Into the snow

We have seen almost no snow so far this winter.  We had a brushing twice but it was gone in hours.  We decided we needed a break.  We decided on a romantic getaway, but not south: north into the White Mountains.

In the early sixties during the early years with my second husband Robert, we were living first in Cambridge, then after we returned fromliving in San Francisco, we lived in Brookline. The White Mountains were close. Robert, who had been a sickly child, always weak and in danger of breaking bones, was given to pushing himself and therefore me. We went hiking and mountain climbing—not rock climbing, certainly.  I tried camping and hated it.  So we reached a compromise.  I would hike and climb provided we got a comfortable room at the end of day and a good supper.  I never became any sort of skilled mountaineer. The highest mountain we climbed was Tecumseh.  That was hard enough.  It’s not one of the biggest, but it’s quite sizable, over four thousand feet..  We took many hikes to waterfalls, mountain lakes, vistas. I really loved the White Mountains but hadn’t been near thmn in decades. After we moved to NYC, I hiked all overBear Mountain with people from NACLA – the North American Congress on LatinAmerica.  I was one of the founders and it’s still going strong, best source of real info on Latin American to this day.

When Woody was driving me back from a stint teaching atVermont Studio Center, we drove back through the White Mountains and their beauy and power reminded me what I used to love. Woody had never experienced them in all the years he lived inCambridge.  So we decided that’s where we would take out getaway.  I had twice read a write-up in the Globe about an inn in Sugar Hill that sounded great.  It was in a pretty spot although I was disappointed when we found we couldn’t view the mountains from the inn.  It was an 18th century farmhouse.  The food had a reputation and indeed, it was delicious.  We ate there both nights.  But the description of the inn as luxurious was a bit of an exaggeration. The jacuzzi in our room was great and so was the bed, but the chairs were all old and saggy, the rug was stained and everything was up a step or two.  For instance, I had to use a cane to get way up in the bathroom.  The bedroom floor slanted so badly that if I dropped something, it rolled. The food was worth every bit of the price, the wine list was decent, and they offered a full bar.  People working there were very friendly, with one exception.  But the room was enormously overpriced. I would never describe it as luxurious, except for the big comfortable jacuzzi with plenty of hot water.

We made incredible time coming back.  It took us four hours and twenty minutes forWoody to drive us from Sugar Hill to our home. Janet took excellent care of the cats, but they were purry glad to see us.  Every time Woody sat or lay down, Schwartzie climbed in his lap at once. Xena and Willow started following me around from room to room.  Mingus was crying for attention.  It was a fun adventure, but now we’re glad to be home. Tonight, I made a simple spaghetti Bolognese and Woody made a salad. 

I came home, of course, to almost 300 emails including a number I have to deal with.  We’ve [Dale and I] been sending a lot of new poems out.

I had hoped to start the first seedlings of spring when we got home, but it turned out we’re out of plastic wrap, something I need for seedlings when they’re germinating.  So I’ll have to add that tomorrow while I do the house half of the laundry [MondayI do the person wash for both of us plus kitchen towels, aprons, etc.]  Woody will go to Orleans to do the week’s shopping. I’ll hunker down to get back to work by Monday.