of kids, the dogs, family, plans for the holiday, and time together.
Out of the blue, Richard became very thoughtful. "I've been thinking. I think I would like to retire."
I was silent. Then tears welled up in my eyes and rolls softly down my cheeks. I had been waiting so long for this. This was my Christmas present. This would be the beginning of our new life together. What a wonderful Christmas it would be! All I could say as my voice broke was "I love you, baby."
Softly he said, "I love you, too. Merry Christmas! It won't be long now."
"And we are going to have a very Happy New Year!"
Deborah Stankevich
November 2008
Butterfly Sandwiches
Sometimes I can still hear the phone's single ring. My dad would call after his shift was over for Mom to pick him up at the tavern. Each call was charged to the business, so to prevent a 10 cent charge, dad would call the house and hang up after one ring. We all knew to call Dad back and let him know we were on our way.
At 16 and on a limited driver's license, I shared the duty with Mom of picking him up at 4:00 in the morning when his shift was over. I'd sleep ever so lightly on those nights, waiting for that one ring - the one ring that told me to call him back and let him know I was on my way.
The phone rings. I jump out of bed, my feet barely touching the ground as I skirt across the hallway carpet and into the kitchen to answer his call. The cold kitchen linoleum brings me back from my dream world to the dead of night. Without turning on the overhead light in the kitchen, I quickly and quietly lift the receiver from its cradle and begin dialing the familiar number to the tavern. One ring. Two rings. Half way through the second ring, dad's booming very comes over the phone line. "Benny's," he says. His voice is full but tired. Now you have to know my dad to appreciate the fact that he is a man of few words.
"Dad?" I respond.
"I'm ready," he says.
"I'm on my way," I reply.
"Debbie, do you want a sandwich?" he asks
"Sure," I answer.
And that was that. I hurry down the hallway and slip my jeans over my pajama bottoms and pull a sweatshirt over my head, grab my wallet with my license, and pick up the keys to the car, a 1966 yellow Chevy Malibu, next to the door on my way out to the garage.
If you ever are out driving at that hour, look around. I mean really look around. The streets are so desolate, yet peaceful. The street light reflects the early dew on the streets. The dark grey sky is trying to put the moon to bed and wake the sun up. It's a time of uninterrupted beauty.
I drive carefully down Pine Ridge Road to Genesee Street and put on my blinker. I look around. No cops. Since I'm on a limited driver's license, I'm supposed to have a licensed driver with me in the car. I continue down Genesee Street toward the tavern. A block before Bailey Avenue, I turn left on Brinkman and slowly make my way pass sleepy houses in early morning hours. A quick right and another and I've circled the block and pull up in front the tavern. I don't need to toot my horn. Dad opens the door and holds up his index finger to tell me to wait - he'll be right out.
I sit patiently, parked on Bailey Avenue, looking for traffic. There is none. As I look up, Dad locks the side door and walks to the car with a brown bag clutched in his hand, along with his newspaper.
He opens the door and gets in. "Hi," he says.
"Hi," I reply.
He smells of work, cigarettes, onions, and grease. "How was work?" I ask as I look over my shoulder and pull away from the curb. I lift my blinker to turn right on Genesee Street toward home.
"Good," he says.
We don't talk. He shifts in his seat and takes a drag from his cigarette as the car fills with the smell of warm bread and onions.
Finally I say, "Smells good."
"Butterfly sandwiches," he says.
I pull into the driveway. Dad opens the door, turns, and places both feet on the ground. He leans forward and shifts his weight out of the car. Slam! The door closes with a loud clunk, and he walks to the garage door and lifts it. I pull in and turn off the car.
He is already in the house, throwing his jacket over the chair and opening the brown bag on the kitchen table. I put the keys back where I found them in the ashtray by the side door to the garage and kick off my sneakers.
"Want something to drink?" he asks.
"I'll get it. Coke?" I ask.
"Yeah," he says.
As I put the glasses on the table, before me wrapped in waxed paper and newspaper, is the sandwich I have been waiting for. As I open it, my senses are dancing to the aroma of my father's love. Butterfly sandwiches! We eat in silence, savoring the time we are spending together.
BUTTERFLY SANDWICH RECIPE
Center cut pork chop, w/ bone removed, 1/2 inch thick, split butterfly cut
Egg
Bread Crumbs
Oil for frying
Hard roll
Lettuce
Tomato
Onion
After removing the bone, split the pork chop and lay the chop open. Dip in egg and then bread crumbs. Pat firmly. Place in hot oil and fry until golden brown and pork is fully cooked. Drain if necessary on a paper towel and place on a hard roll. Top with lettuce, tomato, onion, and mayonnaise.
Deborah Stankevich
January 6, 2006
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To reserve call
585-538-2500
or 1-800-NYSTAYS
OR... E-mail Us! (new address)
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Genesee Country Inn
948 George Street
Mumford, NY 14511
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