Sometimes weather cooperates in mysterious ways. You wouldn’t think enduring a thunderstorm without any possibility of shelter could be much fun, but my companion Bette and I overcame wet feet and wind-
tangled hair, finding a storm the perfect dramatic atmosphere for a visit to Bannerman Castle. Once a strongbox-like warehouse storing surplus military goods ranging from rifles and swords to helmets, artillery shells and uniforms, the structure is now a romantic ruin, its cracked and broken façade covered with vines and threatening collapse. Last winter, one-and-a-half sides of the building crashed to the ground overnight.
Situated on a six-and-one-half acre rocky island in the Hudson River just downstream of Beacon, New 
York, Bannerman Castle is reached by boat and visited legitimately only through a guided hardhat tour. Built of cement coated brick, the sprawling building was the brainchild of Frank Bannerman, a merchant in militaria who bought items at government auction. He began construction in 1901 after his business was deemed too dangerous for the crowded precincts of Manhattan. Fancying himself somewhat of an architect, he’d dash off drawings that were both theatrical and practical, creating an imaginative structure he found reminiscent of his native Scotland. On a pinnacle offering spectacular views of the Hudson Highlands, he built a similarly styled home. His wife indulged in creating intriguing gardens and trails on the island’s uneven landscape.
Despite explosions, a fire in the mid sixties, and years of neglect, Bannerman is still a dreamily grand structure of archways, decorative friezes, castellated turrets, cannonball finials, and decorative crenellations. How strange that a fortress once strong enough to hold some of humankind’s most 
destructive inventions has become prey to the relatively benign forces of rain, wind and frost. Perhaps the Castle is best as a ruin because it tells not only the story of a place, but of the passage of time. Regardless of its condition, it captures the imagination and beckons the mind to spin stories.
A glowering day of moody, gray clouds added to the romance of the crumbling remains. But when the wind picked up and starting firing raindrops like an enfilade of bullets, thunder boomed like cannon, and lightning exploded across the sky, the very weather seemed to mimic the armaments once sheltered here and taunt our hubris in the Castle’s long faded purpose. In what most people would consider “bad” weather, Bette and I saw good fortune making for an extraordinary visit.
Weather is something that defines and amplifies our notion of place more than we commonly realize. How diminished would New England be without its characteristic crisp fall mornings of colorful leaves. And the Southwest would be wholly different lacking its signature dry heat and expansive skies. As for Bannerman Castle, you’d best wait for some electrically charged, coal black thunderhead hovering above the Hudson if you want the total experience.
