For the past several years, I’ve ventured out to western Maine in early October to attend a librarians’ conference. I enjoyed these trips. They gave me a chance to learn about trends in the library world, hear from prominent authors and reconnect with colleagues. Plus, I got to spend nearly three days at a ski resort during the foliage season.
What’s not to love?
My husband, Paul, and I have been regularly making day trips as a way of getting out and about during the pandemic. They consist of going to a scenic place, walking or hiking, enjoying a picnic lunch, and sitting outdoors, people watching and chatting.
I gravitate toward the ocean, so most of our forays are to beaches, lighthouses and seaside preserves. But Paul loves the mountains. I knew he’d be right on board with this trip.
He and I hadn’t been out that way together for perhaps a decade. There were a number of turns to make on the back roads, so I drove with the GPS on. That always drives Paul crazy, but I pointed out to him that the turns occurred at long intervals. “Siri’s not going to say anything for fifteen miles,” I said. Out there in the williwags, that would be half an hour.
It was supposed to be peak foliage season in most of the state, but I was underwhelmed. Was the less-than-impressive color due to the summer drought?
I appreciated that Paul was driving, because I was able to look around more than I usually do—at handsome old houses, quiet lakes and quaint churches. There were pockets of poverty, too.
We reached our destination and discussed our options for walking. Then—because I wasn’t driving—I saw a small park I had never noticed before. Several people were unloading bicycles from their cars. “There must be a trail there,” I exclaimed. Paul turned the car around and pulled into the lot. Sure enough, there was a walking/biking trail and a park with picnic tables. Perfect!
We had a lovely walk along the Androscoggin River, then lunch. As we’ve noticed before on our outings, there were lots of people who wanted to get out of the house, even on a cool, cloudy October day. There were several out-of-state plates in the lot, from Massachusetts and New Hampshire.
As we ate, Paul said, “I’m going to check the DeLorme to see how far it is to the border with New Hampshire.”
He lived in Concord before we were married and has fond memories of his time there. When we determined it was about 15 miles to the state line, we decided to drive across the border.
The last time I’d left the state was in January. We couldn’t remember when Paul had done so. We would drive into New Hampshire so we could say we had left Maine—even if it was only for a few minutes.
As we approached the White Mountains National Forest, with the mountains themselves in the background, I saw the brilliant foliage I’d hoped for. The scenery was dramatic and the sight of the mountains made my heart soar.
Then it was time to turn around and head home. Paul pulled into the lot of a local business. I guessed it was a sawmill, because there were huge, and I mean huge, stacks of logs around the perimeter. A sign at the entrance advised workers, in English and French, to wear hard hats.
There was a sign down the road that said “Maine State Line.” Nearby was a parking lot for a trailhead. Paul said, “We can take your picture standing on the other side” of the sign, as we assumed it said “New Hampshire State Line.”
But a young couple had parked across the street and were taking photos of each other and selfies of themselves together. Their car had Texas plates, and I wondered if they were on their honeymoon.
I had to smile. We were out in the woods. What was the chance another couple would have the same idea as we did at the same time?
Finally they finished and Paul and I walked over to the sign. Surprise! It said nothing on the back. So I stood in front of the sign instead. When I posted it on Facebook I wrote, “Heading home.”
As we set out for our destination that morning I’d said to Paul, “Every year when I drive home from the conference, it’s raining. One year it was quite a storm.” Sure enough, it started to come down that day, as we drove east. It was over quickly.
The next day, I felt better about our situation than I have in a long time. Nature has the power to restore. When I am outside near the ocean, a river or a lake, I can forget the pandemic for a little while.
But there was also something powerful in just driving over the border into New Hampshire. It reminded me that this thing will not last forever. The mountains endure, and so will we.
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