We'd been hoping to make this trip since Ben and DuCiel announced that they were getting married in New Hampshire and we realized that we were planning to move within a day's drive of there. Everything seemed to work out; I got the time off of work, and my godparents live very close to the wedding and happen to have been invited to attend. So we had a place to stay, complete with people I was genuinely excited to see.
We drove up on Wednesday. The drive took us mostly on winding two-lane highways through the trees. Even though it's harder to navigate, I found myself thankful to be driving those roads and not the straight freeways of midwest driving. Admittedly, the night driving on said winding and hilly roads was a bit more harrowing, but I kindly gave Kim the chance to do that. (Note: I did pay for that, as she declined all my offers to let her drive when it was dark for the remainder of the trip.) We arrived safely, had soup, and went to bed.
Thursday--wedding day--began with promises of blue skies and a crisp wind. We donned sweaters and packed jackets and drove to the Cathedral of the Pines. Go to google and look it up. I can say, "It's an outdoor cathedral. It has benches and a beautiful view," but that doesn't describe it. When we got there, Kim and I got out of the car and walked towards a mingling group, mostly of men in suits. Then I saw him in profile: the groom looking dashing in a top hat and tails, leaning on a cane that I later found out belonged to his grandfather. As I happily hurried closer, I picked out a few more familiar faces. So began hugs and introductions, but mostly a wonderful feeling brought on by being part of a group bent on having a joyous day.
The ceremony was beautiful, heartfelt, etc. Having not been to a wedding since I was little, I don't have much comparison. Of course the bride was beautiful, especially the first glimpse of her, veiled and in a long dress on her father's arm. Both the wedding, and later the reception, just suited the bride and groom. Of course they'd planned it, but it seemed to be deeper than that. It was as if someone had combined their personalities and manifested it as an afternoon. At the reception, we drank tea; ate maple candies; laughed at our ineptitude at contra dancing; smiled when we got the dance right; ate delicious sandwiches, eggrolls, sushi, dumplings and cake; and mingled and talked and met new people. That evening, out of our finery, we hung out at DuCiel's house and were giving a tour of Ben and DuCiel's apartment that they'll move into when returning from their honeymoon. I had missed that group of friends, and was saddened that almost everyone was leaving town the next day.
On Friday, we went on a short outing with my godparents. They took us to Pitcher Mountain. It's a very short hike from the parking lot (300 ft elevation gain, according to the internet), but the summit offers a 360 degree view and promises of wild blueberries if we'd arrived at the right time of year. The walk up was easier than the walk up East Hill in Ithaca (which, according to the internet is a 400 ft elevation gain, but I only walked the entire thing once, so that's besides the point). Perhaps this is because of the trees, or the fact that it's not up a man-made flat surface, or perhaps just that hikes are for the process as well as the summit. On the top we sat on a chunk of granite and basked in the sun and the view.
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| Of course it's prettier is person |
On the way back, we were taken past Gregg Lake. The trees had just begun to turn next to the shore. No one else was there. It was still and I could have stayed and read a book and watched the Canadian geese for far longer than I did. It was time to go home.
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| Note: geese and fall leaves are out of frame |
On Saturday--our last day--we decided to see some of the 22 miles of coastline New Hampshire has and go to Portsmouth. One of my coworkers is from New Hampshire and she highly recommended Portsmouth, so we thought we'd give it a look.
Portsmouth is a touristy town on a harbor. We walked around the downtown, wandered into a few stores, walked some more, found a park by the water, and began our quest for a bakery. On the drive from Ithaca, we'd seen a sign for an Italian Pastry shop. We didn't have time to stop, but we had been talking about bakeries a lot since then. We did find two bakeries downtown, but none of their items really sparked our interest. Saddened and resigned to a sweetsless afternoon, we began to walk back to the car.
Of course, I decided that we were going to go a different route back to the car. As we were passing a side street, Kim spotted a bakery. We went in, and I was immediately charmed by the pale green walls and stained glass windows, but mostly by the display of delicious (and reasonably-priced) tarts. We got a slice of frangipane, which is apparently an almond and apricot tart. The slice was generous and delicious.
Feeling a bit rotund, we made our way back to the car and started to drive to the coast. We had borrowed a GPS for a day and named her Miss Peabody, since she has a bit of a British accent and periodically would chide me with a resigned, "Recalculating" when I ignored or misfollowed her directions. With her help, we found the ocean. We parked and clambered over rocks to reach the sand. The surf was gentle and the day warm, so we took off our shoes and socks and wandered down the beach.
The drive home on Sunday finally gave us fall colors. Vermont was so beautiful that Kim and I eventually gave up exclaiming over it. We stopped in a town called Bennington because the traffic line was long and while waiting we spotted a painted moose and a bakery called Crazy Russian Girls Bakery--and couldn't resist the pair.
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| The moose is named Vincent |
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| Our spoils from the bakery: a pumpkin and cream cheese whoopi pie |
As we came through New York, we noticed that it's tamer here; the roads are flatter, the mountains reduced to hills, the lakes replaced by waterfalls and gorges, and the trees broken up by farmland. The illusion of untouched nature (surrounding the road, of course) had been left behind. As if sensing my loyalty wavering east, Ithaca leaves began to turn in earnest over the next few days as if to remind me that I'm not through with this adventure.
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| Today's view from the closest branch of my bank |
