Hudson, New York
Hudson, New York. Just another small town in the middle of nowhere, right? That’s what I thought too. Until I got here.
That was the opening paragraph of the script I never followed. I’m going to give it that much — it was a good script. The theme was reinvention of small-town America, old industrial roots and new creative energy. And to be fair, Hudson does deliver on that premise. But the thing I actually spent my morning doing was walking the streets, drinking coffee, and thinking about people.
The Morning Walk
Forty-one degrees again. I am developing a relationship with 41 degrees that I could not have predicted in Florida.
I drove the length of Warren Street first, the main drag that runs through the center of Hudson, and what I found was a town that has genuinely figured something out in the past decade. Old brick warehouses with art galleries inside. Repurposed storefronts with farm-to-table restaurants. An antique district that’s apparently become something of a destination for people from the city looking for something specific and spending real money finding it. Hudson has the Amtrak station and the two-hour train ride from Manhattan, which explains a lot of what’s happening here economically. The Brooklyn transplants followed the train. The boutiques followed the transplants.
But what I kept thinking about, walking through it, was the gap. Because Hudson also has blocks that are still catching up, and the people who’ve been here for generations aren’t all benefiting equally from the reinvention. That’s not unique to Hudson. It’s the story of every post-industrial town that’s been discovered. The question is always what the balance looks like ten years in.
One thing I’ll say about this year of travel: it has genuinely made me a better listener. I spent forty years in my own business so focused on getting things done that I never slowed down for the actual human exchanges that were happening around me. I was always performing — performing for clients, for staff, for the next thing on the agenda. This year I’ve been practicing something different. Slower. More present. I’m not sure I’m good at it yet. But I’m better than I was.
The Art Hotel
I poked into the Wick for a while before checking out, looking at the paintings in the lobby and the common spaces. Hudson Valley landscapes and local work, well hung, clearly curated by someone with an eye. I was seriously considering whether one of the pieces would fit in my luggage. Spoiler: it would not. I did not buy the painting. I did take a picture of it.
Animal Kind
I’d noticed a small sign for a cat rescue when I was in the coffee shop earlier. I flagged it mentally and kept moving. Then, on the way back through town, I thought: this is exactly the kind of stop this project needs more of.
Animal Kind has been operating in Hudson for twenty-five years. They take in around a thousand cats a year and adopt out approximately the same number. No-kill, no exceptions unless an animal is suffering beyond rehabilitation. They do spay and neuter programs for low-income pet owners, medical assistance, community outreach, hoarding interventions in coordination with law enforcement. They bring cats up from overflow New York City shelters. They work with people who’ve lost their apartments and can only take two of their three cats with them. These situations, I learned, happen more than you’d think.
The woman who showed me around knew every single cat by name. Winston, who was friendly but opinionated. Leo, whose owner lost their apartment. A feral named Chewy, also known as Chew Toy per her husband, who came in badly injured, bite wounds everywhere, and has gradually become something like sweet. A three-legged cat who’d come in from a barn with a leg injury and was working toward being adoptable. Twelve-year-old Shelly, a senior tortoiseshell who roams free in the halls because she simply cannot get along with the other cats. Princess, who doesn’t like other cats. Doesn’t like dogs either.
When I mentioned I’d been planning all year to visit a cat rescue somewhere in Minnesota and never made it, she laughed and said welcome to Hudson.
They’re working on raising funds for a new facility and have a vision for a cat café down the road, where you can meet adoptable cats while drinking your coffee. There’s already a model for it up in Schenectady. The concept, she said, is that you sit with the cats and fall in love before you’ve fully committed to adopting one. I find this to be good strategy.
I left having not adopted a cat. I did think about it. Penny at home would have had opinions.
On the Road to the Catskills
While I was in Hudson, another hurricane was working its way toward Florida. That contrast — October color in upstate New York while something devastating was building offshore back home — was one I’d been living with for most of this leg. You can’t fully turn it off. It sits there in the background of every beautiful view.
I drove out of Hudson through the valley, the light doing something on the hills that I’ll probably be thinking about for a while. Catskills next.
