Category: New England Scenes

  • Playing In the Shelter of the Burning Bush

    Playing In the Shelter of the Burning Bush

    Puffy clouds drift slowly in the blue sky. The morning air is still cool as I cradle one sleeping niece and watch another play with her friends. The three of them giggle and whisper as they spy on me to see if I know their game. I warn the toddlers against breaking the small, low…

  • This Shattered World Holds Wonders Yet

    This Shattered World Holds Wonders Yet

    I drove the New Hampshire seacoast route in my friend and COVID podmate’s car last week. We had gone to Portsmouth for the afternoon and decided to take the long way back. The sun had already set, but we had a bit of light to see by. Enough that we indulged our decidedly Romantic natures…

  • On Living in a World That Has Octobers

    On Living in a World That Has Octobers

    From L.M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables, Chapter 16:  October was a beautiful month at Green Gables, when the birches in the hollow turned as golden as sunshine and the maples behind the orchard were royal crimson and the wild cherry trees along the lane put on the loveliest shades of dark red and bronzy green,…

  • On Time, and Dreams, and Beauty

    One hundred and fourteen years ago, a man named Bancroft was looking to retire from the bustle of a career in the military and public service. He bought land in Groton, Massachusetts, and set about building his retirement home. The reasons he chose to build a bungalow with a European-style castle tower on the crest…

  • The Fort

    The Fort

    Pouring rain makes it so we can’t take my nephew outside today. He sits in my mom’s lap, listening to her read books about tractors, his favorite topic of conversation. It’s too bad. His grandparents have a new ground-level fort for him to play in. You have to duck under a fir tree’s blunt needles…

  • Dirt Jewett

    Dirt Jewett

    “I’m from a pretty rural area,” I tell my new acquaintances. After a polite pause, I elucidate: “Half of my parents’ street is dirt.” Eyebrows raise. Appropriate expressions of surprise are uttered. And my childhood home is thus explained in one or three words: Rural. Dirt road. They’re not bad words, but they don’t give…