e traveling to new places and exploring–I’ve always thought of that as an important part of my personality. But driving to a familiar place, re-experiencing the thrill of recognizable landmarks, triggers dopamine at a much higher rate. It’s the approach to a loved place that often evokes the most nostalgia. 

This summer, I drove to Saranac Lake half a dozen times. We drive the two-hour route along Route 22 to cross the Crown Point Bridge into New York, and then head north on 9 to 73 through Lake Placid to Route 86. Route 86 becomes Lake Flower Avenue, named for the lake that the road winds along. Saranac Lake has an Upper Saranac Lake and a Lower Saranac Lake, and the town sits nestled between those and Lake Flower. For me, this is the gateway to a special place–Camp Guggenheim, a week-long summer overnight camp worthy of its own review.

But as we enter the town of Saranac Lake, we first pass a place of its own joys: Mountain Mist Ice Cream.

On the outside, beyond enough evidence that it’s an ice cream stand, nothing seems especially inviting. They have a decrepit sign with a scary clown adorned in faded primary colors. It’s an old-fashioned stand, with a walk-up window and and a parking lot it shares with the commercial property next door. Pulling in, you worry about parking and see mostly pavement. 

Although right on a main route, it feels like a hidden treasure with its short lines. Though the staff is young–some middle school-aged kids help out–they are effective and generous with the dips and sprinkles. With respect to the Vermont creemee, the ice cream itself holds its own–both hard and soft flavors. 

Once you order your ice cream, you can sit along the water and watch the ducks and people who pilot their boats to the dock. There are Adirondack chairs and picnic tables as well as a covered patio with a bar-type feel. Customers clearly enjoy soaking in the sun and watching the boats as they enjoy their treat.

For us, though, it’s the company. While a family of six is always a party, we often make a plan to meet to connect with friends or family who are traveling to Camp Guggenheim. We visit long after the ice cream is gone. Often times, another camp family will be stopping by, and we enjoy the additional connection. 

I enjoy solitude. There are hikes where I’ve christened different parts of the trail I recognize with my own monikers: the pine cathedral, the jagged rocks, the Tolkien trees, the stairway to heaven. As an introvert, I often process best when I’m walking by myself. And I truly feel joy in these experiences.

But there is a particular joy in the value of a shared experience, especially when it connects to a deeper meaning. As our kids leave camp dreading the Guggy-withdrawal, the hardship of having to leave a place of unique friendships and laughter, it’s one last association to those feelings. Our stop at Mountain Mist helps stave off the Guggy-withdrawal, at least in that ephemeral moment that lasts only as long as a summer ice cream cone.

I give Mountain Mist four and a half stars.