It’s your story; let it be written, let it be so.
Up the hill to Harrisville, down the hill to Peterborough, take in the beautiful autumn landscape of Southwestern New Hampshire. The views paint oils from gold to crimson over the rolling hills of Dublin, sandwiched in between. Another layer of serendipity added to an autumn excursion in this quiet town of literary New England history.
In the shadows of Mount Monadnock, after shopping the yarn mill in Harrisville, we discover this Cheshire county village as we continue to leaf peep in mid-October. The leaves on the tips of the trees have fallen away but those that remain reveal a beautiful canvas. We fall into the center of town and country life pauses to appreciate the culture of a modest red building across from the Dublin Town Hall, noting an establishment of 1882. The seasonal drive in this Region reveals the Northern home of Yankee Magazine. Alongside the parking lot is that of Yankee Publishing, also turning a personal page into the Old Farmers Almanac. Nothing could Robb one from stopping to take in the editorial air and photo opportunity. Surreal to be upon a setting that has transported millions to so many other New England travel experiences.
Saturday ambiance abundant with the people of Dublin at the General Store, just up the road. The first to greet is a 6’ wooden cigar Indian. His doorway reveals the perfect blend of history, antiques and modern deli.
Salads and delectable foods flicker behind glass under the light of an antique punching bag.
Fresh fruit beams from another display near a hanging vintage scale. Well past thirsty and hunting a beverage, coolers appropriately locate near an old metal lifesaver display.
Historical charm decorates the store as locals arrive for their staples or a bite to eat, under the watchful eye of a mounted deer, humored by the sweatband around his head.
Beyond the still dial-up checkout, to have survived the recent power outage, is a seating area at the front of the store. Makeshift tables with cast iron sewing machine bases and old desktops await. The outdoors continues to beckon, dining near the long-paned period windows.
Nice conversation is had by local area schoolteachers, as warned by the nearby mounted phone with a sign stating “Be nice or leave”.
Leaving is not an option with chicken breast of apple and Brie and zesty macaroni and cheese. The comforts of home abound amongst memorable time spent and ambiance of days gone by, nudging us, reminding us that old Yanks are here too.
Departure is bittersweet as the afternoon is lived like the exploring pages of Yankee Magazine. Like any solid Yankee town, farewells include a bid to have a good day under the watchful eye of an Indian. Crisp fall air meets warm bellies, continuing South to a festival in Peterborough and Yankee homes in central Massachusetts where cherished issues of a local magazine await. ‘Twas a day of outdoor magical theatre, so let it be written.
– Smoldering nicotine as not a lady puts out her cigarette against the human services window pane
– Overwhelming perfume as the cashmere figure boards a cab in front of the upscale boutique hotel
– Striking sulfur as an old man lights one up between the coffee shop and the bus station
– Frying cider donuts as the farm stand openers prepare the tourist market for the day
– Harrowing steaming grates portraying unimaginable smells as the Holocaust memorial reminds us of genocide and Ethnic cleansing
– Spiraling vehicle exhausts as all walks of life freely come and go to their selected corners of the city
On the daily commuter rail, I like to sit on the train car that is reserved as a quiet space. We passengers like to settle into our own silent world to read or finish a work item. I also pay bills or write fiction (okay, semi non-fiction) during this personal down time. For those that are not the frequent travelers, there is a loud reminder on the SPEAKER at EVERY stop:
“For passenger comfort, the quiet car is the first car behind the locomotive Monday through Friday. Please speak in hushed tones and refrain from using cell phones and electronics in the quiet car. Thank you and enjoy the ride.”
The only one that bothers me, and needs to speak in hushed tones, is the quiet car speaker system!
Mon ami en vacances a Paris me connaissant pas un mot de francais.
A son retour, il a proclame avec enthousiasme:
“I learned how to ask where the bathrooms are!”
“Ah. Bon. Ou est la salle de bains?”
No. No! “Ou se trouvent les toilettes?”
D’accord. Je ne pouvais pas discuter avec ca!
In awe and proud of our die-hard New England surfers riding the 38 degree waves.
York, Maine – 2/18/18
I lay down to sleep –
must calm the enthusiasm –
Tomorrow we Jeep.
I don’t own a transforming genie, am not a person of great monetary wealth and am not bewitched. However, if I close my eyes in Durham, New Hampshire I am instantly transformed to a palace 80 miles away.
Thank you to the Aladdin of my life for our open air Jeep time. It was a great way to spend a magical afternoon – and take a nap on the way home.
How my brain works and how I hear music in my head.
My life’s motto is the same as my blood type:
My fashion statement is the same as my home decor:
My persona is the same as my perspective about the future:
There are so many good things in every day life. Relax, put your feet up and read.
Welcome to my blog!