We had decided last year on our return from New Hampshire in September that we'd no longer make that pilgrimage to the White Mountain National Forest that we've been returning to twice a year, in spring and early fall for decades. When our children were young, before their teens, we first took them there, and the older they got the more accustomed we became to the mountains and the energy it would take to begin climbing them. They, like us, took to the adventure of it all, and we would rent cottages close to either the Crawford Notch, the Franconia Notch or Pinkham.

 

 

They're now far older than we were when we began vacationing with them there, and we've been returning on our own for the past thirty years, a week in June, another in September or October. The last summits we climbed was Welch-Dickey's 4-mile loop and that's almost ten years ago. When Jackie and Jillie were puppies we climbed with them nine years ago to the lookout and went no further. Their predecessors, Button and Riley, accompanied us year after year on our climbs. Button, older than Riley by seven years, climbed most of the Presidential range with us, with the exception of Mount Washington. 

 

The Basin, Franconia Notch

Old habits have a way of nagging at you. We had agreed between us, that at age 86 the long drive, the settling in, the packing, the search for trails in a mountain region that would still serve our need to be out in nature on forested trails without stretching our energy resources beyond what we could muster was unrealistic. Those days were over, we agreed. No trip in June.

 

But in August, Irving felt restless and said he'd been looking at the reservations available and found an opening for us for September and would I agree that we'd give it another go? Reservation made, we left home with the puppies on the 3rd of September and took that drive to the Waterville Valley. On the way, going through Vermont, we saw just how serious that state is about 'clean, green' energy. There are vast wind farms and electrical grids in wide stretches along the route we took. 

 

Sabbaday Falls

We left on a beautiful driving day, clear sky, sunny, mild temperature. We stopped for a brunch and the opportunity to have Jackie and Jillie get a little walk, before resuming the trip. They're great little travellers, content to be with us, uncomplaining, well behaved. When we finally arrived in New Hampshire, to our surprise there were motorcyclists everywhere. We're accustomed to seeing them in June, for the big rallies at Motorcycle Week, but here they were, brigades of them zipping about, many unhelmeted.

 

When we finally arrived at our destination, we were greeted by our hosts, Donna and Byron O'Donnell, who have in fact become dear friends over the past twenty years. Unpacking was a ritual we've been long familiar with. The puppies remembered the cottage; they've stayed at a number of them over the years, and they adjusted well. The days to follow gave us the opportunity to resume our acquaintance with that colossal, beautiful landscape.

 

It was great while it lasted, weather aside. The weather, however, didn't keep us from getting out daily to explore wooded areas on trails both familiar and new to us. And the spectacular natural sites that always draws tourists to gather in honour of nature's grand geological design. Breaks between heavy rain events enabled us to do what we normally look forward to, and a good time was had by all; all being ourselves and our two little dogs.

Today was house-cleaning day, and there was a lot to be done in this house. So it was late afternoon by the time we got ourselves out for our daily hike through the forest trails with Jackie and Jillie. The morning had brought heavy rain again, a carry-over from overnight rain last night. We took our time, we always do, with breakfast. There are newspapers to read, emails to catch up with, and it wasn't until noon that the routine of cleaning began.

Before we left the house for our hike in the ravine, I popped a Cornish game hen into the oven to begin its roast period. With it, new crop baby potatoes. I prepared a few cobs of corn, and cubed pears and sliced kiwi made up dessert. It was a good hike for all of us, we always feel better, even when we're tired, to get out into the fresh air; it pumps up our energy and feels so good. And the puppies need their daily outing in a natural setting, as much as we do.

The contrast between the meal we had tonight and the chicken breast I cooked while we were away in New Hampshire couldn't have been greater. The game hen was done to perfection, its meat delicate and moist. The chicken breast bought at the Hannaford supermarket was dry and stringy, so much so it was difficult to cut with a knife at the table. Our poultry tends to go through a chilling process that tenderizes it. I had forgotten how awful chicken in the U.S. tastes.

But there are other food issues. Strange as it may seem, when we embark on a week's trip like this, we take along bread we've bought here at home, knowing how unpalatably cotton-batten-like bread is there. And though its quality is inferior to our taste, it's also more expensive than bread in Canada. There are other disappointments; boxed cocktail tomatoes and out of a half-dozen, two had to be discarded. Same thing happened in June, only with Georgia peaches, boxed and past their prime.

Lean, Black Angus beef, a premium cut, awfully disappointing; touted as lean but greasy tasting. Grape tomatoes with skins so thick they defied a knife. And American-grown oranges that were tough and full of seeds, quite unlike the U.S. oranges we buy here in Canada. So, what gives? Couldn't be nostalgia for home when we're away each time a week, no more. Fact is, we love being there, enjoying the exemplary landscape of the White Mountain National Forest. 

 Just tells you how regional food is. The corn we bought was fresh, the cobs much larger than the corn we buy here. The kernels were tough and starchy-meaty. The bicolour corn we eat at  home is smaller, the kernels also much smaller, but bursting with sweetness and beautiful to the taste. That tough corn is cattle-corn, meant for livestock feed, yet it's stocked for human consumption. Go figure.

Our family, including Jackie and Jillie, eats a lot of eggs. And we always buy Omega-plus, vitamin E-enhanced eggs. In the past I've been able to buy some kind of Omega eggs at Hannaford, but not this time. Mostly they featured free-range eggs, along with ordinary varieties, but none enhanced with chicken feed (flax) that would produce vitamin-E eggs. Our puppies don't know the difference, but we do.

Just as well there's so much more that draws us to New Hampshire than the food. The people are unfailingly friendly. Unless they're visiting Bostonians and they're everywhere at this time of year. Grumble, grumble. Hard to believe, reading this, that we love the place and the people and the exposure to some of nature's grandest landscapes...

 

Jackie and Jillie relaxing at the cottage

Amazing how chronically crankily volatile nature can be at times. Just weeks ago we were sweltering in a heat wave. We knew, of course, it was summer's way of bidding us adieu for another year. Hard on its heels, so to speak, came cold, wet, windy weather. To be expected, of course. And of course we had made our decision to go back to the Waterville Valley in September as we most often do, before the onset of winter, for the opportunity of hiking along old familiar forest trails in the White Mountain National Forest, the jewel in the crown of the state of New Hampshire.

After our long drive brought us to the Franconia Notch it was the first time in many years that there was no fog, no overwhelming mist rising, to enable us to see the tops of the mountains as we drove through to our further destination. The irony is that for the entire trip we had driven under dark-streaked clouds and a few rain events on our way. It was not only unusual to see the summit range clearly on an otherwise rainy, cloudy day, but that mostly our introduction to the Notch on arrival was one of a  hidden landscape.

For the  week we were in New Hampshire rain was relentless each day, with the exception of mid-week's Wednesday. Then, though most of the day the sky remained cloud-dense and dark, as the afternoon wore on to early evening, the sun did reveal itself. Leaving us with one day out of the week when we were able to plan for an entire day's outing, when we drove on to Sabbaday Falls and from there to Rocky Gorge and the Lovquest Trail to give our little dogs the opportunity for a longer hike than we were able to manage with them the other days of the week when more modest hikes were called for in brief periods of light rain or between rain events.

It was different on our return trip. We left the cottage we rented for the week under almost-clearing skies on a very cold and windy morning. We had said goodby to our hosts whom we've known for decades. For a change it wasn't raining. Jackie and Jillie settled down quietly, seasoned travellers that they are. We saw a doe in a clearing, and now and again wild turkeys singly, in pairs and in groups as we passed.

On our daily drives to various hiking spots we had seen turkey vultures circling the sky over the highways not far from the forest verges and the mountains beyond. But on this occasion we were surprised to see a large group of turkey vultures wheeling about on the wind, over a forest canopy. We'd never seen such a large gathering of these birds before, but now know that as birds liking companionship among their peers, such a gathering is called a 'kettle'. They're scavenger-feeders, carrion-eaters.

What was peculiar was that when we reached the Franconia Notch this time driving in the opposite direction to our arrival, we drove directly into heavy rain. Thick mist and fog enveloped the summits and rose into the rain-saturated sky. Odd, because most often when we're leaving New Hampshire and passing through the Notch, it tends to be clear. This time Eagle's Cliff could only be glimpsed through the rain and fog and mist, while Mount Lafayette was completely shrouded.

We arrived back home at 4:30 p.m. Taking into account our stop at the Vermont rest stop where we always take grateful advantage of their amenities, including being able to exercise our puppies in a bit of a walk along their grassy verge. It 's also where we use their rest room, and their picnic grounds where we take our leisurely time eating brunch; actually the breakfast we hadn't eaten before leaving the cottage. Our little dogs enjoyed a hard-boiled egg between them, and offered to help us eat our tangerines and bananas and crunchy peanut-butter-on-whole-wheat-buns breakfast.

Once home again, we decided to unpack the truck the following day, and instead take ourselves and the puppies out to the ravine for a restful hike through the forest to exercise our travel-weary limbs and relieve the stress of the drive back home. A cold day with a high of 10C, 40mph wind, moderated by a warming sun that had been absent all week long.

Nine days ago -- it seems so long ago, and at the same time seems like yesterday -- we set out early in the morning of a heavily overcast, cool day to drive to an old haunt of ours in New Hampshire. Uncertain whether the trip would be too difficult for two 85-year-olds determined to celebrate our 67th wedding anniversary in the same manner we usually share our mutual passion for the out-of-doors, and whether we would encounter difficulties crossing the border from Quebec to Vermont.

The drive was uneventful, and it was pleasant. An opportunity for two people who spend virtually every minute of every day together, to talk companionably about all manner of things; nostalgic and of the present. Our little dogs slept quietly beside us for most of the trip. They were, in fact, sterling companions throughout the entire trip. Making no suggestions/recommendations of their own, simply submitting to our decision-making and appearing to thrive wherever we went.

There was a tedious wait at the border. A line-up of vehicles waiting to enter the U.S. from Canada. Only one of the customs booths was open, and the line of vehicles moved slowly and haltingly forward. Then another booth opened and suddenly we were only six cars from the border official and soon we were being asked for our trip itinerary, our passports and our Covid inoculation records. A brief and pleasant enough encounter, and once we were cleared we made directly for the first Vermont rest stop we're so familiar with.

It's a well-maintained area, thoughtfully laid out with picnic tables and manicured lawn. If we'd arrived a bit later in the season we would've seen thyme in the lawn, in bloom and smelled its fragrance as we walked along with Jackie and Jillie, all of us enjoying the opportunity to stretch our legs and diaphragms in the fresh mountain air. It was cool and windy and overcast, but nothing took away from the pleasure of walking among the lovely old specimen trees thriving there; oak, maple and one of the larges elms we've ever seen. As well as a splendid viburnum in bloom. 

There, we had our clementines, bananas, hard-boiled eggs and sandwiches. Jackie and Jillie shared their own egg between them. They'd had their breakfast before we left home, we hadn't eaten anything, and it was about 1:30, so a somewhat late 'brunch'. Tea and coffee sealed off our leisure relaxation and then we were off again.

When we crossed from Vermont into New Hampshire we knew it wouldn't be too long before our journey was completed. Reaching Franconia Notch, the weather was so socked in, dark heavy clouds had settled deeply over all the mountain summits. We knew where they were, which they were, but they were obscured in deep cloud, a not-unusual situation there.

It took but another half-hour or so, the Waterville Valley awaited us and so did our hosts neither of whom we've seen for several years thanks to the pandemic. They're like old friends, so like old friends that they are indeed old friends with whom we were glad to share reminiscences along with the latest family news they were bursting to share. A good start to a week away from home.

 

 

Our drive to New Hampshire a week ago was uneventful, but long and somewhat tiring. Irving did all the driving, I don't drive. The puppies were content to sit between us, Jillie leaning her little head on Irving's lap and Jackie watching the passing scene from my lap until they both fell asleep and slept most of the trip. The weather was fine, overcast and cool, but no rain. We had no problems getting through US customs but Irving had stopped beforehand at Canada Customs where it was explained we would need to fill out online return questionnaires before crossing back into Canada to present them on our return.

 

We stopped after crossing the border at the usual Vermont welcome centre. There we took the puppies for a little walk before settling ourselves down at a picnic table to eat our 'brunch'. No breakfast this morning, but at around 1:30 pm we had clementines, bananas, sandwiches, tea and coffee. Jackie and Jillie had eaten breakfast, but at the stop they shared a boiled egg between them and part of our sandwiches.

 

When we passed through Franconia Notch after crossing into New Hampshire the cloud cover was so dense and low it wasn't possible to see the summits of the mountains we passed. But rain held off. After we settled into our cottage and emptied the truck of all our luggage, we set off again to Hannaford's to buy the week's groceries. So it was fairly late when all of us had dinner, and not long after that we went off to bed.

 

When we left New Hampshire yesterday morning it was in a heavy downpour, relentless, constant and copious. Sightlines were almost non-existent and driving some of those mountain hairpin turns got pretty exciting, particularly given the big trucking rigs that seem to specialize in sending thick, opaque showers onto windshields. Irving is a dexterous driver and we made good time. There was no respite from the rain; if we enjoyed a brief period of relief from the heavy downpour, it was brief indeed before we entered yet another squall, one after another. Some pretty reckless drivers out there.

 

Rain, as it happened, followed us all the way home. And once home it kept raining. Still, we did a ritual tour of the garden, grateful everything for the most part survived, thanks to a week of wet weather. We were amazed, as we always are, at what a difference a week makes in a garden. The perennials' succession of flowering, the growth of all the vegetation never fails to surprise us. I thought Irving would take it easy, unpack today, but he insisted on getting everything in the house.

 

It was good to sleep in our own bed last night, and Jackie and Jillie thought so, too. Needless to say, early to bed, early to rise, though not too early. Fruit and an oatmeal breakfast, tea and coffee seemed just right. Irving went out to pick up his new eyeglasses, ready at last, and to drop by the bank and to pick up a cauliflower, orange juice and blueberries. In his absence, I baked chocolate cupcakes, put on a chicken soup, and began to put some things in order.

 

And then it was time to take the puppies out for their afternoon hike through our own forest. Which looked greener, brighter and crisper than ever. A cool and windy day, some sun and some showers. We managed to make it through a long circuit with the sky holding back the clouds so eager to release their burden. They did just that, in fact, a few hours after we returned home again.

 

In the ravine we saw the thimbleberry shrubs had already begun to flower, and blackberries were in full flower. There were buttercups gleaming in some stray sunbeams, and the hazelnut shrubs were starting to fill in their nuts. The trails were even wetter than when we left, last week, given the unending rain events that kept occurring throughout the week. 

 

The sad fate of the forest where so many old pines and poplars had succumbed to the violence of the electrical/wind storm that passed through the area several weeks ago remains in stark evidence of the power of micro-tornadoes passing through in a successive burst of inclement weather. Some Good Samaritan had taken it upon himself to cut up one large tree that had fallen across one of the bridge entrances where one had to duck under at a really bad angle for anyone over 5' in height, like me.

 

We came across our local barred owl sitting regally and unperturbed by the fuss we made over him. For a change there were no crows around to harass him and his mate. Though crook our necks as we might, we were unable to make out the nest this afternoon to catch a glimpse of the nursing owl and the pair's owlets. 

And when we finally returned home again, there was the garden, waiting to be admired and fussed over.
We saw a little wild rabbit fleet as the wind, hop from one part of a garden bed to dive under the thick cover of a bed of large old hostas. The peonies haven't yet bloomed, so we haven't missed anything there. Some of the roses at the front of the house are fully blooming; one very old rose in particular, a rare bloomer that still emits a divine fragrance.

 

Irving has a subscription to the Maine Antique Digest. He used to pick them up freely distributed when we'd poke into New Hampshire antique shops over the years taking breaks from our mountain hiking expeditions. It's a quality magazine, with excellent well-researched articles and photographs of antiques at auction and plenty of advertisements that pique our interest. And would have even more so back in the days when we were free to travel for hiking holidays in the White Mountains. We'd done so for many years and loved every one of those trips.

 

 

It's hard to say, coming into our 85th year, whether we'll resume that long drive and the fuss associated with packing, unpacking, re-packing and caring for two little dogs to ensure their safety and comfort during semi-annual one-week trips where we'd rent a housekeeping cottage in the Waterville Valley and re-visit all our old hiking haunts.

 

 

We had first started out that tradition many years ago when our children were in their pre-, early-teens and beyond, introducing them and ourselves to the exhilaration and pleasures involved in mountain climbing. Those side-trips to antique shops were Irving's special indulgence. He looked for affordable, authentic 19th Century paintings and over the years amassed quite a few to hang on our walls.

 

 

The global pandemic changed a lot of peoples' habits. Impacting everyday life in a multitude of ways as well as the ability to move about freely in-country and on foreign trips. Receiving that monthly magazine was another way to 'keep in touch' with what was happening on the art and antiques market. We firmly believe, from our experiences in awaiting those posted magazines, that the U.S. postal service seriously delivers. Canada Post, not so much.

 

 

There are times when an issue is late, times when one never makes it to arrival. The August issue was one of them. So after waiting three weeks and nothing in our mailbox, Irving called their office, spoke to the helpful receptionist who assured him she would send out another. It wasn't the first time this happened. The September issue, she told him, had already been dispatched. A week later, there was a package in the mailbox with a note from Canada Post, apologizing that the 'enclosed' had been damaged by them so they had placed it in a large manila envelope for safety sake and sent it on.

 

 

When Irving opened the package there was a note from the sympathetic receptionist who said she was aware we'd been experiencing difficulties with postal delivery at our end, so she sent along both a replacement August issue and the following September issue. And there they were. The original, missing August issue has never arrived, and nor has the September one, so we were fortunate she was so thoughtful. Our postal service is sub-par, unfortunately. The postie who services our group mailbox is notorious for placing people's mail in the wrong slot...and they mysteriously disappear.

 

 

It's hard to believe we felt as though we were melting from the heat and humidity only two days ago in a prolonged heat wave. Yesterday we were greeted with relief when a cold front arrived. And today it's cooler still, at 19C and no humidity, but a cold wind. And the threat of rain under heavily grey-streaked skies. When we arose in the morning it was raining. When it stopped in early afternoon out we went for our usual plunge into the ravine and our forays through the forested trails.

 

Although we wore rainjackets on the chance it would rain again since the forecast was for ongoing rain and the possibility of thunderstorms, we needed them for comfort from the cold, not to shield us from rain, as it happened. And nor did we have to whip out Jackie and Jillie's little raincoats in a downpour.

 

Every year we would take a week in early June and another week in September or October to drive to New Hampshire's Waterville Valley. When our children were young we would go there for the express purpose of seeing the mountains in the White Mountain National Forest and year after year we would climb as many as we could pack into a week. These were day climbs, ascend in the morning, descend in the afternoon. We climbed to many peaks, but never Mount Washington.

Little Haystack, Eisenhower, Moosilauke, Lafayette, Cannon Mountain and many others filled out our year-by-year experience. As the children became adults they would sometimes accompany us, sometimes not. Until the time came when we would carry on ourselves. The older we got the more confined to more modest mountain hikes like Welch and Dickey and Rattlesnake. By the time we turned 80 we gave up the former and continued the latter.

For the past twenty years or so we kept coming back to one place in the Waterville Valley near Franconia Notch, and struck up a friendship with the owners of the site. Years ago when they hired someone to set up a new website for them, they asked if we wouldn't mind having our photos taken and one of them still appears on their website, of Irving and me and our elderly little Apricot poodle, Riley.

The last trip we took was in September of 2019. And then came the global pandemic and everything was shut down. So for two years we haven't gone to our summer idyll in the White Mountains. Everything shuttered including the border between Canada and the U.S. for non-essential travel. The very term non-essential is debatable, but clearly it's meant to identify travel that is not absolutely necessary.

We certainly miss those trips. It would take about eight hours of driving to get to our destination. Jackie and Jillie became very good travellers, like their little predecessors Button and Riley. It was Button, our miniature poodle, who had climbed many of the difficult mountain peaks when we were still able to do them ourselves. But Jackie and Jillie became avid mountain climbers too, though the mountains were far more modest in size and height.

Eventually we satisfied ourselves with hiking the mountain trails requiring not too much energy and endurance in achieving height. We'd take Jackie and Jillie to the Basin at Franconia, to Sabbaday Falls, to the Lovequist Trail,to SmartsBrook, and that along with the Rattlesnakes would satisfy our mountain-climbing urges the last five years.

With two years' absence from the mountains, there's something missing. On the other  hand, we have such easy access to a forested natural setting close to home that satisfies our daily need to take ourselves to a natural landscape. In our mid-80s now, it seems a little less urgent for us to undertake an eight-hour drive, pack up all the essentials for a week's stay in a mountain landscape, roam about hither and yon to our hearts' content. But we certainly do miss it.