Alissa & Will Malnati

My husband and I were soul sick.

I’m a writer and fashion executive. He’s a podcast and television producer. But twenty-five combined years in New York City’s relentless, round-the-clock cacophony had taken a toll. We were burned out and more than a bit calloused. We didn’t know what to do. We weren’t sure what we wanted. Or what we needed.

Somehow, Cold Spring knew.

The house we moved into there, atop a wooded mountain and far from cell reception, became our veritable sanctuary. Nature’s peace, hospitality, and intimacy reconnected us with long-lost parts of ourselves, while enkindling fresh desires, epiphanies, and interests. The summer wind’s symphony; the dream-like, white winters; and autumn’s colorful, acrobatic leaves never whispered to speed up. But to slow down. To breathe the beauty around us. To just…be.

In time, my soul-sick husband and I referred to Cold Spring as our “medicine”. That medicine came by means beyond nature. Before Cold Spring, our idea of what community could feel and function like was, in retrospect, incredibly limited. But this little village’s gargantuan heart obliterated those limits with seemingly limitless compassion, curiosity, and creativity. From bear alerts, to tending out-of-town neighbors’ gardens, to fireside gatherings to share meals, stories, laughter, and tears—we learned that, in Cold Spring, community means being, for others, the refreshing and, daresay, medicinal water whereon this remarkable place was founded.

Cold Spring restored my husband and me. And imbued us with the qualities we want to model for, and instill in, our son, Remy, who was born in 2023. Cold Spring, we are forever grateful for you. We are forever changed. Medicine we will never forget.