02 Jan New England… At Last!
Couples and families clustered along granite boulders at the summit of Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park, Maine, soaking in residual heat as the sun poured the last of its golden rays across the waters below. Silhouetted evergreens anchored the foreground as the gold faded and darkness enveloped us in the evening’s chill. Our headlights illuminated a porcupine foraging along the side of the road as we wound our way down the mountain. We stopped for local clams on our way through Bar Harbor, steaming them for dinner at our cozy AirBNB. It was such a lovely evening, I couldn’t help but wonder why it had taken me so long to visit New England.
I spent a year of my childhood living in Upstate New York, a logical time to explore the region, but school kept the entire family bound to Ithaca. The expeditions we did take that year headed south for my first visits to New York City and the nation’s Capital. By the time I was 7, I had road tripped from one coast of the United States to the other twice – starting in the Pacific Northwest and ending in southern California with New York as the pivot point. I added the usually elusive state of Hawaii to my list of visited states in High School. Alaska came shortly after I’d finished graduate school. I spent a year exploring Australia after that and when jested by a local for exploring foreign countries before my own, I was proud to offer that I’d seen most of the United States as well. Yet for decades my count stood at 42 states. I added Delaware and New Jersey to my list after I started spending summers in Maryland, but New England remained evasive.
Perhaps because I’ve experienced so few autumn tree-turnings in my life, I wanted my New England visit to be the classic fall road trip. I yearned for hillsides with impressionist strokes of red, orange, and yellow. Covered bridges over gurgling streams with a backdrop of this autumnal palette. I envisioned chilly evenings with fresh-pressed cider by a blazing fire, and crisp mornings with steaming pancakes doused in local maple syrup. I had tried planning this idyllic vacation several times, but other trips, deadlines, and then Covid got in the way. The year of the Pandemic, I substituted a trip to Maryland’s western mountains and saw some beautiful colors, and even a couple of bears, but it did nothing for my overall state tally. I didn’t mind at the time, despite how it might sound here, I’ve never been preoccupied with completing my list of states and I wanted this trip in particular to be the one I’d dreamed of. Yet there’s something about milestones and the passing of time that makes one reconsider and with 50 bobbing ever closer on my horizon, I felt compelled this summer to see all 50 states – 50 by 50.
The Catskill Mountains felt somehow familiar, long-lost childhood memories perhaps, as New York City traffic faded from the roads. Cars disappeared entirely and smaller roads twisted through more forested mountains and historic-feeling towns as I crossed into Vermont. Temperatures dropped, apple-cider donut signs appeared above roadside shops, and my AirBNB proved to be a veritable log cabin. I visited a friend’s sprawling farm, much self-built, nearly off-the grid, and surrounded by acres of forest. An ancient meeting house stood a few miles away, its original town long having abandoned it for more prosperous river-front, but still hosting forums for its new community.
I visited a multi-generational summer camp along the bank of Trickey Pond in Maine, and another type of multi-generational camp along the extensive peninsulas of Harpswell – camp also being the local term for a seasonal cabin. In addition to the foraging porcupine, I saw red squirrels, a mink, and gray and harbor seals, in and around Acadia National Park. Just beyond the national park, I strolled along a historic carriage road through a privately-maintained dog-friendly park where my golden retriever gleefully swam and romped with local goldens, terriers, and other retrievers. I drove through quaint fishing towns, spending a couple of nights in historic Gloucester, Massachusetts. I enjoyed scenery across New Hampshire, Rhode Island, and Connecticut, sprinkled with the occasional red or orange, early-turning tree. And of course, I sampled American lobster in various forms – the best by far purchased directly by a friend fresh from her local lobster pound and boiled in seawater collected from her camp’s beach. My trip may have lacked the autumnal pizazz I’d envisioned, but there was a hint of fall and it was a solid taste of classic New England that included all my dreamed-about activities, including completing 50 by 50.
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