Yankee Magazine September/October 2020

FOOD EDITOR

AMY TRAVERSO’S FAVORITE

APPLE RECIPES

IN RANGELEY, ME CHASING COLOR IN THE MAD RIVER VALLEY

(WE HAVE NEVER NEEDED IT MORE…)

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/// Turn Up the Color

The beauty of Vermont’s Mad River Valley is no secret, but seeing it painted in autumn hues brings a feeling of discovery. By

Annie Graves

94

/// The 85 Best Things to Do in New England

In honor of Yankee ’s 85th anniversary, we’ve filled up a travel bucket list that’s ready when you are.

108

/// Fighting for Survival

With small colleges closing regionwide, bringing pain to the towns they called home, one Maine school may have figured out how to pass the ultimate test.

By Jon Marcus

shot

shows

England foliage drive (p. 68). Photograph by Michael Matti

Color ripples across the slopes of Sugarbush Resort in Warren, Vermont.

30 /// DIY All the Way

How a timeworn cottage on the North Shore became an Instagram showcase for big ideas on a budget.

By Annie Graves

38 /// Open Studio

Meet the Martha’s Vineyard weathervane artist whose inspired creations have made him tops in his field. By Annie Graves

44 /// Once More to the Orchard

Senior food editor Amy Traverso shares new recipes from the updated edition of her passion project, The Apple Lover’s Cookbook

52 /// In Season

Spice up the end of grilling season with a fresh take on butternut squash.

By Amy Traverso

54 /// Cooking at Cottage Farm

This beet soup recipe is like a garden party in a pot. By

Krissy O’Shea

travel

60 /// Weekend Away

Long famous for its outdoor sporting life, Rangeley, Maine, also boasts foliage to rival that of anywhere in the country. By Ian Aldrich

68 /// The Best 5

Short-and-sweet fall drives mix leaf peeping, easy hikes, and apple delights. By Kim Knox Beckius Plus: We round up bonus foliage drives in every state.

DEAR YANKEE, CONTRIBUTORS & POETRY BY D.A.W.

12

INSIDE YANKEE

14

FIRST PERSON

A surprise backyard visitor offers a lesson on what it means to be still.

By Richard Adams Carey

16

FIRST LIGHT

Navigating a sea of stars over Acadia National Park.

By Sara Anne Donnelly

22

UP CLOSE

According to this famous Maine signpost, you actually can get there from here.

By Edgar Allen Beem

24

5 QUESTIONS WITH...

We catch up with pioneering winemaker Deirdre Heekin, a featured guest on season four of Weekends with Yankee

28

KNOWLEDGE & WISDOM

Just in time for Halloween: pro tips on turning pumpkins into high art.

128

LIFE IN THE KINGDOM

On re-embracing the business and blessings of homesteading.

By Ben Hewitt

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EDITORIAL

Editor Mel Allen

Managing Editor Jenn Johnson

Senior Editor Ian Aldrich

Senior Food Editor Amy Traverso

Home & Garden Editor Annie Graves

Associate Editor Joe Bills

Senior Digital Editor Aimee Tucker

Associate Digital Editor Katherine Keenan

Contributing Editors Kim Knox Beckius, Sara Anne Donnelly, Ben Hewitt, Rowan Jacobsen, Nina MacLaughlin, Krissy O’Shea, Julia Shipley

ART

Art Director Katharine Van Itallie

Photo Editor Heather Marcus

Contributing Photographers Adam DeTour, Megan Haley, Corey Hendrickson, Michael Piazza, Greta Rybus

PRODUCTION

Director David Ziarnowski

Manager Brian Johnson

Senior Artists Jennifer Freeman, Susan Shute

DIGITAL

Vice President Paul Belliveau Jr.

Designer Amy O’Brien

Marketing Specialist Holly Sanderson

CORPORATE STAFF

Credit Manager Bill Price

Staff Accountant Nancy Pfuntner

Accounting Coordinator Meg Hart-Smith

Executive Assistant Christine Tourgee

Receptionist Linda Clukay

Maintenance Supervisor Mike Caron

Facilities Attendant Paul Langille

YANKEE PUBLISHING INC.

ESTABLISHED 1935 | AN EMPLOYEE-OWNED COMPANY

President Jamie Trowbridge

Vice Presidents Paul Belliveau Jr., Jody Bugbee, Ernesto Burden, Judson D. Hale Jr., Brook Holmberg, Sandra Lepple, Sherin Pierce

Editor Emeritus Judson D. Hale Sr.

BOARD OF DIRECTORS

Andrew Clurman, Daniel Hale, Judson D. Hale Jr., Joel Toner, Cor Trowbridge, Jamie Trowbridge

FOUNDERS

Robb and Beatrix Sagendorph

Publisher Brook Holmberg

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@frabjous_existence (Susana De Lara)

@n_tartaglione (Nick Tartaglione) The Berkshires, Massachusetts

@heythereney (Renee Jordan) Boston, Massachusetts

@earth_chaser (Amanda Jones) Bethel, Maine

@patrickdonegan (Patrick Donegan) Kent, Connecticut

Photo: Aubrey Mable

COREY HENDRICKSON

Frequent Yankee contributor Hendrickson says it was heartbreaking to photograph the now-defunct Green Mountain College for this issue’s story on small colleges [“Fighting for Survival,” p. 108].

“The challenge was that I found the empty spaces so beautiful while simultaneously fearing what they represent,” he says. “My wife works at a college, and I can’t imagine what our town would be like without it.”

AMY TRAVERSO

Yankee ’s senior food editor is a self-described “apple nerd,” an obsession that led her to write The Apple Lover’s Cookbook , which is being re-released this fall with new recipes and essential tips [“Once More to the Orchard,” p. 44]. “Apples had to travel across the globe over thousands of years to reach New England,” she says. “They can be large or tiny, honey-sweet or vegetal. I just find them fascinating.”

OLIVER PARINI

This Vermont native grew up snowboarding at Sugarbush, which meant he was on familiar turf for our Mad River Valley feature [“Turn Up the Color,” p. 80]. Parini’s previous Yankee assignments include the Vermont-centric sport of jack jumping and a bike tour of sugar shacks; his photos have also appeared in The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times. Parini lives in Burlington with his wife and two children.

SARA ANNE DONNELLY

A graduate of Wesleyan University and the University of Miami, where she was a James Michener Fellow, Donnelly grew up in Portland, Maine, where from her attic bedroom—if she squinted hard enough—she could just make out a handful of stars. By contrast, the crowded Milky Way over Acadia National Park “demands your attention and dominates your senses,” says Donnelly [“Night Sky Over Acadia,” p. 16].

JON MARCUS

Marcus is a Boston-based journalist who writes about higher education for such publications as The New York Times and The Washington Post. Yet visiting a Vermont town whose small college closed [“Fighting for Survival,” p. 108] taught him something new: how these places have a crucial role in drawing young people who stay after they’ve graduated, a critical consideration as New England’s population ages.

JOE NEWTON

To create illustrations for “The 85 Best Things to Do in New England” [p. 94], Newton used a classic two-color style inspired by vintage cookbooks to play off the idea that, as he says, “Yankee brings its readers the best instruction in how to find these perfect places.” A New York designer, illustrator, and educator, Newton has also worked for the likes of National Geographic and the Smithsonian.

Reading Notes

As I sit quietly outside in the early morning with my coffee and my latest issue of Yankee, I’m struck by how often I pause and reflect on what I’m reading. I absorb stories (a few written by friends), ponder over provoking issues, and make lists of new places to visit.

Mostly, I think about how long Yankee has been a part of my life. In these exhausting and emotional recent months, every issue, even back ones, is a life preserver.

Kim Benedix Somers, Connecticut

Beyond the Byline

Today I opened the May/June issue of Yankee and stopped at the First Person essay. It immediately captivated me. When I looked up at the author’s byline, I thought: Of course, it’s Brian.

And then I became puzzled. The Brian Doyle I know, who writes like the Brian Doyle of this essay, died in 2017. He was editor of the University of Portland alumni magazine in addition to writing for many other publications and publishing novels. He was a great mentor to all of us who labored at universities around the country, working diligently to make our publications relevant and enticing to readers.

Perhaps there are two Brian Doyles in this country who have such a gift with words. If that is the case, we all are blessed…. It is a beautiful piece and accompanied by an equally beautiful piece of art. Whatever its source, thank you for sharing it with your readers.

Sally G. Atwood Hamilton Walpole, Maine

Editors’ note: “On Islandness” was indeed written by your mentor, Brian Doyle, one of America’s most prized essayists. He passed away after submitting the piece, which his wife, Mary, gave Yankee permission to publish this spring, saying, “This is exactly the time this essay was meant to be given to the world.” The May/June editor’s letter had included this information

TIME TO REST

Though sleeping late is not a virtue.

Once a year it doesn’t hurt you.

Lie there, snoring like an ox...

October just turned back the clocks!

—D.A.W.

but was rewritten at press time to address COVID-19. We are glad to share those details here—along with a mention of the lovely collection of his work published last year, One Long River of Song

For the Record

I lived and worked in Lowell, Massachusetts, for 17 years, and served as director of the St. Julie Asian Center there. The Cambodian community in Lowell will always hold a special place in my heart, and I would like to make one correction to your article about it [“Welcome to Cambodia Town,” May/ June]. The first Cambodian Lowell city councilor was Chanrithy Uong, in 1999. In fact, he was the first Cambodian elected to public office in the U.S.

Thank you for your continued great work in presenting life in New England.

Sister Janet Deaett Windsor Locks, Connecticut

We believe the warmth and texture of wood have the power to stir souls.

ANNUAL SUMMER-END SALE RUNS NOW THROUGH SEPTEMBER

Still Here

race riot engulfed New York City that March, sparked by rumors that police had killed a Black teenager accused of shoplifting and fueled by the Depression’s staggering unemployment. Sweeping through other parts of the country were cataclysmic weather events that would force hundreds of thousands to uproot. Political battle lines hardened between FDR and those who declared his New Deal and Social Security Act to be examples of unAmerican socialism. Distant rumblings of militaristic countries threatening neighbors made people unsettled and anxious. This was America in 1935, when in September, Robb Sagendorph published the first issue of Yankee Sagendorph was tall, lean, angular. Though born into wealth in Boston and educated at an elite New England prep school and then Harvard, he embraced a folksy demeanor and became known for both Yankee and The Old Farmer’s Almanac, which he bought in 1939 and restored to its place as a beloved rural icon.

Yankee ’s first decades celebrated a region that, despite its harsh weather and rugged terrain, was achingly beautiful and nurtured a population defined by its stubborn independence, tenacity, and resilience. Sagendorph was drawn to rural life and a citizenry that debated community issues at town meetings. He wrote about people who likely spent a lifetime knowing only others whose lives reflected their own.

When his nephew, Jud Hale, came aboard Yankee in the late 1950s, the magazine was rooted in local cooking, farms and forests, coastal towns and mountain hamlets, and ingenious characters who could mend anything that broke. The region’s best writers found a welcoming home in its pages. In time, it became

difficult to know whether New England created Yankee or vice versa, with the magazine’s stories and photos shaping the region’s image in the minds of readers around the country.

And now here we are, 85 years from Yankee ’s humble beginning. I write this in the summer of 2020. Nearly every day, people of all races, in small towns and big cities, gather, march, sing, shout, protest, debate how to create a country free of racial injustice. A pandemic continues to batter what had been our normal lives. We know there is no quick fix for the challenges we all face, only what New England has always displayed: resilience, the certainty that storms pass.

But inside this new issue there remain the gifts of a region so compact you can travel end to end in a day’s drive. The leaves are brighter here [“Turn Up the Color,” p. 80]; the apples are crisper and sweeter [“Once More to the Orchard,” p. 44]. Our anniversary feature, “The 85 Best Things to Do in New England” [p. 94], knows no boundaries of time. Sunrises and sunsets, apple cider doughnuts, oceanfront trails— these don’t vanish when crises hit.

The New England of 2020 is also more complex, more diverse, more forward-thinking than anyone might have imagined when Yankee first entered the world. Our promise is to keep step with a New England that understands history and tradition, but whose vitality more than ever depends on embracing change.

We will never stop telling the stories of New England and the people who, wherever their journey began, now call it home.

Mel Allen

To catch up on Mel Allen’s biweekly “Letter from Dublin,” go to newengland.com/letterfromdublin.

The Heron

A backyard visitor offers a lesson on what it means to be still.

have no idea how long the bird stood there in preternatural stillness before I finally saw it. A great blue heron is more gray than blue, and I might have taken this one for a split-rail fence post—the cedar kind that goes gray in the weather—if I weren’t looking out a window at my backyard, where no such post exists.

The bird stood in plain sight, really, on empty lawn some 10 yards from the shore of our small pond. But this was late October, and all the world was gray: the bare-boned oaks and maples, the tumbledown stone walls, the fallen leaves, the leaden water of the pond.

The heron stood like a sentinel, as if there just to guard a pond that still stirred, barely, with frog and hornpout. I stared a few moments, waiting for something to happen, the bird inert as a palace guard. I turned away. I looked again a few minutes later to find the heron gone.

It came back the next day—possibly a different bird, but more likely the same, since these herons are territorial about where they feed. This time I caught it in motion, its pipestem legs lifting those spidery feet in a mincing, highstepping walk across the grass. With a shake of its tail feathers, it strutted haughtily, like a runway model, up the narrow, shrub-bordered peninsula that pokes like a ramp into the center of our pond.

There, it mounted the crest and tiptoed down the far side of the granite boulder that caps the peninsula. From my window I could see only the top half of the heron, its head and javelin bill turned to the east in profile. Then it squared to the pond and lowered its head, probably down to within striking distance of the water. I could see only its back and shoulders, which would have passed for a bump in the rock had I arrived just then.

This time I was determined not to turn away; I would bear witness to the whole narrative of this event, whatever it might be. Meanwhile this hunched, headless version of the bird assumed the same sort of stillness that had eventually bored me the day before. Game on.

“Wherever there is stillness there is the still small voice, God’s speaking from the whirlwind, nature’s old song and

dance,” wrote Annie Dillard. My own sort of stillness was far removed from that whirlwind—a twitchy, impatient sort, not quite worthy of the name, shot through with glances at my watch and dips into email.

People who keep ornamental fish in their ponds are advised to throw in a length of pipe to rest on the bottom as shelter from herons. These ugly hornpout were on their own, and I wondered what a hornpout thinks about as it eyes the spangled ceiling of its world, if it can really discern and recognize the shape or movement of a heron on that unimaginable other side.

The bird seemed to think so, it took such care to conceal its shape, to throttle its movement. I wondered what a heron thinks about in its stillness, marveled at how individuals of some species of heron—green, night, perhaps great blue— learn to drop insects, feathers, or stolen bits of bread on the surface to attract fish.

After 22 minutes the bird raised its head, turned, descended from the boulder, and strolled back down the peninsula. I couldn’t say if anything had happened, if it had eaten or not.

On the lawn the heron tipped forward, extending its wings, and lifted weightlessly into the air, into the whirlwind, its legs trailing behind, a dancer at one with the dance.

First LIGHT

The Milky Way glows above Jordan Pond in Acadia National Park, which is said to have the largest expanse of naturally dark sky east of the Mississippi River.

Night Sky Over Acadia

On the Maine coast, a chance to navigate a sea of stars.

BY SARA ANNE DONNELLY

In September, the starlit sky reveals itself at Acadia National Park. Summer’s hazy air lifts as if an ethereal hand is drawing back a gauzy curtain to show us the Milky Way as generations of our forebears have known it: a glittering, billions-strong swath through the inky black that sets Mount Desert Island’s ponds and surrounding sea aglow.

Stargazing at Maine’s biggest national park “is this immersive experience,” says Elissa Chesler, a geneticist at Bar Harbor’s Jackson Laboratory and founder of the Acadia Astronomical Society; she moved here from Tennessee, in part, for the view of the stars. “There’s this connection of the earth, the sky, the crashing waves, and it all comes together that you’re a resident of planet Earth.”

There’s no shortage of places in Maine from which to spy on the stars—earlier this year, in fact, the International Dark-Sky Association named Katahdin Woods and Waters National Monument its first international dark-sky sanctuary on the East Coast, and only the 12th in the world, for “the exceptional quality of its naturally dark skies. ”

The Pine Tree State boasts a burgeoning astro-tourism calendar that includes the Maine Astronomy Retreat at Medomak Retreat Center in Washington, and Stars Over Katahdin at Katahdin Woods and Waters. But one of the longest-running and most popular events is September’s Acadia Night Sky Festival, thanks to its pairing of family-friendly hikes and nightlife with star shows that are gorgeously reflected in waters surrounding the park.

SEEING THE LIGHTS

Some tips for skygazing at Acadia National Park from Elissa Chesler, founder of the Acadia Astronomical Society.

1. Check the weather for nights with the best viewing conditions, but no matter what the forecast says, bring extra layers (and bug spray).

2. Try out some planetarium apps or go to skymaps .com/downloads .html to print a free map that lists night-sky objects that can be seen with the naked eye, binoculars, or small telescopes.

3. Look for “night vision” smartphone settings or apps, which use a red filter so your eyes won’t have to readjust to the darkness after glancing at your phone.

4. To get your bearings, look for the Big Dipper, then locate the Little Dipper and the North Star. Use these to find other constellations.

Founded in 2009, this five-day nerd-out-onthe-stars extravaganza attracts around 5,000 attendees from all over, many from places too bright to see the stars. There are talks, workshops, and activities that encompass everything from determining whether that rock you found in your backyard is a meteorite, to photographing the night sky so it doesn’t just look like a bunch of black with some dots in it, to the pleasures of paddling through a bioluminescent pond.

Even the stargazing community, though, isn’t immune to the effects of a pandemic. Park spokesman John Kelly confirmed that the festival would be postponed until 2021 due to public health concerns, adding that the National Park Service regrets the move but “is looking forward to working with our community partners to promote and protect the night skies above Acadia and beyond.” [Next year’s dates: 9/29–10/3.]

So that’s the bad news. The good news is that outdoor events where social distancing can be observed might still run, including the popular “Stars Over Sand Beach” talk.

The night I went a few years ago was a quintessential stargazing night. There was a new moon, and the sky was a deep black divided by a faintly violet Milky Way. The Beehive, the small

mountain I’d hiked that morning, lurked nearby in shadow so thick it looked like a sleeping giant curled around the cove. A large crowd had gathered on the sand, sprawling on blankets as a cool, salty breeze rippled across the starlit water.

With the help of a set of speakers and his green laser pointer, a park ranger boomed stories of the constellations in Greek mythology: Cygnus the swan, who was turned into a constellation by gods sympathetic to his grief over his lover’s death. Capricorn the sea goat. Cassiopeia the queen, forced to spin on her throne for eternity as punishment for her vanity.

As I looked up at the universe, I felt something strange. Scary, even. The more I searched the starlit sky, the more I felt myself loosen and threaten to fall into it. It had happened before, this feeling, especially when I looked at the stars on chilly nights, as that night was. In his 2018 book Searching for Stars on an Island in Maine , Alan Lightman describes a similar sensation. He was alone in his boat, motoring across Casco Bay to a tiny unnamed island, when he killed the engine under a moonless sky to lie down and float. “A very dark night sky seen from the ocean is a mystical experience,” he writes. “The boat dis-

5. Due to Acadia’s northerly location, there’s a long time between sunset and dark skies in deep summer (less so in fall), so it’s important to know the different twilight times: civil (headlights on), nautical (just dark enough to see planets and bright stars), and astronomical (dark enough to see the Milky Way and deep-sky objects).

6. For an ocean to Schooner Head or Seawall Campground; for lakes and ponds, go to the Jordan Pond House tea lawn or Eagle Lake. Cadillac Mountain offers a 360-degree view, but it can be blustery.

7. Take out your binoculars to have a look at any “faint fuzzies.” These are nebulae, or clouds of dust and gas created by both dying stars and emerging ones.

8. Tackle small goals, such as finding Jupiter’s moons with binoculars or seeing the Andromeda Galaxy with the naked eye. Throw in a new challenge or two for each stargazing session.

9. Don’t be discouraged if you can’t find something. Just keep looking up!

Surveying the heavens from Acadia’s Sand Beach during a ranger-led stargazing session.

“Are you open yet?”

We get the calls every day. We hold our weekly debates, take a measure of Maine’s CDC updates, check the pulse of the nation, do our morning temperature checks and health checks. We are solid, safe, secure. Our call for early fall is for your and our safety, our store will remain closed for September. Safety is number 1, 2 and 3...

The good news is our website is open for shopping 24/7 with over 1,000 pieces of fine & fun jewelry. Everything is ready to buy and ship. Shipping is always free, quick & easy anywhere USA. Our quality is amazing and is totally safe. The very last thing we do before we put your selection in the gift box is a final check and sparkle clean of your new treasure. Our daily email puts a special focus on our favorite piece of the day with detailed origin and stories of sentiment. Visit our website and be sure to sign up for our daily emails. See what’s new and exciting.

appeared. My body disappeared. And I found myself falling into infinity ... I felt a merging with something far larger than myself, a grand and eternal unity, a hint of something absolute.”

I ask Chesler, who is one of the Acadia Night Sky Festival organizers, if she ever had that feeling, looking up at the stars on Mount Desert Island. Like a bowing of gravity that threatens to drop a person … I don’t know how else to describe it but up

Not exactly, she replies. “I feel kind of small when I look up, but that’s comforting to me. I think I’m a tiny part of a much larger thing, and I actually find that to be really wonderful.”

She tells me that when she first moved here, there were so many more stars in the sky that she’d get lost peering through her telescope. To get her bearings, she started with a familiar

constellation—for her, it was the Dolphin—and navigated from there. In the fall, she tells me, a lot of people get their bearings with the constellation Orion, the mythological hunter aiming his bow and arrow across the sky, since the middle star in Orion’s “sword” is the brightest nebula in the sky and therefore visible to the naked eye. (Nebulae, those mysterious gas-and-dust clouds of stars exploding and stars newly forming, happen to be Chesler’s favorite celestial bodies. The Orion Nebula “might ruin you forever,” she says, “because it’s one of the prettiest things in the night sky.”)

Since Acadia will be open after dark even though the festival is canceled, I ask Chesler what advice she would give to night-sky watchers like me. She sends me an email with suggestions—and then reminds me to make time to just lie back, in an Alan Lightman kind of way, and “take in the whole vista.” To surrender to the tremendous, possibly unsettling feeling of being very, very small.

“Some people get interested in the technology, in the science,” she says, “but at some point, and especially for me, you just want to step back and say, Whoa—isn’t that amazing? Isn’t that beautiful? ”

“I feel kind of small when I look up, but that’s comforting to me. I think I’m a tiny part of a much larger thing.”

Maine Intersection

Somehow it seems altogether fitting that Maine’s World Traveler Signpost is maintained by someone hailing from a foreign land. Specifically, an affable Englishwoman named Ann Madden, who lives with her three beloved bulldogs in a rambling log cabin at the corner of Routes 5 and 35 in Lynchville, where the famous roadside attraction has stood for nearly a century.

“When my late husband and I moved here,” Madden says, “we didn’t know the sign was on the property. My husband cleaned and washed it and put up a little fence and I planted flowers around it.”

Originally installed in the 1930s to promote tourism, the World Traveler Signpost notes the distance from Lynchville, which is part of Albany Township, to such places as Norway (14 mi.), Poland (27 mi.), Peru (46 mi.), and China (94 mi.). Of course, all of these, along with five other “foreign” places on the sign, are towns in Maine. (Madden’s own hometown, Oxford, England, is not represented, but it could be: There’s an Oxford just 20 miles down the road.)

Lynchville, and the

After buying their Lynchville property in 2003, Madden’s husband, Mike, attached a small black mailbox to the base of the sign and placed a red notebook and ballpoint pen in it. The book now has a broken spine and pages puckered from years of handling and weather exposure, and it’s bursting with entries from visitors. One choice entry notes that the visitor came from “Krakow, Poland (The real Poland).”

Poland, Maine, as it happens, was not named for the European country. It took its name from a popular hymn by Connecticut hatmaker and composer Timothy Swan (1758–1842). China, Maine, was also named for a Swan hymn.

By contrast, Norway, Maine, seems to have been named by mistake. Residents had petitioned for the name Norage, likely derived from a Native American word for waterfalls. But when the incorporation became official in 1797, the name had somehow been changed to Norway. As for Peru, Maine, early settlers here often named their towns for places that had recently won their independence. And the country of Peru did so in 1821, the year after Maine became a state.

Tourists and travelers from all over the world seek out the signpost and stop to have their pictures taken with it. “It’s amazing,” says Madden. “We’ve had people from Cambodia, China, Japan. Truly they come from everywhere. It’s unbelievable.” —

Edgar Allen Beem

According to this famous signpost, you can get there from here.

Deirdre Heekin

Catching up with the noted Vermont winemaker and Weekends with Yankee guest.

Deirdre Heekin first gained renown when she and her husband, Caleb Barber, opened Pane e Salute, an Italian bakery-café that later became a more formal restaurant in Woodstock, Vermont. There, Barber cooked uncannily authentic food inspired by the couple’s travels in Italy. Heekin ran the wine program, which sparked her curiosity about learning to make wine herself, and a few batches made with California grapes got her hooked. But it all came together when she discovered hybrid varieties that thrived in the cold Vermont climate. Today their winery, La Garagista, is earning praise from the likes of the James Beard Foundation and wine

critic Eric Asimov of The New York Times. Look for Heekin on season four of Weekends with Yankee, where she takes us through the vineyards, and Barber treats us to a winemaker’s feast. —Amy

Traverso

Q. How did you figure out that you could make wine in Vermont, of all places?

Like most sommeliers, I became really interested in being able to fully experience what I was talking about. But since our busiest season for the restaurant was in the fall, I couldn’t go to a winemaking region and help with the harvest. So I bought fruit at the market in Boston and made wine at home in my bathtub for the first few

years. I learned a tremendous amount, but I really believe winemaking starts in the vineyard. So I was stymied. I live in Vermont. How was that going to work? That same week, I found out about a winery in New Haven, Vermont, called Lincoln Peak. We did a tasting there and saw that there is so much possibility. We left that day with a hundred plants in the back of the car. The first moment I put that first vine in the ground, I thought, This is home, this is what I want to be doing.

Q. How did you know it could work? My approach has always been that the wine’s gonna lead and I’m gonna follow. Especially because there wasn’t a huge track record of what wines from Vermont could be. We’re still trying to answer that question. But people started writing about us and I thought, That’s interesting. And wine producers who I looked up to as mentors were responding to the wine. In 2015, we had a huge year of Eric Asimov coming to visit and Wine Spectator doing a piece, and we thought, OK, there is something really going here.

Q. You work with hybrid grapes that are bred to thrive in this climate. The wine world has traditionally been very skeptical of hybrids— what are their advantages?

One of our strengths is that we’re working with these cross-pollinated varieties, or hybrids, that are naturally resistant to disease because they combine native varieties with more traditional European wine varieties, the so-called vinifera grapes. As a consequence, the plants we work with are highly diverse. The traditional varieties we think of, like Chardonnay and Cabernet, are clones. You take a cutting from the mother plant and re-create the mother plant, so there’s no room for new information and adaptation to a changing climate. But hybridization has been happening

Charlie Shackleton has a “farm-totable” moment in Vermont.

For Now And Ever

since the Roman times. Our hybrids are produced the exact same way, by hand in the nursery.

Q. So why the snobbery toward hybrid wines?

Hybrid grapes go back centuries, but they became popularized in the mid-1800s, when a Phylloxera [a kind of aphid] epidemic destroyed most of the vineyards in Europe. Hybrids withstood the rigors of Phylloxera , and a lot of vineyards were pulled up and replanted with them. But once breeders figured out you solve for Phylloxera by grafting classic vinifera grapes onto American rootstock, all the government organizations that protect terroir came in and said, “Hybrids are threatening the patrimony of vinifera , and we need to protect it.” So they outlawed hybrids. It was a smear campaign, and that held over into most of the 20th century. Granted, there was some good reason for that. There was a lot of really bad tourist wine made with hybrid varieties for a long time. But I think now people are understanding that it doesn’t have to be that way.

Dear Reader,

The drawing you see above is called For Now and Ever It is completely composed of dots of ink. After writing the poem, I worked with a quill pen and placed thousands of these dots, one at a time, to create this gift in honor of the the love of two of my dearest friends.

Now, I have decided to offer For Now and Ever to those who have known and value its sentiment as well. Each litho is numbered and signed by hand and precisely captures the detail of the drawing. As an anniversary, wedding, or Valentine’s gift for your husband or wife, or for a special couple within your circle of friends, I believe you will find it most appropriate.

Measuring 14” by 16”, it is available either fully-framed in a subtle copper tone with handcut double mats of pewter and rust at $145*, or in the mats alone at $105*. Please add $18.95 for insured shipping. Returns/exchanges within 30 days.

My best wishes are with you.

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Q. What’s your vision for a New England wine culture? Would it look something like Napa Valley? I would like to see it look like a European model, where the local wine is part of the local food culture. Of course we want to have visitors come, but we really also wanted to be sure we were connecting with our local people. Right now, visitors have more appreciation for Vermont wines than some of the local folks, but that’s changing. I think it takes a while for the community to trust that what they have in their own backyard is wonderful. So I want our wine to be more integrated than that, and more part of the food culture. And I want to grow the best wine possible. That’s the goal.

“There is no moment of my life when you are not a part of me; you hold my heart; you guard my soul; you guide my dreams so tenderly. And if my will might be done, and all I long for could come true, with perfect joy I would choose to share eternity with you.”

The Inside Scoop

Pro tips on turning the common pumpkin into a hand-carved masterpiece.

As a professional jack-o’-lantern carver, Sean Fitzpatrick is an old hand at turning humble gourds into Halloween showstoppers. “There’s nothing better than hearing a kid walk behind me when I’m carving and just go, ‘Wow!’” says Fitzpatrick, owner of Fitzy Snowman Sculpting in Saugus, Massachusetts (he also sculpts snow, ice, and sand). So, we figured, who better to teach us how to impress all those trick-or-treaters this year?

THE GOURD STANDARD: The perfect jack-o’-lantern begins with a healthy pumpkin, with no mold or soft spots. “You shouldn’t be able to squeeze it,” Fitzpatrick says. “That means it was picked late or went through a bad growing season.”

BOTTOM’S UP: “If you cut the top off as your lid, it dries up first and actually shrinks,” says Fitzpatrick, who prefers to cut out the bottom instead, which preserves the gourd’s shape and helps prevent moisture loss.

TOOLS OF THE TRADE: To hollow out a pumpkin, Fitzpatrick likes to use an ice cream scooper, followed by a scouring pad

to polish the walls. A flexible serrated knife is great for intricate cuts, while a clay-carving loop is ideal for engravings.

COPY THAT: Digital photos can easily be converted into design templates, Fitzpatrick says. Simply convert the image to black and white, posterize it (to create distinct tonal shades), and print out two copies. Attach one to the pumpkin, covering it completely with clear packing tape, and use a sharp blade to trace all the shapes. Then remove what’s left of the paper, and, with your second image as a reference, start carving. White areas are sections where you’ll cut all the way through the gourd; gray sections will be only partially deep; black areas require just a light scraping.

SEAL THE DEAL: To give his creations a bit more shelf life, Fitzpatrick seals the cut edges with Vaseline. “And it helps preserve your design,” he says. After all that hard work, you’ll appreciate that.

—Adapted from “How to Carve a Better Jack-o’-Lantern” by Ian Aldrich, September/October 2011

E.B. White (July 11, 1899–October 1, 1985)

This celebrated writer and longtime Mainer lived through some of the nation’s most tumultuous times—the Great Depression and two world wars, not to mention the Cold War and Watergate— yet held a deep, almost joyous faith in its founding principles of freedom and democracy. In 2019 his granddaughter, Martha White, collected more than 50 of White’s essays, letters, and poems into a book called On Democracy ; published by HarperCollins, it is now out in paperback.

“Democracy is the recurrent suspicion that more than half of the people are right more than half of the time.”

STUFF FROM 85 YEARS OF YANKEE

The Good News

While our brick and mortar retail store will remain closed during the month of September. Safety, safety, safety, our website is open 24/7/365 with Click & Buy. Or if you prefer, we’d love to hear from you. Call us M-F 9:30am-5:00pm As always, shippingis Free Anywhere USA

May 1968 I tried to sign up to ship out to see the world I went to the Chase Leavitt Company. Mr. Leavitt was polite and l listened. He said, “Kid, get a summer job and go to college in the fall.”

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DIYAll the Way

This rehabbed Massachusetts cottage showcases big ideas on a budget.

BY ANNIE GRAVES

PHOTOS BY SARAH WINCHESTER STYLING BY JENNIFER FIGGE

ne look at the trail of photo images, and I was hooked. You could practically hear the peace pattering down onto the dove-gray walls, the linen chairs, the just-dark-enough-withoutbeing-oppressive hickory floors. Does quiet have actual colors?

Of course, there was all that light, too, pouring in through a panorama of French doors—that didn’t hurt, either. The doors faced a backyard that continued the handiwork of do-it-yourself dynamo Ellen Sharpe, who together with her husband, John, transformed a dilapidated 20th-century cottage into a little island of beauty in Stoneham, Massachusetts.

Ellen Sharpe’s pair of Westies, Scotty and Sprite, blend right into the neutral palette of the kitchen and dining area. inset : Ellen with daughter Kenna and husband John outside their Stoneham, Massachusetts, home.

The evidence was all here, captured on Instagram, preserved in our modernday equivalent of amber.

I took a closer look. And another. Then I had to go see for myself.

Ellen greeted me at the door, long dark hair framing an animated face. Four-legged excitement came barreling right behind: Scotty and Sprite, two little Westies in disarray. Spreading out beyond them, an oasis of calm. But in fact this is a renovation spanning 24 years and counting. Ellen and John have done most of the work themselves, keeping costs down. “When I tell you

we were on a budget— we were on a budget,” Ellen emphasized, her eyes lit with the challenge.

So that’s already fun enough (vicariously), right? Because who doesn’t love a good bootstrap renovation story? But this DIY tale doesn’t stop at the surface—it includes salvaged tables, sideboards that Ellen repainted, mirrors she refreshed, and chairs she stripped to expose the hidden artistry.

It’s DIY all the way.

And she chronicles her projects on Instagram for an avid audience of

doers and dreamers. She demystifies the mysterious. You, too, can learn how to put a French finish on a mirror to make a bath tray. Or strip a dresser. Or do an authentic lime wash on wood. Or deconstruct a chair. Before long, you’ll find yourself staring down your kitchen cabinets, your lighting, your floors. Nothing will be safe.

Just don’t take a backhoe to knock off the rear end of your house—unless you really know what you’re doing, and plan to live surrounded by plastic sheeting for the next few years.

The catalyst for all of this? A

worn-down little 1926 cottage hidden behind huge shrubs, about a quarter of a mile from where Ellen grew up, in the Nobility Hill Historic District of Stoneham, 11 miles north of Boston. As I sat down with Ellen and John at the marble-topped island in their bright, airy kitchen, I had a spectacular view of the lovely setting I’d scrutinized online for the past few months; I’d also seen a few of their daunting “before” pictures.

“My mother always used to talk about ‘this cute gingerbread house down the road,’” Ellen remembered.

“John and I were just engaged and had started looking for a house. He happened to pass by and saw a dumpster outside. There wasn’t even a ‘For Sale’ sign yet.” They bought the house in 1996 and—“with youth and inexperience on our side,” she says—began to fix it up. And fixed some more. Over time, they redid the kitchen. Twice. The second time, John took his backhoe and “knocked a big hole in the back of the house” to add on the present-day living/dining area, lined with French doors that open onto a stone terrace.

The Sharpe home overflows with thrifty and creative touches, including: in the dining room ( LEFT), a sideboard bought for $50 on Craigslist and painted Benjamin Moore Galveston Gray; and in the living room ( RIGHT), sliding doors made by John that hide the television.

Ellen still remembers the day when the plastic sheets were removed at last. “And I thought, Wow, it’s going to look good.”

“For years I knew I wanted an addition,” Ellen said. “I come from a big family. My four brothers and sisters are all married with kids, and my parents are older, so I’ve taken over a lot of the holidays. We needed space for entertaining.”

Upstairs, they envisioned a master bedroom and bath, with a balcony overlooking the backyard. And a redo of their daughter’s room. Also, the stairs would have to be moved.

The challenge, of course, was cost. Two big advantages: Ellen’s imagination and John’s building expertise (he owns Pro Restoration,

which does fire- and water-damage restoration and construction).

“It was absolute chaos in here,” she said. “It took two years, because we did it ourselves. We didn’t want to take out a loan on the house.” John added, “We had one Christmas with sheets of plastic, and one that was just raw space.”

“We sold our other kids,” Ellen deadpanned.

She found the French doors on Craigslist “even before we designed the addition—they came out of a house in Beverly.” They kept the old kitchen cabinets and added new ones; Ellen smoothed the differences with three coats of Benjamin Moore Snowfall White. Previous and new slabs of marble were melded for the counter tops. “It works,” she said. “A lot of people would say, ‘Well, you have to have all the counters the same.’ Expense-wise, we couldn’t. It’s barely discernible, but I love the two different looks.”

John built towering glass cabinets to house their collection of white plates, tureens, and glassware; Ellen tracked down Euro-style cremone bolts on Build.com for the pulls. They installed new hickory floors throughout the downstairs, including the front room, where John reversed the direction of the wood to differentiate the living areas.

LEFT : The armchair in the bedroom once belonged to Ellen’s grandfather and was upholstered in purple velvet before she deconstructed it and re-covered the seat and arms.

RIGHT : The master bath has a shiplap wall treatment that— thanks to PVC-based outdoor siding—even extends into the shower.

Each setup is perfect. Every corner is a still life.

“CHATHAM LIGHT”

At the Elbow of Cape Cod

Forrest Pirovano’s painting “Chatham Light” shows a view of a lighthouse still in operation today

Chatham Light, Cape Cod’s second lighthouse, was establishd in 1808 in Chatham near the elbow of Cape Cod. Built with two towers, it was known as the “Twin Lights.” In 1923 the two lights were separated and the north light was relocated to Eastham to become Nauset Light. The coastline of Cape Cod was rumored to have been responsible for over 3,500 wrecked vessels. The bright light emitted from Chatham Light was the only means of preventing ships from hitting the sharp rocks along the coast and running aground. This beautiful limited-edition print of an original oil painting, individually numbered and signed by the artist, captures the beauty of this famous lighthouse.

This exquisite print is bordered by a museum-quality white-on-white double mat, measuring 11x14 inches. Framed in either a black or white 1½-inch deep wood frame, this limited edition print measures 12¼ X 15¼ inches and is priced at only $149. Matted but unframed the price for this print is $109. Prices include shipping and packaging.

Forrest Pirovano is a Cape Cod artist. His paintings capture the picturesque landscape and seascapes of the Cape which have a universal appeal. His paintings often include the many antique wooden sailboats and picturesque lighthouses that are home to Cape Cod.

FORREST PIROVANO, artist

P.O. Box 1011

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Visit our studio in Mashpee Commons, Cape Cod

All major credit cards are welcome. Please send card name, card number, expiration date, code number & billing ZIP code. Checks are also accepted.…Or you can call Forrest at 781-858-3691.…Or you can pay through our website www.forrestcapecodpaintings.com

LEFT

Ellen still remembers the day when the plastic sheets were removed at last. “I was sitting on that couch over there, looking through,” she said dreamily, “and I finally could see it. And I thought, Wow, it’s going to look good.”

It’s a mix of “clean and classic,” she said. It leans toward French country, though she’s careful how much. There’s a hint of farm décor, too, but “I don’t want it too ‘chippy,’” she said. “I want it to stand the test of time.” Equally skillful? The blend of beautiful furniture rehabs. Tired chairs, tables, and sideboards, brought back to life.

Color Chips and Tips

Use the same shade of white throughout your home, Ellen advises. That way the whites won’t compete. Her walls, ceiling, trim, and kitchen cabinets are Benjamin Moore Snowfall White (1)

Another favorite: Benjamin Moore

Smoke & Mirrors (2) , a taupe wall paint she used in her dining room. Complementary furniture paint includes Annie Sloan Chalk Paint Pure White (3) ; Benjamin Moore Galveston Gray (4) , for a putty-gray hue; and Benjamin Moore Iron Mountain (5) , a dark graphite with a bit of blue to it.

A handful of accents: antique garden urns with twists of rosemary, a massive dough bowl, a glass cloche. Each setup is perfect. Every corner is a still life. “How often do you change it around?” I wondered. They laughed in unison. “I’ll leave at 7 in the morning, and when I come home at 8 p.m., it’s all changed,” John said.

Ellen nodded, grinned, no guilt. “Every day.”

For more of Ellen Sharpe’s design inspiration, check out @featherglass on Instagram.

: A signature piece in the bedroom is a repurposed china cabinet that Ellen painted with white Chalk Paint and then distressed; the mirror behind it was finished with a salt wash. RIGHT : Ellen customizing some antique frames with Chalk Paint in her studio. Many of her projects are chronicled in how-to videos @featherglass.

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High Art

Taking a spin with the country’s premier weathervane maker.

BY ANNIE GRAVES

PHOTOGRAPHS BY ELIZABETH CECIL

They are everywhere on Martha’s Vineyard, thanks in large part to the industry and imagination of Tuck & Holand. Sparks fly in Anthony Holand’s studio—a combination workshop and gallery space in the town of Vineyard Haven, where he has lived for more than two decades. It is also where Holand, now 43, first apprenticed with renowned metal sculptor Travis Tuck; that was back in 1998, after Holand graduated from college in Washington state, where he grew up working on his family’s 7,000-acre farm.

Tuck had made his first weathervane in 1974 for fledgling filmmaker Steven Spielberg, who was then filming Jaws on Martha’s Vineyard and wanted to set a great white shark spinning atop

left : Anthony Holand at his Martha’s Vineyard workshop, where he creates weathervanes for a clientele that includes Henry Louis Gates Jr. and Carly Simon. this page , from top : A piece inspired by Where the Wild Things Are ; a fitting topper for the Vineyard’s Agricultural Hall.

ook up. The wind is about to change.

You will know this because the sky is filled with bluefish, mermaids, and a West Chop lighthouse, all spinning in agreement, changing direction on cue. Just like that, the intangible becomes tangible—the breeze is suddenly on display, its very intention defined.

Such is the power of weathervanes.

Quint’s shack. It marked Tuck’s career shift from earthbound sculptures to sky-based ones. By the time Holand began his apprenticeship, Tuck was considered the world’s premier weathervane artist, and would remain so until passing away in 2002.

Theirs was an instant connection, Holand says. That summer, he had returned to a seasonal job repairing bicycles on Martha’s Vineyard. Business degree in hand, he’d actually preferred art classes: sculpting, metal sculpting, and bronze casting. “There was an ad in the Vineyard Gazette for an apprentice metal sculptor, which was what I had wanted to do all along. I set up an interview, and it didn’t take long to know it was going to be a pretty good fit,” he says. “And I really wanted the job—I mean, what are the odds?”

And indeed, what are the odds that you’ll get to spend your days making

schools of shimmering bluefish? Twin Hellcat fighter planes, to hover over the Nantucket airport terminal? An osprey, or a fly fisherman set against a rising moon, or a Mockingjay insignia to fly over the home of an agent who’d worked on The Hunger Games ?

“I took right to it,” Holand says. “Taking a drawing, turning it into a paper pattern and then into a three-

dimensional object.” Tuck taught him the technique of repoussé—heating sheets of copper metal, dousing them in water to make them malleable, and then hammering out shapes from the reverse side. “The metal is so soft, almost like butter,” he says. “As you work it, it becomes hardened, back to the rigid state where you want it. Every hammer blow is unique.”

The first weathervane Holand made was a moon and stars. “I got a map of the moon and put the craters in—I wanted them in the right places,” he says. “And then I actually made these two little astronauts, with tiny gold face shields, and put them on, too! And then someone came in at one point, and said, ‘Well, you know they didn’t land there, they landed over here….’”

His laugh bursts out, unfettered, delighted. It perfectly echoes the imagination that seems to practically vibrate

The Retirement of a Lifetime

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The mallets Holand uses for the repoussé work on his weathervanes have custom-made tips for specific uses and projects.

LEAF EATING MACHINE!

off the walls of this studio. There are eagles about to pounce, a metal rib cage lounging on a workbench, a hanging anvil (oh, Wile E. Coyote), a drawing of a seahorse that fills an entire wall. I ask him about a captivating metal scene titled Where the Wild Things Play , a riff on Maurice Sendak’s children’s classic. “It’s a sign that goes out on a guesthouse here,” he says. “There’s a little weathervane that goes on top, of Max and the boat.” It’s one of a handful of pieces he caretakes seasonally, this one for a client who had nine grandchildren under 12 at the time the sign was made. “They were the wild things!”

He admits it’s fun to look up and see his work around the island. There are, of course, the famous clients, like Beverly Sills and Steven Spielberg, who came back for a 4-foot velociraptor from Jurassic Park to grace his Long Island home. But there are Tuck & Holand weathervanes spinning all over the world. The wait list is two to three years, and for good reason: There’s more than a hint of alchemy involved in transforming a sheet of metal.

“Most weathervanes are fairly simple, fairly flat,” he says. “With sculpture, you can take a piece of metal and make a nice sculpture, or you can take a piece of metal and give it life. And I think that’s the real skill: to be able to give something life.”

But there’s one more essential skill, capricious as the wind: listening. “That’s one of the best parts of this whole thing,” Holand says. “I really get to know people. The weathervane is telling their story, in a way. If it’s for a house, it’s like the cherry on top. It’s not just ‘a’ dog; it’s the best dog you ever had. Not just ‘a’ Lab; it’s your three Labs running down the beach. Or the Wild Things, a reminder of your nine grandchildren who ran around in the summer and enjoyed being here. You’re making an heirloom. A memory that will be around for generations.” tuckandholand.com

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Yankee food editor Amy Traverso shares some delicious updates to e Apple Lover’s Cookbook.

Ispent four years writing a long love letter to apples (with recipes), which was published in 2011 as The Apple Lover’s Cookbook . Since then, my fascination with the all-American fruit has only grown. There have been more heirlooms to discover, like the sweet Davey, a Massachusetts native, and the crimson-fleshed Redfield. Hot off the wild success of Honeycrisp, the apple industry is also continuously breeding new varieties, like this year’s Cosmic Crisp, a non-browning, long-storing flavor bomb in a bright red package. ¶ And so it was time for me to return to the table and produce a new edition of The Apple Lover’s Cookbook with more apple varieties, more recipes, and updated information on the best ciders, apple festivals, and mail-order apple treats. The new edition comes out this September from W.W. Norton & Co. ¶ You’ll find four of the new recipes on the following pages, from ultra-fluffy apple-cardamom pancakes to a 35-minute sheet-pan supper with apples, sausage, and a new and widely available variety of squash called Honeynut. There’s also an abbreviated guide to 20 apple varieties to help you know what to use for pies versus sauce versus salad. As always, fresh, local apples are best for any recipe, and here’s the good news: Since my book first came out, New England farmers have embraced ever more diversity, tearing out rows of Red Delicious in favor of Roxbury Russet, Liberty, and Northern Spy (the ultimate pie apple). So get out to the orchard and use this guide to help you start cooking. Happy apple season!

photographs by adam detour food styling by kendra elizabeth smith

APPLE GUIDE

Apple varieties are as individual as people, with their own quirky flavors and textures. Some perform best in long-baked desserts; others are best eaten fresh. You can’t tell by simply looking at them, and they don’t come with a label. I’ve taken the guesswork out of matching apples to recipes by organizing some popular and worthy varieties into four categories— firm-tart, firm-sweet, tender-tart, and tender-sweet which correspond to their best use in the kitchen. Acidity and texture are the two most important characteristics that determine how any apple performs in a recipe, so that’s what we’ll focus on here.

FIRM-TART

Examples: Goldrush, Granny Smith, Northern Spy, Rhode Island Greening, RubyFrost, Suncrisp

Description: These apples hold their shape when cooked and have enough acidity to balance rich baked desserts, such as pies and tarts. They also perform well in many savory dishes.

CARDAMOM-APPLE SOUFFLÉ PANCAKES

FIRM-SWEET

Examples: Cosmic Crisp, Golden Delicious, Honeycrisp, Jonagold, Opal, Pink Lady

Description: These are best in sweet and savory baked dishes that need a firm apple with more sweetness than sourness, such as tea cakes, baked apples, and compotes.

TENDER-TART

Examples: Cortland, Empire, Jonathan, Macoun, McIntosh

Description: Because they break down quickly during cooking, tendertarts are ideal for soups and sauces, as well as for eating by hand.

TENDERSWEET

Examples: Davey, Fuji, Gala, Liberty

Description: Tender-sweets are well suited to salads, applesauce, and such quickcooking dishes as pancakes and muffins.

Preheat the oven to 350°. Set a flat griddle to medium-high heat.

In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, cardamom, baking powder, and ½ teaspoon salt. In a small bowl, whisk the egg yolks, milk, and vanilla until smooth. Add the cider and whisk to combine. Add the wet ingredients to the dry and whisk just until smooth. Do not overmix.

In a large bowl, using a standing or handheld mixer, beat the egg whites with the remaining ¼ teaspoon salt until they reach firm (but not dry) peaks (when you lift the whisk out of

A couple of years ago, I noticed a new breakfast trend moving from Japan to the East Coast: soufflé pancakes. These lofty wonders are made with a chilled meringue base and cooked in metal rings to coax them to a height of about two inches. They’re a wonder to behold, but I think metal rings and meringue are too fussy for breakfast. Then I had free-form soufflé pancakes at the Vermont inn Twin Farms. They were a little less lofty but very delicious. So I came up with my own version, perfumed with cardamom and packed with protein.

1¹⁄ 3 cups all-purpose flour

2 tablespoons granulated sugar

1½ teaspoons ground cardamom

1½ teaspoons baking powder

¾ teaspoon table salt, divided

6 large eggs, separated, at room temperature

1 cup whole milk, at room temperature

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

½ cup sweet apple cider, at room temperature

1 large tender-tart apple, peeled, cored, and finely diced Vegetable oil spray for cooking Butter and maple syrup, for serving

IVAN-96/ISTOCK (ILLUSTRATIONS)

the eggs, the whites should form a peak that curls over only slightly). Gently fold half the egg whites into the batter until mostly evenly mixed. Repeat with the remaining whites until no streaks remain. Fold in the apple. Spray your griddle with vegetable oil spray. Spoon out about ¹⁄3 cup batter onto the griddle at a time, leaving plenty of room between each pancake. For extra height, let the pancakes set for a minute, then spoon a few tablespoons of additional batter on top. Cook just until the bottom is golden brown, about

cakes with a bit of cooking vegetable oil spray, then flip. Cook until the bottom sets, 2 minutes more, then transfer to a baking sheet in a single layer and bake in the oven until the center sets, about 3 minutes. Repeat with the remaining batter. Serve warm, with butter and maple syrup. Yields 8 to 10 pancakes.

APPLE-CRANBERRY SLAB PIE WITH CRANBERRY DRIZZLE

There’s something endearing about slab pies, which bring to mind bake sales and lunchbox treats. Adding dried cranberries to the apple mixture in this pie balances out the richness of the crust and acts as a natural thickener, too. A pretty pink cranberry drizzle is the finishing touch.

FOR THE CRUST

3¾ cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting

3 tablespoons granulated sugar, plus more for crust

1½ teaspoons kosher salt

1½ cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter, cut into small cubes, plus more for greasing pan

9–12 tablespoons ice water Milk, for brushing over crust

FOR THE FILLING

Butter, for greasing pan

4 pounds (about 8 large) mixed firm-tart and firm-sweet apples (see Apple Guide), peeled, cored, and cut into ¼-inch-thick slices

1 cup dried sweetened cranberries

½ cup granulated sugar

2½ tablespoons lemon juice

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

¾ teaspoon kosher salt

FOR THE DRIZZLE

¾ cup confectioners’ sugar

1½–2 tablespoons sweetened cranberry juice

First, make the crust: In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, and salt until well combined. Sprinkle the butter cubes over the flour mixture, and use your fingers to smear them in. Stop when the mixture looks like cornmeal with some pea-size bits of butter remaining. Sprinkle 9 tablespoons ice water on top, and stir with a fork until the dough begins to come together. If needed, add up to 3 tablespoons of ice water.

Turn the dough out onto a lightly

Cardamom-Apple Soufflé Pancakes

Apple-Cranberry Slab Pie with Cranberry Drizzle

floured surface and knead three times, or just enough to make it cohesive. Don’t overmix! Gather the dough into a ball, then divide it into two pieces, one slightly larger than the other. Use a bench scraper to shape each piece into a rough rectangle shape and wrap in plastic wrap. Refrigerate for at least 50 minutes and up to 2 days.

Preheat your oven to 425° and set a rack to the lowest position. Grease a 10-by-15-inch jelly roll pan with butter.

In a large bowl, toss the apple slices and cranberries with the sugar, lemon juice, cinnamon, and salt. Set aside.

Meanwhile, unwrap the larger piece of dough and place it on a lightly floured surface. Roll it out, working from the center, into a 12-by-17-inch rectangle. Turn the dough periodically and flip it over to prevent sticking; dust the counter with additional flour as needed.

Roll the dough up around the rolling pin and transfer to the prepared jelly roll pan. Press the dough gently into the corners, letting the excess hang over the sides, then transfer to the refrigerator to chill.

Unwrap the smaller piece of dough and place it on a well-floured surface. Working from the center, roll as before to a 12-by-17-inch rectangle. Take the pan from the refrigerator and pour the apple filling, with any juices, over the bottom crust and spread into an even layer. Transfer the top crust to the pan, drape it over the filling, and gently press down over the fruit and around the edges. Using a sharp knife, make three slashes in the center of the crust to let steam escape. Fold the top crust down over the bottom crust and crimp to seal. Brush the crust all over with milk and sprinkle with additional sugar.

Featuring more than 100 delicious, easy-to-make recipes and loads of apple lore, THE APPLE LOVER’S COOKBOOK won the IACP Cookbook Award for best American cookbook when it was published in 2011. The updated edition is available this fall wherever books are sold.

Put the pie on the lowest rack and bake for 15 minutes. Reduce the heat to 350° and bake until the pie is golden brown and the filling is bubbling, another 30 to 40 minutes. Let the pie cool on a rack for at least 45 minutes before drizzling with glaze.

When the pie has cooled to room temperature, make the cranberry drizzle: In a small bowl, whisk the confectioners’ sugar with the cranberry juice until smooth. Drizzle over the pie in a pretty pattern. Let set for 15 minutes. Serve the pie warm or at room temperature. Yields 12 servings.

APPLE-PLUM COBBLER

Early-season apples reach markets when local stone fruits—peaches, nectarines, apricots, plums—are still available. And since “fruit that grows together tends to go together,” this combination makes a great cobbler. For the prettiest color, use purple or red plums. Note: If you plan to use peaches, you’ll need to remove the skin before baking. To do this, cut a shallow “X” in the bottom of each, then drop in boiling water for 10 to 20 seconds, then transfer to an ice bath and peel.

½ cup (1 stick) salted butter, at room temperature, plus more for greasing the pan 1 cup granulated sugar, divided

Apple-Plum Cobbler

1¹⁄ 3 cups all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

¼ teaspoon table salt

¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon

²⁄ 3 cup milk

¾ pound smooth-skinned stone fruits, such as plums, apricots, or nectarines, unpeeled, pitted, and cut into 1-inch chunks

2 large firm-sweet apples, peeled, cored, and cut into ¾-inch pieces

½ teaspoon grated lemon zest

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Vanilla ice cream or crème fraîche, for serving

Preheat the oven to 375° and set a rack to the middle position. Grease a 9-by9-inch or 11-by-7-inch baking dish (10-cup capacity) with a bit of butter.

Using a standing or handheld mixer, beat the butter with ²⁄3 cup sugar in a medium bowl until pale and fluffy, stopping and scraping down the sides periodically, 3 to 4 minutes. In another medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon. Add a third of the dry mixture to the butter and beat on

low speed to combine. Add half of the milk. Repeat with another third of the dry mixture, then the rest of the milk. Finally, add the last third of the dry ingredients and stir to combine.

Put the fruit in the prepared baking dish, then sprinkle with the remaining ¹⁄3 cup sugar and the lemon zest and juice, and stir to combine. Pour the topping over the fruit and spread with a spatula (it’s fine if the topping doesn’t fully cover the fruit— it will spread more as it cooks). Bake until the fruit is bubbling and the top springs back in the center when you press it, about 1 hour. Serve warm, with a dollop of vanilla ice cream or crème fraîche. Yields 6 to 8 servings.

SAUSAGE, APPLE, AND SQUASH SHEET-PAN SUPPER WITH FRAGRANT HERB OIL

The sheet-pan supper is the answer to every busy person’s daily struggle to get a great dinner on the table with minimal effort. It’s a one-pan wonder with very limited prep work and plenty of walkaway time. In this dish, apples and squash provide sweetness, cranberries serve up

some acidity, herbs and sausages are richly savory. It’s fall on a plate. Note: Sage, thyme, and rosemary all work beautifully in this dish. You can use any combination of each, or just use a single herb.

¹⁄ 3 cup olive oil

1–2 sprigs each fresh sage, thyme, and rosemary

2 medium (1½ pounds total) unpeeled Honeynut squash (or equivalent amount of peeled butternut squash)

1 large red onion, cut into ½-inchthick wedges

1 large firm-tart apple, cored and cut into ½-inch-thick wedges

½ cup fresh cranberries

1½ teaspoons kosher salt

¾ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

6 fresh (uncooked) sweet or hot Italian sausages (about 1½ pounds total)

Preheat the oven to 425° and set a rack to the middle position. Combine the oil and herbs in a small saucepan and bring to a simmer. Cook until the herbs have wilted and the oil is very fragrant, about 3 minutes. Remove herbs from oil and set aside.

Halve the squash lengthwise, scoop out the seeds, then cut crosswise into ½-inch-thick half-moons. In a large bowl, combine the squash with the onion, apple, cranberries, and the herbs from the oil. Pour the oil, to taste, over the vegetables (you can use any leftover oil in a vinaigrette, or drizzled over potatoes). Sprinkle with the salt and pepper. Gently stir everything together with a spatula, then turn out onto a rimmed baking sheet and spread into an even layer.

Prick the sausages several times with a sharp knife, then lay them over the vegetables. Roast, turning the sausages and stirring the vegetables halfway through, until the squash is tender and the sausages are browned and sizzling, 20 to 25 minutes. Serve hot. Yields 4 to 6 servings.

Sausage, Apple, and Squash Sheet-Pan Supper with Fragrant Herb Oil

Grilled Flank Steak & Butternut Squash

Spice up the last weeks of outdoor grilling season with a new take on a favorite fall vegetable.

BY AMY TRAVERSO

s sure as pumpkin spice, winter squash season has returned. Unlike tender summer squashes, such as zucchini, these sweet and sturdy varieties (think butternut, acorn, kabocha, and Honey nut) have hard rinds and fully ripe seeds. Yet although I grill summer squash all through the summer, it never occurred to me to grill winter squash until now. I wondered if it would even cook well over hot coals. And would it taste good?

The answer: yes and yes. Tossing thin half-moon slices with a bit of oil, salt, pepper, and maple syrup before grilling gives them a savory, caramelized crust (just be sure to turn and move them around the grill so they don’t burn). Pair them with a lean flank steak, which cooks in the same amount of time. And for color and contrast, add a streamlined chimichurri-style sauce, the zingy staple of Argentine steakhouses.

GRILLED FLANK STEAK & BUTTERNUT SQUASH WITH CHIMICHURRI-STYLE SAUCE

FOR THE STEAK AND SQUASH

1½ pounds flank steak

2 teaspoons kosher salt, divided

1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, divided

1 medium butternut squash (about 2 pounds), peeled, halved lengthwise, seeded, and cut into ¼-inch-thick half-moons

Amy Traverso is Yankee’s senior food editor and cohost of our TV show, Weekends with Yankee (weekendswithyankee.com).

STYLED AND PHOTOGRAPHED BY LIZ NEILY

3 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for grate

2 tablespoons maple syrup (any grade)

FOR THE SAUCE

½ cup red wine vinegar

½ small red onion, finely chopped

3 medium garlic cloves, finely chopped

½

–1 teaspoon red chili flakes

1 teaspoon kosher salt

½ cup extra-virgin olive oil

¾ cup finely chopped flat-leaf parsley

Pat the flank steak dry and place on a rimmed baking sheet. Use a sharp knife to make a series of long, very shallow, perpendicular cuts spaced about 1 inch apart, as if carving a grid on the surface. Repeat on the other side of the meat. Season all over with 1 teaspoon salt and ½ teaspoon pepper; let sit at room temperature for about 30 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat a gas or charcoal grill for direct, medium-high heat (about 375°).

Next, prepare the squash: In a large bowl, coat the squash slices with 3 tablespoons olive oil, maple syrup, 1 teaspoon salt, and ½ teaspoon pepper. Toss well to coat.

Grill the steak and squash together. Cook the steak undisturbed for 3 to 4 minutes per side to reach mediumrare. Cook the squash for 8 to 10 minutes total, turning frequently and moving the slices around the grill to avoid burning. Transfer everything to a clean rimmed baking sheet to cool while you make the sauce.

In a medium-size bowl, whisk together vinegar, onion, garlic, chili flakes, and salt. Whisk in the olive oil to blend. Just before serving, use a fork to whisk in the parsley.

Slice the steak thinly against the grain. Serve the steak and squash on a platter, drizzled with chimichurri. Serve extra sauce on the side. Yields 4 servings.

ELECTRIC GRILLS

Beet, Fennel & Pear Soup

Throwing a garden party in a soup pot.

STORY AND PHOTOGRAPHS BY KRISSY O’SHEA

utumn foods inspire my kitchen and my cooking, so in the early hours of those first chilly mornings, I often can be found next to a warm oven with a pan of something just baked. But as the day warms, I’m still craving the simple fare of summer. With so many combinations of earthy and sweet growing just outside the door, planning a fresh-fromthe-garden meal this time of year is both rewarding and joyful.

An exuberant fall crop of beets was the inspiration for this soup. In the garden, I noticed the wispy green stalks and pale yellow flowers of fennel waving over the fence, ready for picking. Wanting one more sweet note, I chose pear, which also lends a bit of acidity.

This simple dish hits all the notes of early fall, with a velvety mouthfeel, rich cerise color, and easy adaptability. It can be served cold or warm, and it’s great with a dollop of something creamy. (I have a propensity for crème fraîche, but Greek yogurt or sour cream works equally well.) A little sprinkle of anything green and fresh is nice, too, such as fennel fronds, basil, chervil, or cilantro.

BEET, FENNEL & PEAR SOUP

4 t ablespoons unsalted butter

1 large onion, diced

1 ½ teaspoons salt

6 medium beets, peeled and chopped into ½-inch cubes (about 4 cups)

2 large pears, peeled and cored, chopped into ½-inch chunks

1 large fennel bulb, cored and cut crosswise into ¼-inch slices

8 cups water

2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar

Crème fraîche, sour cream, or Greek yogurt, for garnish Chopped fresh herbs (such as fennel fronds, basil, chervil, or cilantro), for garnish

In a 4- or 5-quart pot over medium heat, melt the butter. Add onion and salt. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, until soft, about 6 minutes. Add beets, pears, and fennel. Stir, then cover, reduce heat to mediumlow, and cook, stirring occasionally, for 10 minutes. Add the water, bring mixture to a boil, then reduce heat and let the vegetables simmer, covered, until beets are tender, about 30 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in the apple cider vinegar. Using a

hand blender or working in batches in a blender, puree until smooth. Taste and add salt as needed. To serve, garnish with crème fraîche and chopped herbs. Yields 4 to 6 servings.

Yankee contributing editor Krissy O’Shea shares stories, recipes, and home style tips at cottagefarmblog.com.

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this page : Rangeley Lake in all its autumn splendor. opposite , clockwise from top left : Local artist and alpaca farmer Jeff Seaberg; owner Chip Smith behind the scenes at his brewpub, the Furbish; the dining room at Loon Lodge; pressing apples at Oktoberfest; the lake wreathed in morning mist; a vintage downtown sign.

RANGELEY, MAINE

FAMOUS FOR ITS OUTDOOR SPORTING LIFE, THIS MOUNTAIN VILLAGE ALSO BOASTS FOLIAGE TO RIVAL ANYWHERE ELSE IN THE COUNTRY.

BY IAN ALDRICH • PHOTOGRAPHS BY TRISTAN SPINSKI

I am also certain of this: That autumn beauty will feel especially magnetic in Rangeley, Maine. doesn’t get the same kind of gushing attention that the coast does. It’s the Maine of mountains and lakes—the Rangeley region alone has 112 bodies of water—not to mention vast swaths of hardwood forests, whose autumn brilliance still surprises people who

have more than a few New England foliage seasons under their belt.

“I grew up in southern Maine, so Iage,” says Travis Ferland, owner of the Rangeley Inn. “But when I came up here, it was something else entirely. It was like somebody had airbrushed the -

Rangeley has been making a big

impression on visitors since the 1860s, when newspapers and magazines hailed it as the home of the largest brook trout in the country. The promise of those big fish combined with easy train travel brought tourists flocking here. Up went the big hotels, inns, and sporting camps. Pioneering anglers Cornelia “Fly Rod” Crosby and Carrie Stevens cemented Rangeley’s status as a premier outdoor getaway.

In the years since, the region has endured by expanding on its core identity. Fishing is still a draw, but so are the kayaking, moose watching, and float plane tours. There are mountains to climb, forest trails to meander, spectacular drives on which to get lost. A flurry of new restaurants and shops in the past few years may have dialed down the “wilderness” mystique a little, but it’s all those trees, lakes, and hills that tie the centuries together. And there’s something reassuring about that. When life feels unsettled, it’s good to spend time in a place like Rangeley, amid unchanging natural beauty.

FRIDAY

Peak foliage generally hits here in early October. Over the past several years, those colors have been augmented by Oktoberfest, a multiday celebration that gets people moving and eating. It kicks off with a Friday-night bratwurst and strudel contest, then rolls into a busy Saturday that includes an apple festival at the Maine Forestry Museum, an organized bike tour, the slightly tipsy Cider & Beer Run, and Sunday

I have no way of knowing what the world will be like when this story reaches you. But I do know this: As is true every year in New England, come mid-September the morning air will turn crisp, apple trees will be bursting with fruit, and fall colors will start marching down from the hilltops and across the valleys, blanketing the landscape in those comfortingly familiar reds, oranges, and yellows.

this page : Photo ops abound on Quill Hill, an easy drive-to foliage destination. opposite : The Rangeley Inn’s porch chairs are front-row seats to the comings and goings on Main Street.

Rangeley and nearby Oquossoc. Plan your trip early enough, and you’ll have lodging options ranging from the 12-room Loon Lodge on Rangeley Lake, to Bald Mountain Camps in Oquossoc, to the Rangeley Inn & Tavern, one of the few remaining large hotels that once populated the region. The 42-room Rangeley Inn was saved in 2013 when Travis Ferland bought it at auction and subsequently renovated nearly every square inch. The rooms aren’t large, but the main spaces feel grand, giving visitors a step back in time to Rangeley in the early 1900s.

From the Rangeley Inn it’s a short trek to the village center for dinner, where old favorites and new destinations converge. Steak, pizza, and chili are the mainstays at the Red Onion, which has welcomed leaf peepers for half a century. Just a few doors down, the Furbish Brewhouse & Eats is entering its second autumn. Opened in 2019, it’s the realization of a dream for Chip Smith, a local landscaper and serious beer hobbyist, who with his wife, Beth,

renovated this former Main Street mansion and B&B. The menu leans hard toward pub fare (wood-fired pizzas, barbecue, and, this being Maine, lobster rolls), while the half-dozen beers on tap cater to IPA fans. With its commanding views of the lake and the shoreline park across the street, it’s as fine a place as any to wrap up the day.

SATURDAY

Opt for the inn’s breakfast buffet, or stroll to Main Street and take a seat at Keep’s Corner Café, where the blueberry pancakes, omelets, and housemade doughnuts and muffins get you ready for a day of exploring.

Afterward, make time for downtown. Rangeley’s retail center is compact but has a surprisingly diverse collection of shops. Get your Carhartt and North Face fix at Jannace’s Backwoods Clothing & Custom Embroidery or the Alpine Shop, then step into Ecoplegicon, which sells and rents all kinds of recreational equipment to go along with your new outdoor duds. The Rangeley Region Sports Shop offers

serious fishing equipment upgrades and expertise (inquire here about hiring a Registered Maine Guide to show you the area’s prime fishing spots).

If you want to rest your eyes on something a little less active, step into Seaberg Gallery & Alpacaville, which draws heavily on the work of its owner, painter Jeff Seaberg, among other local artists. He also sells a handsome collection of alpaca socks and gifts made from the wool produced on his family farm in nearby Kingfield. And if you ask politely, this colorful artist might even sing you a song.

Another recommended stop is Books, Lines, and Thinkers, one of those delightful packed-to-the-gills bookstores. Here, owner Wess Connally will happily direct you to your next great New England–based read.

Pack your own picnic or have a basket made for you at Classic Provisions,

from left : One of the 14 cozy cabins on offer at Bald Mountain Camps in Oquossoc; a dawn view of Mooselookmeguntic Lake from the Height of Land overlook.

leaf peeping. By foot, by plane, or by car—one of the charms of the Rangeley region is all the different ways you can get above the foliage.

Route 17’s famous Height of Land overlook is the most popular photo op, but you can snap equally stunning pictures at Quill Hill, a hilltop vista in nearby Dallas Plantation that landowner Adrian Brochu opened to the public in 2013. The 12-minute drive to the top culminates in a panoramic view of the Rangeley region and, in the far distance, New Hampshire’s White Mountains. There are picnic tables for lunching, a wheelchair-accessible path, and a grill with free firewood. The suggested donation ($5 per car and $5 per person) can be deposited in an old bank vault as you leave.

If Quill Hill’s 2,800 feet leaves you craving even more elevation, head back to Rangeley for an afternoon flight with Acadian Seaplanes. Pilot Keith Deschambeault offers several different tours, from a 15-minute regional primer to a “Fly & Dine” that includes

dinner at a remote sporting camp. Our pick: the 30-minute jaunt that buzzes over five of the region’s lakes and includes a flyover of historic Upper Dam, where Carrie Stevens perfected her Grey Ghost fly lure, still considered one of the gold standards in the fly fishing community.

After relaxing back at the inn, make the short walk to Forks in the Air Mountain Bistro, an intimate eatery housed in a restored hardware store that sources within a tight geographical radius to build a lot of its menu, including its popular bison burger.

Finally, end the day aboard the Oquossoc Lady II for a sunset cruise on Rangeley Lake. Bring your camera— and a beverage, because it’s BYOB.

SUNDAY

The Oquossoc Grocery—or the O.G., as locals affectionately call this superb little market—is today’s stop for breakfast sandwiches and coffee. Then it’s on to the trailhead at nearby Bald Mountain. On prime autumn days the parking lot fills up quickly, as this short but

challenging hike delivers a huge payoff. There are killer views of the nearby lakes, and a fire tower atop the summit offers increased elevation.

Your final destination before heading home might just be the most memorable. The Rangeley region is anchored by its past, a story that comes together best at the Outdoor Heritage Museum in Oquossoc. The institution tells a lively tale, one that begins with an original c. 1910 sporting cabin in the front entryway. From there, you can take in vivid displays of tree branch art, some 150 of Carrie Stevens’s flies, an 11-pound, 2-ounce mounted brook trout, and the desk that writer Louise Dickinson Rich used when she penned her 1942 Rangeley-set classic, We Took to the Woods.

It’s a story of what’s always brought people to this neck of the woods—and why they return, even now.

FROM LEFT : The Outdoor Heritage Museum, a trove of nature-based art and artifacts; Karen Seaman, general manager of the sevenyear-old Forks in the Air Mountain Bistro.

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S alem Cross Inn

Scenic Fall Drives

These five short-and-sweet trips mix leaf peeping, easy hikes, and apple delights. Plus: We round up bonus drives in every state.

BY KIM KNOX BECKIUS

he shortest route isn’t typically the most scenic, but the following five fall drives—all under 60 miles—are rare exceptions. Each can be a quick leaf-spotting outing or a daylong adventure that will have you outside your car more than in: stretching your legs, seeing interesting sights, and savoring an appley-sweet taste of fall.

Poetry and Mountain Passes in New Hampshire

Franconia to Glen, 60 miles

Walk the Poetry Trail at the Frost Place in Franconia, where Robert

Frost’s famed verses are posted on trees, and you’ll be inspired to take this White Mountains drive slowly, wandering off on roads less traveled. Get on I-93 and drop south through Franconia Notch State Park , home of the Flume Gorge, if only for the sheer pleasure of turning around and driving north on New England’s most dramatic interstate, with Cannon Mountain and Mount Lafayette in view. Get off at exit 35 and take Route 3 to Route 302 east to see how autumn amplifies the grandeur of the Omni Mount Washington Resort and makes Crawford Notch State Park ’s waterfalls look like ribbons of smoke. Stop at AMC’s

Highland Center in Bretton Woods for hiking guidance, but be sure to reach the White Mountain Cider Company ’s market in Glen in time to sip refreshingly icy apple cider slushies.

Beauty and Twisty Turns in Vermont

Essex Junction to Stowe, 39 miles Empires, Macs, and other familiar varieties grow in neat rows at Chapin Orchard in Essex Junction, but it’s the century-old trees that produce Tolman Sweets, Fameuses, and other heirlooms that make apple picking here feel like a treasure hunt. Fill a bag, then set out via Route 15 for Jericho and the

New Hampshire’s Franconia Notch State Park never fails to deliver on foliage spectacle.

Photo:

Old Red Mill museum and craft shop, which exhibits Wilson A. Bentley’s 19th-century snowflake photos, the first ever captured. Continue north on Route 15 to Cambridge, with Mount Mansfield looming above; here, generations of plein air painters have fallen under the spell of blue slopes and red barns. Walk the riverside Cambridge Greenway Path before turning south and following the thin brushstroke of Route 108, edged with leaves that dazzle with cold-snapped vibrance. Roadside boulders and unexpected pullovers make the run through Smugglers’ Notch feel like a video game experience. Your pulse won’t slow until you reach the Kaffeehaus at Trapp Family Lodge in Stowe, where the “crisp apple strudels” that Julie Andrews once sang of will be your favorite things.

Ponds and Peak Views in Midcoast Maine

Rockland to Camden, 39 miles

There’s a wonderfully inefficient way to get from Rockland to Camden that takes you away from the coast to where fall’s reds and oranges shine. So, turn inland by taking Route 1 to Warren, then hop onto Western Road for a stop at Beth’s Farm Market, where cider and apple crisp await. Continuing north, skirt Seven Tree Pond, its blueberry barrens turned crimson, on your way to Union, a photogenic farming commu-

nity with antique homes, an artisanal winery, and one of the oldest public commons in Maine. Head east, first on Route 17 and then via a series of smaller roads through Bald Mountain Preserve and past Hosmer Pond, to connect with Route 52 and drive north to Barrett’s Cove Public Beach on Megunticook Lake. Hike the moderately challenging mile-long Maiden Cliff Trail for views of this freshwater pool. Then it’s time to return to the coast: Drive Route 52 south and hop onto Route 1 north to visit Camden Hills State Park. No exertion is required to reach Mount Battie’s summit, so end your drive on this peak, looking out over the islands of Penobscot Bay.

Farmlands and the Air Line Trail in Connecticut

South Glastonbury to Pomfret, 53 miles

Cinnamon-doused apple fritters are a weekends-only treat at South Glastonbury’s Belltown Hill Orchards , a fourth-generation pick-your-own farm so close to Hartford you can see the capital’s skyline, yet so removed that it crosses into a different climatic region. Ramble east to Route 2, then head south on Route 66 to East Hampton, where you can stroll an easy stretch of the 50-mile Air Line State Park Trail and see the glossy cliffs and reflective pools that enchanted 20thcentury riders aboard the white “Ghost

Train” that once steamed through these woods. Photo ops are plentiful at East Hampton’s Pumpkintown USA , and—half an hour to the northeast via Route 66—traffic always slows on the folk tale–inspired Frog Bridge in Willimantic, but you’ll be back on lonely roads again through rural Scotland, with its pre-Revolution homes and gazebo-adorned town green, on the way to Pomfret’s Sharpe Hill Vineyard for a tasting of the state’s mostawarded wines.

History and Scenery in Central Massachusetts

Hadley to Phillipston, 54 miles

The auto road in Hadley’s Skinner State Park winds to the top of Mount Holyoke, where the Summit House, a former hotel, is the lone survivor of its kind in New England. In the mid-19th century, dapper gentlemen and women in broad-brimmed hats and long skirts arrived here by way of a remarkable inclined tramway. Long after the tram’s demise, views of the Connecticut River Oxbow still enchant. Exiting the park, turn right on Route 47, then strike out east on Bay Road, which becomes Route 9 South as it leads to the Quabbin Visitor Center in Belchertown. Keep an eye out for bald eagles as you walk or bike 12 miles of paved roads on the Quabbin Reservoir’s shores. After continuing on to Ware and turning north on Route 32, snag a photo of the Ware-Hardwick Covered Bridge en route to Harvard Forest in Petersham, where the Fisher Museum’s mesmerizing dioramas tell the story of one of the oldest research forests in the country. Switching to 202 East at Athol, you’ll find there’s one more mountain to conquer just five minutes away: the pileup of steamy apples inside handmade, plump-baked apple dumplings at Red Apple Farm in Phillipston.

By early to mid-October, the leaves are blazing around the Quabbin Reservoir, the largest inland body of water in Massachusetts.

BONUS: FAVORITE FALL DRIVES IN EVERY STATE

MASSACHUSETTS

NORTHERN BERKSHIRES LOOP, 32 MILES: Art lovers may have a hard time with their initial momentum, as this foliage tour starts in a museum-rich corner of the state. From Williamstown, with its peerless Williams College Museum of Art and Clark Art Institute, you strike out on Route 2 (aka the Mohawk Trail) east to North Adams and the world-famous Mass MoCA. But nature’s beauty is fully present, too, from the woodland walks at Natural Bridge State Park to the mountain vistas from the Western Summit, reached via a memorably steep hairpin turn. The highest point on the Mohawk Trail, Whitcomb Summit (elevation 2,173 feet), comes in the town of Florida and offers views far into southern Vermont and New Hampshire. Start heading back west by following signs into Savoy Mountain State Forest—a worthy side trip here is a hike to Tannery Falls, an 80-foot series of plunges and horsetails—and over to East Road in Adams, a back road that runs north in parallel with Route 8, along the edge of majestic Mount Greylock. At North Adams, you’ll rejoin Route 2 for the trip back to Williamstown.

CONNECTICUT RIVER RAMBLE, 40 MILES: This sinuous drive along the Connecticut River begins at South Hadley’s Village Commons, across from the storied beauty of the Mount Holyoke College campus. Launch yourself north on Route 47, which soon arrives at Skinner State Park and the chance to detour to the summit of Mount Holyoke and a view of the river winding through fertile fields and dense forests. In Hadley, which has more farm acreage than any other Massachusetts town, farm stands abound; you’ll also find a great open-air flea market on Sundays from spring to fall. There’s one breathtaking view after another as you drive on to Sunderland, where you can detour onto Route 116 to motor up the summit road of Mount Sugarloaf in South Deerfield and see the whole of the Pioneer Valley. Back on Route 47, hop off at Main Street in Montague to visit the magical Montague Bookmill or continue through town and up to Turners Falls, which offers several worthy dining and shopping options. Cross the river and Route 2, head up Main Road into Gill, then re-cross the river on Route 10 to reach Route 63, which leads north to your just desserts: Northfield

Creamie, which has been scooping freshmade ice cream since 1952.

MAINE

OLD CANADA ROAD, 78 MILES: The Old Canada Road (Route 201) is set in a landscape that is not just scenic but also grandly historic, as Benedict Arnold led troops through this wilderness on his spectacularly ill-fated mission to sack Quebec in 1775. The trip today is an excursion from the pastoral into the pine forests: Starting out from Solon, you’re flanked by rolling farmland, then climb steadily into commercial timberland and the lair of moose. You’ll soon share the winding road with both logging trucks and old school buses that ferry white-water enthusiasts to some of the most popular rafting in the East, at the Forks (join them to get splendidly soaked on the Kennebec or Dead rivers). Just a few miles up from the Forks is the don’t-miss hike to 90-foot Moxie Falls, one of Maine’s highest cascades. Back on 201, you’ll pass Parlin Pond and the Appalachian Trail to reach the town of Jackman (“Last Gas in the United States”), one of Maine’s famed fishing, hunting, and snow-

mobiling outposts. Just south of town is Attean Lake Lodge, a family-friendly resort on a densely forested island—and, if you made reservations, a perfect place to rest your head for the night.

GRAY TO FRYEBURG, 100 MILES: Make it a full day or spend the night along the way as you explore the Oxford Hills and Lakes Region. Starting from Gray, home of the kid-pleasing Maine Wildlife Park, pick up Route 26 north; just eight miles up the road is the last living Shaker community, Sabbathday Lake. Stay with 26 into South Paris—where you can bag an easy White Mountains view by detouring up Paris Hill—then motor west to Waterford via 118 and 37, and dally in its National Historic District town center. Pick up 35 north to the ski town of Bethel, a great place to refuel before heading west on Route 2 to the New Hampshire border and the scenic high point: the steep, winding, and spectacular run of Route 113 south through Evan’s Notch, dotted with trailheads for hiking to waterfalls and high mountain vistas. The drive wraps up in Fryeburg, whose attractions include Maine’s largest annual agricultural fair and its oldest covered bridge.

NEW HAMPSHIRE

MONADNOCK REGION LOOP, 71 MILES: The southwestern part of New Hampshire is fondly called “the Currier & Ives Corner,” and this long fall drive down narrow country roads and through storybook villages will show you why. Starting from Peterborough (the model for Thornton Wilder’s Our Town ), take Route 202 north to Route 136 and follow it to the historic towns of Greenfield and Francestown, the latter filled with structures over 200 years old. Route 47 west leads past the Crotched Mountain ski area and appealing views of distant color-filled hills on the way to Hancock via 202 south and 137 west. With its manicured town green and central pond, Hancock is hard to beat for atmosphere—until you reach Harrisville, about eight miles southeast on back roads, a painstakingly preserved mill town with a general store that’s worth the trip in itself. Pop down Dublin Road to say hi at Yankee ’s headquarters before looping west on 101 to 124 south, which pays off in jaw-dropping views of Mount Monadnock’s southern slopes. Stay on 124 through Jaffrey Center (where Willa Cather is buried) and into Jaffrey itself before turning north on 137 and returning to Peterborough.

LAKES REGION LOOP, 75 MILES: Though this trek through shoreline towns is hardly off the beaten path, it’s a long-

standing fall favorite for its wealth of pit-stop options and its bursts of color reflected in the water. Start from Alton Bay at the southern tip of Lake Winnipesaukee and motor west on Route 11 to Mount Major, where you can take a 1.5-mile hike up to dazzling views of the lake and the Ossipee and White mountains. Reward your efforts with ice cream at Kellerhaus in Weirs Beach before picking up Route 3 north, or hold your appetite until you reach Meredith and detour to Moulton Farm for apples, pumpkins, and homemade baked goods. Continue on Route 3 toward Squam Lake, which you’ll loop around via Route 113 and 109, hitting the scenic burgs of Holderness and Center Sandwich along the way. In Moultonborough, the c. 1781 Old Country Store & Museum awaits, its aisles packed with knickknacks, penny candy, maple products, and more. Pick up Route 109 again, and continue along the northern shore of Winnipesaukee for the 18-mile stretch to Wolfeboro, with its bustling Main Street and waterview eateries. Then it’s down Route 28 to Alton Bay and a final scenic lookout with outstanding views of the lake and mountains.

KANCAMAGUS HIGHWAY, 35 MILES: No list of foliage drives would be complete without the Kancamagus Highway, aka the 35 miles of Route 112 between Conway and Lincoln. Before getting under way, make time to stop at the Saco Ranger Station (the most-visited ranger station in the White Mountain National Forest) for a parking pass, hiking maps, or savvy foliage advice. Then you’ll ascend into a spectacular color scene on a two-lane road that holds no stores, no gas stations, and no signs except for those pointing to hiking trails and campgrounds. The pull-offs look out over the national forest, waterfalls, and mountains. Two favorite stops: the Albany Covered Bridge, over the Swift River, and Lincoln Woods, where you can photograph the views from a suspension bridge or stroll along old railbeds once used by logging railroads.

CONNECTICUT

LITCHFIELD TO WINSTED, 47 MILES: You’d need an entire day to explore Litchfield—said to be New England’s finest surviving example of a typical late-18thcentury town—but that’s best saved for another time, when the Litchfield Hills aren’t glowing their autumn best. So from the village green, crowned with its immaculately white Congregational Church, head north on Route 63 to the village of Goshen—smaller and more

typical of this rural northwestern region than its famed neighbor—where you’ll take a left onto Route 4. Passing placid Tyler Lake, you’re soon motoring past a mix of foliage-covered hills, pastures, and forest. At the four-way intersection outside Cornwall, take 128 north: After about three miles and a formidable decline, there’s the picture-perfect West Cornwall covered bridge, built in the 1860s, waiting to bring you across the Housatonic. From there, jog north on Route 7, aka Ethan Allen Highway, for a 12-mile run through some of the trip’s most colorful and scenic vistas; zip into Canaan and head east on 44, where the businesses soon thin out again; and point the car toward Haystack Mountain Park, which offers an easy 1.8-mile loop hike to the top and views into Massachusetts. Back on 44, you’ll pass through stately Norfolk, a favored 19th-century summer resort, on the way to Winsted, which has dining options aplenty as well as easy access to the region’s busy north-south artery, Route 8.

WOODSTOCK TO LISBON, 26 MILES: The spine of Connecticut’s “Quiet Corner,” Route 169 also happens to be one of New England’s prettiest roads—most of it is in fact a National Scenic Byway. The start of this quick and easy drive is Woodstock, just a stone’s throw from Interstate 395; before setting out, be sure to check out the town’s watermelon-pink National Historic Landmark, Roseland Cottage, a grand Gothic Revival house built in 1846 by a local boy made good. Next stop is Pomfret, home of Mashamoquet Brook State Park and the ivied buildings of Pomfret School (plus the chance for antiques lovers to make a quick side trip via Route 44 to next-door Putnam’s 20,000-square-foot Antiques Marketplace). Continuing on 169 brings you to Brooklyn, a town steeped in agricultural history and where bison as well as cows can be seen grazing the fields. A side-trip option here: Logee’s Greenhouses in Danielson, where more than a thousand rare tropical and subtropical plants are cultivated. Returning to the curves and hills of the main route, you’ll pass through historic Canterbury and, after the final stone wall–lined stretch, wind up in Lisbon, where the National Scenic Byway ends.

VERMONT

VERGENNES TO MONTPELIER, 60 MILES: Get ready for a roller-coaster foliage ride through the heart of the Green Mountain State. Head east on Route 17, which winds past farmland through New Haven and climbs to views of South Mountain

Photo: Katie Pritchard

Photo Liz Belcher

and Mount Ellen before reaching Bristol. (This downtown area is a National Historic District filled with an eclectic mix of local businesses, so you may want to tarry awhile.) Leaving Bristol on Route 17, you’ll climb nearly 2,000 feet in elevation to the top of Appalachian Gap; at the summit, stop and soak in views of the Mad River Valley to the east, the Champlain Valley to the west, and the Adirondacks in the distance. On your descent, you’ll pass Mad River Glen ski area, which on fall weekends offers foliage rides on its iconic single-chair ski lift. At Irasville, you’ll start following the scenic Mad River north: first on Route 100 and then on Route 100B. At Middlesex, take Highway 2 to the state capital, Montpelier, where you’ll spot Ceres, Roman goddess of agriculture, gracing the gold dome atop the Vermont State House.

WILMINGTON TO PLYMOUTH NOTCH, 63

MILES: Considered by many to be the best foliage drive in Vermont, Route 100 stretches some 200 miles from Massachusetts to Lake Memphremagog. But for a leisurely day-trip, a third of it will do. Heading north on 100 out of Wilmington, you’ll be hugging the eastern edge of the Green Mountain National Forest all the way to Weston, which boasts one of the loveliest town centers in the state as well as the original Vermont Country Store. From there it’s on to Ludlow, where an optional detour up Route 103 yields a hidden-gem picnic spot, Buttermilk Falls. Water features also figure into the final portion of your drive, as a string of lovely little lakes— Lake Rescue, Echo Lake, and Amherst Lake—run along Route 100. At the end is the bucolic President Calvin Coolidge State Historic Site, situated atop a hill in Plymouth Notch and surrounded by a dramatic bowl of mountains.

MONTGOMERY-NEWPORT LOOP, 65

MILES: In addition to boasting the most covered bridges of any town in the nation, Montgomery is an ideal home base for exploring this corner of Vermont, where Franklin County’s dairy lands meet the forests of the Northeast Kingdom. The region’s signature mountain, Jay Peak, is your first stop via Route 242; here, you can ride an aerial tram to the nearly 4,000-foot summit and see vistas that encompass Quebec’s Eastern Townships, Mount Mansfield, and Lake Champlain. From there, plunge into the heart of the Kingdom by heading east on 242 to 101, south to Troy, and then east on 100 to Newport. On the shores of the borderstraddling Lake Memphremagog, soak up the scenery and refuel at the Northeast Kingdom Tasting Center downtown. A circuitous return to Montgomery via

Spend the Day

A unique place in the history of American art, bringing alive the work of artists where they lived and painted. Galleries, gardens, and a seasonal outdoor café!

JULY 7 – NOVEMBER 1

FRESH FIELDS: American Impressionist Landscapes from the Florence Griswold Museum

~ An Historic 1851 B&B with all the modern amenities ~

Frank Vincent Dumond, Top of the Hill, c. 1906, Oil on board, Florence Griswold Museum.

96 Lyme Street, Old Lyme, CT Exit 70 off of I-95

MURDER YSTERY

Dinner Train

Highway 5, Route 14, and Route 58 pays off in the final stretch between Lowell and Montgomery Center, an unpaved tunnel through dense hardwood forests that reaches a nearly 1,800-foot crest at Hazen’s Notch.

RHODE ISLAND

SMITHFIELD TO WARWICK, 46 MILES: From busy Interstate 295, strike out west on Route 44, aka Putnam Pike, and into the heart of Rhode Island apple country. Among the orchards to tempt you here are the c. 1899 Jaswell’s Farm (legendary candy apples) and Appleland (extraordinary cider), both just a few miles off the main route. Motor west on 44 until you reach Chepachet, a historic riverside village where you can pick up penny candy at one of America’s oldest general stores, Brown & Hopkins, or go for a hike in 1,200-acre Sprague Farm Town Forest in nearby Glocester. From Chepachet, head south on Route 102, Rhode Island’s best foliage drive, and be reminded of the fact that the Ocean State is actually 52 percent forested. At West Greenwich, exit 102 and dogleg east through the dense forest of the Big River Management Area as you head back to Warwick—i.e., civilization. But even inside city limits there’s one last burst of color waiting, at Goddard Memorial State Park, where the grounds include more than 60 species of deciduous trees.

FARM COAST RAMBLE, 22 MILES: Its southern coastal location makes this one of the last foliage drives to turn, with color lingering through October (sometimes even into November). From Aquidneck Island, cross the Sakonnet River Bridge and then drop south into Tiverton to begin a ramble through a stretch of Rhode Island and Massachusetts where farmland rolls to the ocean and inlets are bordered by towns settled as far back as 1616. Route 77 curves past Nannaquaket Pond on the way to Tiverton Four Corners, an 18th-century village filled with shops and other distractions, including the justifiably famous Gray’s Ice Cream. Make your way east via Meetinghouse Lane to historic Little Compton, which boasts the state’s only official town common, before zigzagging on local roads northeast to Adamsville, with its monument to the Rhode Island Red chicken. Hop the state border to reach journey’s end, Westport, which has a pristine Trustees of Reservation property to explore (Westport Town Farm) as well as the award-winning winery Westport Rivers, set on a 435-acre farm.

Photo by Bob Ness

MY New England

Celebrating the people, destinations, and experiences that make the region and Yankee Magazine so unique.

FOLLOW ALONG @YANKEEMAGAZINE #MYNEWENGLAND

THE GLORIOUS FALL SEASON AT OCEAN HOUSE

The scenic Watch Hill, Rhode Island, Atlantic Coast is the perfect setting for fall. Glorious weather, stunning sunsets, luxury accommodations and intimate events are among the many reasons Ocean House is a treasured New England destination. Guests of all ages can appreciate the beauty and activities during this special time of year.

FARM & VINE DINNER SERIES

September 10 and

November 5, 2020

Celebrate fall with memorable wine dinners featuring local farms, award-winning female chefs and internationally acclaimed wine makers, all in COAST restaurant, the state of Rhode Island’s only five-star, five-diamond restaurant.

YANKEE ARTISAN IN RESIDENCE

Silkscreen Artist

Ashley Van Etten

October 9-11, 2020

Ashley Van Etten combines passion for the natural world with the love of art. A special Saturday workshop will be held with a focus on silkscreen on textiles. Complimentary events during the weekend also include a lecture and receptions.

YANKEE ARTISAN IN RESIDENCE

Glassblower Eben Horton

November 6-8, 2020

Internationally recognized glass artist Eben Horton is known for his glass “fl oats,” including hundreds of beautiful glass balls that have been hidden on nearby Block Island for visitors to fi nd. Attendees of his November workshop will enjoy making their own glass masterpiece at his studio. Additional complimentary activities include receptions and a Sunday lecture.

An Exceptional Experience

Announcing the Yankee Artisan in Residence Series

enjoy the best of new england and celebrated artists.

The Artisan in Residence program is a collaboration between Yankee and the triple five-star Ocean House, fostering creativity, learning and hands-on art opportunities. This weekend series in 2020 and 2021 features notable artisans that are part of Yankee’s Open Studio series. We invite you to come for the day or stay overnight for this intimate learning experience.

All social distancing and safety protocols will be in place.

COLOR Turn Up the

VERMONT’S MAD RIVER VALLEY STEALS THE FOLIAGE SHOW.

BY ANNIE GRAVES

PARINI

Rising above terrain painted in gold, rust, and red is Mount Ellen, whose flanks are striped with the ski runs of Sugarbush Resort in Warren, Vermont.

PHOTOGRAPHS BY OLIVER

IT IS A ROGUE RIVER—RUNNING NORTH.

That was the first theory I heard about the Mad River’s name, and in the end, it was my favorite. The wayward water courses up from Granville Notch, deep in the Green Mountains, and tumbles through a picturesque Vermont valley dotted with villages, red barns, and church steeples, until it finishes just north of Montpelier, with an exhale into the Winooski River.

Along the way, it carves its initials into the land, with swimming holes and fishing nooks. It pops up when you least expect it, like the Where’s Waldo? of waterways. Trails hug it. Covered bridges leap over it in Waitsfield and Warren. You can bask on the riverbanks. Kayak through its stony ribs. The river bestows its name and its identity on this 144-square-mile watershed: the Mad River Valley. A tree-studded haven that hides a handful of towns … and two major ski resorts.

So it’s not exactly a travel secret—very little is, these days. But it feels undiscovered, as I roam around the valley on a gorgeous October day. Girded by Green Mountains, this is usually where skiers flock to tackle Sugarbush or the rascally Mad River Glen. Instead, we’re on the cusp of a spectacular autumn weekend. Forecasters are fairly tingling with predictions for peak. Those mountains? They’re flaming with color. The river is lit with sparks of red and yellow. Farms are edged in every shade of orange.

When people think of fall in Vermont, this is what they imagine.

above: Waitsfield’s Artisans’ Gallery, which showcases the wares of 140-plus Vermonters. right : Student glider pilot Dane Liebermann at Sugarbush Soaring (top left); American Flatbread founder George Schenk in Waitsfield (bottom right); at Fayston’s Knoll Farm, Icelandic sheep and a hodgepodge of pumpkins.

DRIVING NORTH

on Route 100, a scenic byway that runs nearly the length of Vermont, I’m more than halfway up the state, and southwest of Montpelier I begin passing signs for portage to the Mad River, alongside acres of metals roofs and long cornfields, their tassels catching the sun. Aging red barns lean into the landscape, cracks showing through. Past Moretown, the road hugs the river to a one-lane bridge—and there’s an actual stoplight, with not another car in sight. (It’s the only light I remember seeing.) From here on, I watch for glimpses of the Mad River, slivering through fierce maples.

This is a trip to say yes. I’ll take a deep dive into the Mad River Valley countryside, explore the main town of historic Waitsfield, and putter around in Warren Village, a picturepretty hamlet of 1,700 folks, but there are only a few days to soak up the colors. And although biking, hiking, and kayaking are all tempting options for playing with autumn, I’ve discovered something I never thought I would do....

Conditions must be just right for liftoff, and this midOctober day is perfect as my car scrambles up the long dirt road to Sugarbush Soaring, tucked on a plateau outside Warren Village. Blue skies above, color washing down the mountainside. I pass working farms, a collapsing silo, vast land. I’m scanning the sky for gliders.

Gliding enthusiasts have been drawn to the valley since the late 1950s, and today flight instructor Steve Platt will show me why. He lifts the hatch and settles me into the front seat of an ASK 21 glider. It’s the 850-pound version of the toy balsa wood airplanes we all flew as kids. It wobbles as he climbs in behind me, and he asks me to tilt my head out of the way, so he can see better. We hook up to a pugnacious Piper Pawnee crop duster. “It’s got a lot of yank to it,” says John Tracy, a veteran flier who will tow us into the sky.

Until that moment, it doesn’t feel quite real. But it feels even less real when the cable releases and we’re no longer tethered to anything with an engine. Steve is saying something about why this place is so famous among glider pilots (three kinds of lift: thermal, ridge, and the Sugarbush Wave), but I’m too busy being astounded and trying to keep my head out of his way. I have the vantage point of an eagle. The winds lift us up, the colors take us away, and for 20 minutes we float. It’s so clear we can see the Adirondacks and Lake Champlain to the west, while Mount Washington and the rest of the Whites ring the east.

When we land, there’s some talk about “peak foliage,” how it seems later this year, but Jean Tracy, John’s wife, who runs the office, voices the bittersweet truth: “We never know when peak is until it’s gone.”

A glider from Sugarbush Soaring floats above the treetops. Part flying school, glider club, and tour operator, the Warren-based organization takes advantage of the excellent gliding conditions created by the Mad River Valley’s terrain.

IT’S SO EASY

to be beguiled by this river. It’s accessible, and it is beloved. The Friends of the Mad River, formed in 1990, regularly monitors its health: E. coli levels are posted at every swimming hole, including here, in the center of Waitsfield, where a massive sandbar bulges into the water, forming a natural beach surrounded by the river. It’s the perfect place to lounge, read, stare off into space, watch kids fish, admire the covered bridge, and stare off some more. I dangle my feet and gaze at the curves in the river, an invitation to 21stcentury minds to let go of the clutter and simply look at the water, look at the leaves, be simple. Also, the Sweet Spot is very handy. If you require caffeinated beverages, a pretty garden overlooking the water, and chunky apple handmade pies, its proximity to the sandbar will make you happy. Waitsfield has a population (about 1,720) that hovers close to its inception date (1782). The downtown’s collection of shops and eateries is anchored by a pretty covered bridge, but just beyond the center, the town catches its second wind, with old farm buildings converted to businesses, and a couple of small-scale shopping centers. These are home to creative endeavors like the Mad Taco, the Tempest Book Shop, and the Mad River Taste Place, where you can kiss your diet good-bye, learn about Vermont makers, and sample their artisanal cheese, bread, syrups, and chocolate.

It’s also where you’ll find the Big Picture, a combination movie theater/café/biergarten. On this warm fall afternoon, I’m sitting under a red umbrella, admiring the furnishings and the brilliant monarch butterflies floating by, reminders of my recent aerial triumph. A woman with her 7-year-old grandson tips me off to the still-warm maple-glazed doughnuts that have a local cult following. “Snag a few while you can,” she warns. “They’ll fly out.” A sticky half dozen find their way into a bag, and if it were 10 degrees warmer, I’d probably head to one of the local swimming holes to rinse off the residue. As it is, it’s time to walk. The nearby boardwalk outside Lawson’s Finest Liquids, a microbrewery housed in a magnificent post-and-beam building, offers a semicurated walk through the wetlands that fill with puddles when storm clouds over the mountains open up and drench the land. As I will soon find out.

above: The Mad River pours through a series of small plunges that make up Warren Falls, a popular local swimming hole. right (clockwise from top left): The Pitcher Inn, a luxury escape in downtown Warren; roasted squash soup from the inn’s kitchen; canoeing on Blueberry Lake; a kaleidoscopic foliage scene.

The curves in the river are an invitation to 21st-century minds to let go of the clutter and simply look at the water, look at the leaves, be simple.

Brian Cadoret, a guide with Stream and Brook Fly Fishing in Middlebury, casts for trout on the Mad River near Warren.

ALL I CAN SAY

is that if you ever experience bombogenesis, I hope you’re stranded at the Pitcher Inn, in the heart of minuscule Warren Village. The deliciously understated Relais & Châteaux retreat is the psychological equivalent of a deep dive into a Vermont Flannel blanket—which, by the way, shows up for my in-room picnic, complete with charcuterie, in front of a crackling fire. The skies opened, the rain poured down, and I was happily holed up in the Mountain Room, paneled with sheets of rock, with a plump bed set inside a replica of a fire tower. Chef Jacob Ennis roasted Brussels sprouts and flavored the squash soup with horseradish cream and juniper oil. Comfort food was redefined as pappardelle pasta laced with cauliflower cream. That night, there was a bedside chocolate cookie of rugged mountain density and proportion.

Across the street from the inn, the Warren Store, a former stagecoach stop, affords a ringside seat on the river. At first glance, it’s a small general store that’s “Almost World Famous,” jokes the sign. Dig deeper. You’ll encounter

Although it serves up an array of food and drink, the Sweet Spot in Waitsfield (top) lives up to its name with its sugary treats, including (left), a trio of chocolate, carrot, and coconut mini cakes.

TAKE A DRIVE

There are countless country drives that could also entice cyclists, hikers, and walkers, but one of my favorite loops was right under my nose. Starting in downtown Waitsfield, I crossed the covered bridge, and took off up East Warren Road, past the Inn at Round Barn Farm, a historic property that epitomizes the Vermont farm fantasy, complete with knowledgeable innkeeper Kim Donahue (who keeps her finger on the pulse of foliage). A quick left down Common Road, and I found myself in a riot of color, until turning left, on Joslin Hill Road, and circling back to East Warren Road. And don’t get me started on the notches, the

ultimately perfect word to describe these rugged mountain passes. A stop at the Waitsfield Visitors Center will yield all kinds of drive ideas, but switch-

backing up Lincoln Gap Road, with its gulp-worthy dropoffs and vistas, is like slicing through golden air, breathing in molecules of light. — A.G.

top row : Distiller John Carroll at Waitsfield’s Mad River Distillery; a look inside the taproom at Lawson’s Finest Liquids in Warren. above: The c. 1833 Great Eddy Covered Bridge, one of Vermont’s oldest, at Waitsfield.

fresh-baked bread, a full-blown deli, cookies and tarts, and provisions from homemade granola to pickles. That’s just the downstairs. Go upstairs, I was told by a local, “and you can goddamn me later.” A deluge of clothing, home goods, and fine kids’ stuff.

The Day of Bombogenesis is also the day I was booked to see foliage while ambling through the landscape on the back of an Icelandic horse. Tucked away in the town of Fayston, at the northern end of Waitsfield, is the Vermont Icelandic Horse Farm. I’d visited earlier and met owner Karen Winhold, who has led trail rides here for more than three decades. Large, dark eyes peered out from under shaggy bangs, and the powerful thighs on these rugged mounts attest to a history of stamina. Icelandic horses, bred by the Vikings to negotiate challenging terrain, are known for their smooth gait and cheerful temperament. More important, they are said to be patient with beginners. I had read that riding an Icelandic horse can feel almost like gliding. But the fierce rains have come between us, and I’ll have to wait for another day.

Before I leave the valley, I catch the tail end of the Saturday Waitsfield Farmers’ Market. This one’s special— a good farmers’ market is a barometer of community vibrancy, and today the band is rocking out while a toddler dressed like Snow White dances along. It’s a happy tent

village replete with ancient grains, Taiwanese noodles, Gizmo’s pickles, leather belts, and a bounty of cheeses, spread out over the Mad River Green, encircled by the autumn colors that have been my constant companions.

But I’m still not satiated. So I’ll make one last stop, a short dash away, at the original home of American Flatbread, on the Lareau Farm property. George Schenk opened his foodie mecca in 1985, and the feel-good vibe is baked into its bones. A hulking earthen oven sits center stage, open-mouthed, waiting for flatbread pizzas loaded with fresh ingredients that burst with flavor. Mine will be curried cauliflower with turmeric potatoes; I watch it go into the oven, five searing minutes and it’s done. Parents guide their kids closer to watch. The simplicity of food and fire. Food theater. The room is warm with goodness.

Van Morrison’s “Dancing in the Moonlight” is playing as I slide out into the night, filled with honest food and the best of this Mad River Valley. It’s dark, the colors are asleep, but the feeling, in Van’s words, is warm and bright. And I know the river knows.

The Vermont Icelandic Horse Farm in Fayston offers visitors a chance to explore the countryside on a rare breed of saddle horse whose roots go back more than 1,200 years.

EXPLORING THE MAD RIVER VALLEY

EAT & DRINK

American Flatbread: Original home of the beloved pizza, fired in an earthen oven. No reservations, but a stay at adjacent Lareau Farm gets you in. americanflatbread.com

Big Picture: Movies and maple doughnuts, a biergarten, and farm-to-table sandwiches. bigpicturetheater.info

Lawson’s Finest Liquids: Fresh microbrews (maple!) in a majestic post-and-beam taproom. lawsonsfinest.com

Mad River Taste Place: A showcase of local food and drink with tastings and learning sessions. madrivertaste.com

The Mad Taco: Grab a spot near the paper towels, with a view of the smoker, and roll up your sleeves for a braised-pork feast. themadtaco.com

The Sweet Spot: Dessert on the river and Awake Coffee, handcrafted in Waitsfield. thesweetspotvermont.com

Waitsfield Farmers’

Market: Open 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. Saturdays, May to October. waitsfieldfarmersmarket.com

STAY

The Inn at Round Barn Farm: Luxury stay situated on 245 acres of forest, ponds, and hilltops. theroundbarn.com

The Pitcher Inn: Consummately elegant/elegantly rugged Relais & Châteaux inn. pitcherinn.com

SHOP

Artisans’ Gallery: Offering the work of 145 Vermont artists, including Abby Dreyer’s handbuilt ceramic birdhouses, Chris Gluck’s “leaf art” alphabet books, and Christine Schultz’s brighter-than-life canvases. vtartisansgallery.com

Mad River Glass: Cairns in glass, colors that rival foliage— these and much more are on display in David and Melanie Leppla’s dazzling gallery. madriverglassgallery.com

Reign Vermont: At her workshop Bridget LaMell makes indestructible handbags in fabrics that look like something Gustav Klimt dreamed up, alongside skirts that travel the

globe without a hint of wrinkling. reignvermont.com

Tempest Book Shop: Old and new tomes in a shop with the feel of a personal library. Owner Rick Rayfield bakes bread and fixes watches, too. rickrayfield.org/ tempest-book-shop

PLAY

Clearwater Sports: Founded in 1975, this outfitter offers kayak and canoe trips on the Winooski and Mad rivers, as well as river tubing under the Waitsfield covered bridge. clearwatersports.com

Knoll Farm: Stop by the farm stand or buy a day pass to picnic and wander the grounds of this c. 1804 family-owned organic farm. knollfarm.org

Mad River Glen & Sugarbush Resort: Ride a ski lift to the top for a panorama

of color. madriverglen.com; sugarbush.com

Sugarbush Soaring: Take a glider ride above the Mad River Valley. [Note: Though closed for 2020, the company plans to fly high again in 2021.] sugarbushsoaring.com

Vermont Icelandic Horse Farm: These rugged horses give novice and experienced riders a new perspective on foliage. icelandichorses.com

Warren Falls: Take the path on the right-hand side of the parking lot for maximum waterfall spectacle; the left-hand path is milder, with a fun platform overlooking the water.

Yestermorrow: Check out a yurt or straw-bale house at the venerable design/build school, and pick up a catalog for

Waitsfield Farmers’ Market

Reign Vermont, Waitsfield

Clearwater Sports, Waitsfield

Knoll Farm, Fayston

GREET THE DAY ATOP CADILLAC MOUNTAIN.

To see the first rays of sun strike the continent, you can drive to this Maine summit, the highest point on the East Coast, or you can climb it in the dark, flashlight in hand. Either way, the rising sun glowing on Frenchman Bay will be even cooler than you imagine.

CHOW

From stuffies to clear chowder to cabinets to johnnycakes to pizza strips to Del’s Frozen Lemonade, little Rhode Island is big on local flavor. But why so many signature dishes— is this a culinary Napoleon complex? Chalk it up to two centuries of immigration fueled by the state’s once-thriving industrial economy. As groups mixed and married, their cooking did, too. Luckily for us, though perhaps not our waistlines, the state’s compact geography allows for sampling many of its delicacies in one wellplanned afternoon.

4

TAKE YOUR BEST SHOT AT MOUNT WASHINGTON.

In 1632 it took Darby Field and two Abenaki guides 18 days from Portsmouth, NH, to reach the top of Mount Washington, the highest peak in the Northeast. These days the commute is considerably shorter. Five primary hiking trails lead to the top, while the vertiginous auto road offers thrills of its own. And don’t forget the Cog Railway, which still chugs up the secondsteepest track in the world after more than 150 years. Regardless of how you get there, the views never fail to amaze.

5 MEET SOME HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPS ON A WHALE-WATCHING TRIP.

It’s been 45 years since a Provincetown, MA, boat captain named Al Avellar first took a group of school kids out to look for whales—a trip that would lay the foundation for both his new venture, Dolphin Fleet, and for East Coast whale-watching as a big tourism to-do. Today whale-watch cruises depart from every New England state except Vermont and Connecticut, with most steaming out to either Stellwagen Bank (MA) or Jeffreys Ledge (ME), feeding grounds that from mid-spring to mid-autumn see a parade of hungry behemoths including humpbacks, minkes, and the mighty finbacks, which can weigh up to 70 tons and measure as long as two schoolbuses parked end to end.

With its small ball and skinny pins, candlepin bowling—invented in Worcester, MA, around 1880— fools newcomers into thinking it’s easier than its big-ball cousin. When they roll their first Half Worcester (a regrettable hit that “punches out” just one pin and the one behind it), they learn otherwise. For a maximum throwback vibe, visit the c. 1906 eight-lane alley in Shelburne Falls.

7 CONTEMPLATE

UTOPIA

IN

A SHAKER

VILLAGE. While their views on pacifism, gender equality, and the abolition of slavery once put the Shakers decades ahead of the mainstream, time eventually caught up with this Utopian religious sect. The last two Shakers on earth make their home in Sabbathday Lake, ME, which has been preserved as a living history museum, as have the Shaker villages in Pittsfield, MA, and Canterbury, NH. To explore these austere but beautiful rural places, though, is to feel a sense of harmony that is very much alive.

PUNCH OUT A “HALF WORCESTER” AT A CANDLEPIN BOWLING ALLEY.

DOWN ON SIGNATURE RHODY FOODS.

8 FIND SHUTTERBUG NIRVANA AT SLEEPY HOLLOW FARM. With its big barns, late-1700s farmhouse, and knack for catching the light, this property outside Woodstock, VT, is pure catnip for photographers. On a crisp fall morning, the narrow road to the farm might be lined with as many as 20 cars, as pros and amateurs alike hunker down with their tripods. No matter. You’ll get your shot too, and the chance to see all those Instagram “likes” piling up.

10 CHECK IN TO ONE OF NEW HAMPSHIRE’S GRAND HOTELS. Time was, trainloads of wealthy Bostonians and New Yorkers would arrive in New England each summer in search of fresh air and more than a little pampering. Of the castlelike getaways that sprang up to serve them, only a few remain, all in the Granite State. There’s the Mountain View Grand in Whitefield and New Castle’s Wentworth by the Sea, but the grandest of all is the Mount Washington Hotel in Bretton Woods (today’s Omni Mount Washington Resort). Step into its Great Hall, replete with soaring ceilings, Ti any art glass, and crystal chandeliers, and you’ll immediately fall under the property’s turn-of-the-century spell.

12

BUY L.L. BEAN BOOTS AT THEIR BIRTHPLACE. Leon Leonwood Bean revolutionized outdoor footwear in 1911 when he introduced boots made with leather uppers and rubber bottoms. And the original L.L. Bean fl agship store in Freeport, Maine, opened in 1917, is still the place—no matter the hour of day—to get the full Bean boot experience, complete with a photo op next to the 16½-foot-tall replica (size 410, in case you’re wondering) just outside  the main building.

14 KNOCK BACK SOME GROG AND SING A SEA CHANTEY AT “THE GRIS.”

Revolutionary Ale is the go-to order at the Griswold Inn and Tap Room in Essex, CT, where shipbuilders and sailors were slaking their thirst as early as 1776.

9

GET IN LINE FOR NATIONALLY FAMOUS DINER FARE AT THE MODERN IN PAWTUCKET, RI .

You can pass the time marveling at the c. 1940 Sterling Streamliner that houses this, the fi rst diner on the National Register of Historic Places.

to nish an epic

11 GALLOP LIKE GUMP TO MARSHALL POINT LIGHTHOUSE. When the producers of the 1994 lm Forrest Gump looked for the perfect spot for their titular hero to nish an epic cross-country run, they found it on the wooden ramp to this

Port Clyde, ME, lighthouse, which had been waiting

13PUT YOUR ANKLES TO THE TEST ON A COBBLESTONE STREET. These picturesque old pavers can be found from Newport to the Old Port, but the bumpiest, lumpiest, most authentic cobbles live on Boston’s Beacon Hill (meaning even Brahmins have to watch their step).

15 TIME-TRAVEL AT THE MASHANTUCKET PEQUOT MUSEUM.

Walking past the dioramas at this major museum of Native American culture in Ledyard, CT, you might be inclined to speak in hushed tones, as if intruding on the ultra-lifelike models of indigenous people that help bring history to vibrant life

16

GET AWAY FROM IT ALL AT SAINTGAUDENS NATIONAL HISTORICAL PARK. This Cornish, NH, gem is one of the least-visited national parks in America—a fact you’ll find hard to believe as you wander the tranquil former estate of sculptor Augustus Saint-Gaudens, whose works include the stirring memorial to Robert Gould Shaw and the Massachusetts 54th Regiment, the nation’s first civic monument to the heroism of Black soldiers.

GLIDE BACK INTO MAINE’S LOGGING ERA ABOARD THE KATAHDIN.

20

BE HYPNOTIZED BY THE PULLING OF SALTWATER TAFFY AT THE GOLDENROD IN YORK BEACH, ME.

History and wilderness beauty converge during a cruise on the 1914 steamboat Katahdin —a ectionately nicknamed the Kate —which once towed tons of logs across New England’s second-largest lake, Moosehead, during the spring log drives that fueled Maine’s forest economy. Hailed as the last steamboat on Moosehead (though long since converted to diesel), the Kate takes you past

17

STOP AND SMELL THE ROSES AT ELIZABETH PARK. From June to October, America’s oldest municipally operated rose garden is the undisputed star of this 100-acre urban Eden in West Hartford, CT.

18

NOTCH THE HOLY TRINITY OF CLASS

FIELD TRIPS. Like countless New England schoolchildren before you, go tramping down dirt roads to an era when blacksmiths still ply their trade, dinner is cooked over an open hearth, and indoor plumbing is not yet a thing. Spanning the 1600s to the 1800s, the living history museums Plimoth Plantation and Old Sturbridge Village (MA) and Mystic Seaport (CT) make unforgettable classrooms for kids— and terrifi c playgrounds for history-loving adults.

19

BE AWESTRUCK BY THE STACKS AT THE BOOK BARN. First opened in 1988, this crazy multibuilding bookshop in Niantic, CT, must be seen to be believed. Given its repository of half a million used books, a trail of bread crumbs may actually be required to find your way out.

22

JOIN THE ANNUAL GOLD RUSH TO THE SUGAR SHACKS. Turning tree sap into something as heavenly sweet as maple syrup only seems like magic. The truth is there’s a real process behind it, and during the six(ish) weeks in late winter and early spring that define maple season, you can get a taste for what’s involved. Observe, sample, and maybe even pitch in at sugar shacks like Morse Farm in Montpelier, VT, where, high-tech gadgetry aside, Burr Morse essentially follows the same recipe as his ancestors two centuries back. Sip the end result, then buy some of that good stu (in all its forms: syrup, sugar, candy, cream) from the gift shop to take home. Because you can never have enough maple. Ever.

23

HANG

24

Mayflower II

MAKE PEACE WITH THE FACT THAT PLYMOUTH ROCK IS KIND OF UNDERWHELMING. Half sunken in the earth and looking rather like an oversize beanbag chair, this storied boulder in Plymouth, MA, elicits far fewer oohs and aahs than what fl oats in the harbor beyond: the 180-ton, 106-foot-long , the recently renovated replica of the Pilgrims’ vessel that stands as a testament to the skills of shipbuilders past and present.

ON TIGHT AT THE FORKS. Since the late 1970s, the Forks region in central Maine has been New England’s center for white-water rafting trips, and whether you ride down the Kennebec, the Dead River, or the West Branch of the Penobscot, the adrenaline rush is for real.

SURVEY THE MAINE COAST THROUGH THE EYES OF A SAILOR. There’s only so much you can see while flying down Route 1, folks. To truly behold the splendor of Maine’s coast, trade wheels for sails aboard a windjammer, a tall ship that slows the pace down to maybe 10 miles an hour as it weaves between spruce-blanketed islands and into hidden coves. And while day-trips are a fine option, it’s worth the splurge to book a longer voyage and see the coast in another, even more magical way—by starlight.

26 GO APPLE PICKING AND EAT A CIDER DOUGHNUT (OR TWO).

It’s the fall-iest of New England fall outings: You park in a grassy lot, hop on a wagon, and ride out past rows of McIntosh, Honeycrisp, Cortland, and, ideally, a few regional heirlooms, like Roxbury Russet and Rhode Island Greening. Fill your bucket or bag (remembering to twist, not pull, the apples off), pay the per-pound price, and reward yourself with a cinnamon-spiced cider doughnut fresh from the fryer. And while there’s no shortage of orchards at which to practice this tasty ritual, here are a few picks to get you started: Belltown Hill Orchards in Glastonbury, CT; Red Apple Farm in Phillipston, MA; Shelburne Orchards in Shelburne, VT; Gould Hill Farm in Contoocook, NH; and Young Family Farm in Little Compton, RI.

27

RELISH A NEW ENGLAND–STYLE HOT DOG. How do you like your dog?

Topped with a secret-sauce relish and mayo at Flo’s in Cape Neddick, ME? How about Rhode Island’s Olneyville New York System wiener with meat sauce, mustard, celery salt, and onions? Or maybe you crave the juicy burst of a Maine red snapper dog or Fenway Frank? We’ll take them all, content in the knowledge that New England is hot dog heaven.

28

PONDER WHAT YOU’D DO WITH A LITTLE EXTRA MOOLAH ON A TOUR OF CONNECTICUT’S THIMBLE ISLANDS. This archipelago of more than 300 islands in Long Island Sound is reputedly where Captain Kidd buried his famous treasure—and definitely where some of the region’s high rollers live today.

29

EXPLORE THE OTHER CAPE COD. Smack dab in the heart of one of the nation’s most popular summer destinations is a pristine oasis of sand and water known as the Cape Cod National Seashore. This is the Cape Cod of open spaces, where traffic and crowds recede. Best of all, it’s the Cape Cod that all of us own, encompassing 43,600 acres of beaches and dunes, freshwater ponds and forests, that stretches from Chatham to Provincetown.

30

SPEND A NIGHT IN ONE OF THE AMC’S “HIGH HUTS.” Leave the tent at home. Thanks to the Appalachian Mountain Club, you can get made-from-scratch meals, running water, an actual bed, and the chance to commune with fellow hikers in the shadow of some of the White Mountains’ most majestic peaks.

32

FEEL THE BEATING HEART OF OUR NATIONAL PASTIME AT A SEA DOGS GAME. With its Fenway-inspired “Maine Monster” and a lighthouse that rises from center field when the home team belts a home run, this Red Sox Double-A affiliate in Portland, ME, is one of the best and most distinctive minor league experiences in the country.

33

LOSE YOURSELF IN SOL

MAKE LIKE AN IVY LEAGUER. The beautiful, brickfilled campuses of Harvard, Brown, Yale, and Dartmouth are stars in their own right even as they incubate the movers and shakers of tomorrow—one of which might even be your guide on a student-led tour.

31

DRIVE THROUGH AROOSTOOK COUNTY AT POTATO-BLOSSOM TIME.

ree hundred miles north of Portland, ME, vast swaths of farmland mark Aroostook County (called simply “the county” by Mainers). is is potato country, and in midsummer pink and white blossoms stretch to its horizon as if part of the sky itself.

35 VISIT THE BIRTHPLACE OF CLASSIC AMERICAN LITERATURE.

Since Mark Twain is famed for his tales of the Mississippi, it may be surprising to learn that some of his most productive years were spent in Hartford, CT. The mansion where he spun his yarns about Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn is now a museum that—from the “speaking tubes” in the walls to the billiard room that served as his o ce—o ers a fascinating glimpse of the author. If the Gilded Age is more your speed, set your course for Lenox, MA, and the elegant estate known as the Mount, where Edith Wharton wrote The House of Mirth and Ethan Frome. After touring it, find a place on the manicured grounds to sit with a good book—it’s literally what the place was made for.

36 HONOR A PART OF PORTSMOUTH’S HISTORY THAT REFUSED TO DIE. Outside New York, the only DNA-veri ed colonial-era African cemetery in the Northeast is in Portsmouth, NH, which in 2015 dedicated a memorial park at the site that had been built on, paved over, and virtually forgotten for decades.

39 HEAD TO NEWPORT, RI, TO SEE HOW THE OTHER HALF LIVED. Spectacularly juxtaposed with the natural beauty of the Atlantic coastline, Newport’s historic mansions are mustsee monuments to Gilded Age decadence. You can get their flavor from the Cli Walk, a three-and-a-halfmile public path that runs right through the backyards of some of Newport’s grandest properties. Several mansions also o er tours, but if you can experience only one, make it the Breakers: This 70-room Vanderbilt family “cottage” is over-thetop even by Newport standards.

40 GO OFF THE BEATEN PATH TO A CULT-FAVORITE BREWERY. For our money, the best kind of beer run is the one that can double as a day trip. For fresh air and fresh suds, the reigning mecca is Hill Farmstead, a multi-award-winning brewery in tiny Greensboro Bend, VT, built on land that’s been in founder Shaun Hill’s family for generations. Another rural gem: Kent Falls Brewing in Kent, CT, a farm-based setup where you can not only score ales and IPAs but also some just-laid eggs.

41HAVE AN ANTI-AMAZON RETAIL EXPERIENCE IN WESTON, VT. At the original Vermont Country Store, founded in 1946, you can stroll creaking wood floors, plunder the penny candy, and revel in your haul while rocking on the front porch.

37

WALK BOSTON’S FREEDOM TRAIL TO SEE HOW OUR NATION GOT STARTED ... then indulge in the prime people-watching scene at Faneuil Hall to see how it’s looking today.

38 PAY YOUR RESPECTS TO THE OLD MAN. Take a waterfallcrowned hike through Flume Gorge or a high-flying tram ride up 4,000-foot Cannon Mountain, but on your visit to New Hampshire’s Franconia Notch State Park be sure to leave time to visit the site where the Old Man of the Mountain’s craggy visage once looked out over the notch.

42 SLURP UP RHODE ISLAND FLAVOR AT MATUNUCK OYSTER BAR.

You can’t get much closer to the source than in South Kingstown, RI, where owner Perry Raso and crew raise their signature sweetly mineral oysters in the waters of Potter Pond, right off the restaurant’s outdoor decks.

EAT LIKE A NEW ENGLANDER. 43

New England’s most iconic foods—chowder, baked beans, blueberry pie, and the like—are more than mere items on a bucket list. They’re edible artifacts, telling stories of immigration, history, and agriculture. Take clam chowder. It starts with a pot of fish, salt pork, and hardtack simmering in an 18th-century Maine fishing camp. Eventually, the hardtack is swapped out for potatoes. In the mid-1800s, as cows replace sheep in northern pastures and dairies multiply, milk and cream go into the pot. Then clams—long derided as peasant food—come into vogue with the Victorians. And there you have clam chowder, a dish more than two centuries in the making. When I tuck into a bowl at the Chatham Fish Pier in Chatham, MA, with its view of fishing boats and harbor seals bobbing in the waves, I say a little thankyou for each innovation.

Or take blueberry pie. It’s a relative newcomer to the New England canon, as Maine’s wild blueberries didn’t find a wider audience until the Civil War, when the Union army added canned blueberries to soldiers’ rations. For great examples of Maine blueberry pie, go to Two Fat Cats bakery in Portland or Helen’s in Machias.

A staple of Native American cooking, stewed beans in some form go back well before 1620, but the molasses-sweetened baked beans of Saturday-night memories didn’t appear until the late 1800s, when molasses was cheap and plentiful. (To learn more about the fact-vs.reality of New England food, check out Meg Muckenhoupt’s compelling new book, The Truth about Baked Beans.) It’s hard to find baked beans on restaurant menus, but many diners and barbecue restaurants around New England still serve them, as does Boston’s Union Oyster House. A favorite source: community suppers like those at the Congregational churches in Kensington, NH, and North Gorham, ME,

and at the Grange Hall in Brownsville, VT.

As a category, “New England food” is fairly insular, limiting its scope to dishes associated with the Pilgrims while excluding FrenchCanadian, Italian, Chinese, Irish, and Polish dishes we’ve been eating for centuries. Rhode Island’s signature foods are more integrated, and I can think of no more delicious example than stuffies. Plain quahogs filled with chopped clams and plain stuffing are made infinitely tastier with the addition of garlicky, spicy Portuguese chouriço or linguiça (all the best versions have it). My favorites come from Amaral’s in Warren, RI; Anthony’s in Middletown, RI; and PJ’s Family Restaurant in Wellfleet, MA.

We end with good old Yankee pot roast , another Victorian-era recipe with ancient roots. Humans have stewed meats as long as they’ve cooked in pots, but the earliest known recipe called “Pot Roast” dates back to the 1870s, and its ingredients and cooking method closely resemble those of today. I find great examples of the dish at the Griswold Inn in Essex, CT; Grill 23 in Boston; and the Common Man restaurants in New Hampshire—but I’ll also never turn my nose up at the semi-homemade version with onion soup mix or canned cream of mushroom soup.

Every recipe has a backstory. The older the recipe, the longer the tale, which is why food is so interesting. But ultimately, the proof of the pudding is in the eating, and here in New England—whether by the sea, or at a farm dinner, or in the city neighborhood you always promised you’d explore—there’s a flavor you will find only here. —Amy

Traverso

44 CATCH A GLIMPSE OF THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD.

Starting with Vermont, where slavery was outlawed in 1777, New England was an early leader in abolition—which meant that when federal fugitive slave laws were enacted, it was at the fore of the nowlegendary interracial, interfaith effort that helped slaves escape to freedom. The Underground Railroad passed through more than 80 of the region’s cities and towns, and today there are dozens of historical sites tied to that era. Among them: Boston’s African Meeting House, the David Ruggles Center (Florence, MA), and Rokeby Museum (Ferrisburgh, VT), which stands out for exceptional storytelling and a beautiful rural setting.

51EAT YOUR WAY THROUGH AN ECONOMYSIZE BLOCK OF VERMONT CHEDDAR.

It’s a country store staple: a big block of cheddar on the counter, kept under glass and divvied up into wedges. If you track your own household’s cheddar consumption, you may find that it adds up to five pounds between September and March. Conveniently, Vermont cheddar comes in hefty portions, from the three-pound brick of waxed Cabot sharp to choose-your-ownadventure cuts of Grafton clothbound. 47

45 PLAY HIDEAND-SEEK WITH MOOSE . In New England’s far northern reaches, moose watching is a cottage industry in which local guides lead you to the animals’ haunts, often by van but sometimes by boat. And boy, there is nothing like sharing a stare with a moose as your pontoon boat or canoe slides silently past.

46 SEE THE ANSWER TO “WHO’S A GOOD BOY?” AT THE DOG CHAPEL IN ST. JOHNSBURY, VT. At the 150-acre haven dubbed Dog Mountain is a wee church filled with founder Stephen Huneck’s dog-centric art and visitors’ heartfelt tributes to four-legged friends.

BE HAUNTED BY ART AT THE GARDNER. Goose bumps are guaranteed when you stand before what is arguably John Singer Sargent’s masterwork, the massive, moody 1882 painting El Jaleo, at Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. Then, head upstairs to contemplate the ghostly empty frames left behind in the world’s largest museum heist, in which thieves vanished with 13 priceless works including Rembrandt’s Christ in the Storm on the Sea of Galilee. After three decades, the art’s whereabouts are still unknown.

48

RIDE THE NOSTALGIA AT CANOBIE LAKE PARK. What began in 1902 as a lakeside botanical park in Salem, NH, is still going strong as a beloved old-timey amusement park: small-kid-friendly, immaculately clean, a bit homespun, but with just enough legit thrill rides to satisfy adrenaline junkies.

49 FALL UNDER THE SPELL OF A LIGHTHOUSE.

George Bernard Shaw once said, “I can think of no other edifice constructed by man as altruistic as a lighthouse. They were built only to serve.” And in truth these simple structures continue to endure as symbols of security and hope even after retired from use. From the candy cane–striped West Quoddy Head Light in the farthest reaches of Down East Maine to Newport, RI’s trim and tidy Rose Island Light (whose tower rises from a keeper’s house where you can actually spend the night), New England has some 200 historic beacons scattered across its shores. Happy hunting— we’ll leave the light on for you.

50 MANGIA TO YOUR HEART’S CONTENT ON FEDERAL HILL. A favored stop for Sinatra when touring New England in the ’50s, this Providence, RI, neighborhood invites you to feast on delicacies imported by Italian immigrants and soak up the Old World vibe of its piazza on a summer night.

52 COMMUNE WITH THE SEA ON THE MARGINAL WAY.

Southern Maine’s signature walkway is a smooth bluff path in Ogunquit that edges the ocean for just over a mile with stunning views of both sandy beach and rocky shore. Benches invite you to rest and contemplate tide pools, crashing waves, and wetsuited surfers. The path spills into Perkins Cove, a working harbor that shares narrow lanes with fish shacks, ice cream stands, and shops, all against the backdrop of the sea.

53 GET INSPIRED BY NORMAN ROCKWELL’S FREEDOM OF SPEECH. One of nearly 1,000 works at the artist’s namesake museum in Stockbridge, MA, this 1943 illustration—part of the famed “Four Freedoms”—finds universal resonance in a New England town meeting.

HAVE YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS RAISED AT THE BREAD AND PUPPET THEATER AND MUSEUM IN GLOVER, VT.

At the headquarters of a puppeteering troupe whose long legacy of activism goes back to the Vietnam War protests, you can check out one of the world’s largest collections of oversize puppets and masks—and, if a performance is scheduled that day, see how they’re used to help call out modern-day abuses of power.

58 RECONNECT WITH THE REVOLUTION.

54

DELIGHT IN THE HIDDEN BEAUTY OF THE FARM COAST. Farmers and fishermen share a landscape of meadow, barns, and sea that stretches from Tiverton down to Little Compton in Rhode Island, then veers east to nudge into Massachusetts. Dotted with farm stands and historic villages, this region remains one of those underthe-radar spots that travelers discover and wonder why it took them so long.

From the Bennington Battle Monument in Vermont to the American Independence Museum in New Hampshire, New England has scores of Revolutionary War sites to explore, each with its own story to tell of the nation’s founding. For maximum fi fe-and-drum drama, it’s impossible to beat Minute Man National Park in Massachusetts: Not only does it encompass the town green where colonists took heed of Paul Revere and intercepted the British on April 19, 1775, as well as the Old North Bridge, where the “shot heard round the world” was fired, but each year on Patriots Day the whole thing is brought to life in an epic reenactment.

55

BLISS OUT WITH A MAPLE CREEMEE. While “creemee” is merely a catch-all term for softserve, a maple creemee is a uniquely Vermont treat: creamier than soft-serve and shot through with the flavor of real maple syrup. The best maple creemees tend to be a little richer than average, and you can find sterling examples at Vermont Cookie Love in North Ferrisburgh, Canteen Creemee Co. in Waitsfield, and Al’s French Frys in South Burlington.

56

DON’T MISS OUT ON HEARING THE KOTZSCHMAR ORGAN.

When the organist touches the keys of this world-famous musical instrument at Merrill Auditorium in Portland, ME, its array of 6,857 pipes comes alive, filling the air with music that would wake the saints. Listen, simply listen.

59

REVISIT THE UPRISING THAT GALVANIZED THE ABOLITIONIST MOVEMENT. The inspiring story of the Amistad revolt —when kidnapped Africans took over their slave ship in 1839—lives on in New Haven, CT, from the 14-foot monument at City Hall to the reproduction schooner berthed at Long Wharf.

60 BE ROMANCED BY A COVERED BRIDGE.

Back in horse-and-buggy days, covered bridges with lengthy spans were known as “kissin’ bridges,” because of the moment of privacy they provided. While we can’t recommend such activities in today’s faster-moving vehicles, you can sense the interlude that might have been while traversing the 1866 Cornish-Windsor bridge, which crosses the Connecticut River between Cornish, NH, and Windsor, VT. Until an Ohio bridge stole the crown in 2008, this 449-foot-long span had been the country’s longest covered bridge. It’s still terrifi cally scenic, as are New England’s other 200-odd covered bridges. (Note: If a perfect photo is what you’re after, Connecticut’s West Cornwall Bridge is a fall favorite.)

Museum in New Hampshire, New

64 UNPACK THE ULTIMATE PICNIC EXPERIENCE AT TANGLEWOOD.

Since 1937, the Boston Symphony Orchestra has made its summer home at Tanglewood, a Berkshires estate turned performance space. Though its main, open-air venue holds more than 5,000, many regulars at Tanglewood’s annual music festival wouldn’t dream of sitting anywhere besides the lush, expansive lawns. Do as they do: Pack a fine picnic meal, bring a comfy blanket, and stretch out and soak up the sounds of a worldclass orchestra on a perfect summer night.

66

65 PUT YOURSELF INTO A PAINTING BY WYETH, HOPPER, OR HOMER.

A jaunt along the New England coast can be a scavenger hunt for art lovers, since many of the scenes immortalized by big-name painters are still recognizable today: from the huddled seaside cottages of Edward Hopper’s Corn Hill in Truro, MA, and the pounding surf captured by Winslow Homer at Prouts Neck, ME, to the sweeping field and weather-beaten farmhouse in Andrew Wyeth’s Christina’s World, set on a property in Cushing, ME, that along with the painting itself is now part of Rockland’s Farnsworth Art Museum.

GLIDE BACK INTO CHILDHOOD ON BOSTON’S STORIED SWAN BOATS.

(You may even see Mrs. Mallard trailing along behind you, hoping for a peanut.)

67 FILL A BAG AT THE HOLY DONUT AND LEARN A HEAVENLY SECRET.

The Holy Donut in Portland, ME, turns out 20 flavors of instantly addictive doughnuts (don’t miss the dark chocolate sea salt) using a twist from long-ago cooks in potato-growing Aroostook County: For a surpassingly moist and tender crumb, just add spuds.

WANDER AN ARCHITECTURAL HOTHOUSE ON MARTHA’S VINEYARD. The enclave of 300-plus colorful Victorian gingerbread cottages known as the Oak Bluffs Campground can hold its own against any exotic garden.

61

62

SEE IMMIGRANTS’ CONTRIBUTIONS CARVED IN STONE AT HOPE CEMETERY.

The master granite carvers who migrated from Italy to Barre, VT, created monuments here that are as much works of sculptural grandeur as they are memorials. Founded in 1895 in the so-called “Granite Capital of the World,” Hope Cemetery includes a number of graves of the sculptors themselves—with some tombstones carved by the very artists who now lie beneath them.

63 HIKE UP NEW HAMPSHIRE’S OWN MOUNT FUJI.

Standing at 3,165 feet, Mount Monadnock is one of the mostclimbed summits in the world for a reason: In under two hours, you can be atop the only peak in New England that offers views of all six states.

ELIZABETH CECIL (61); MARK FLEMING (67); CARL TREMBLAY (68); JERRY MONKMAN/ECOPHOTOGRAPHY (69); JULIE BIDWELL (73)

68

BE REMINDED THAT IT’S ABOUT THE JOURNEY, NOT THE DESTINATION.

Leisure driving as a pastime— aka “Let’s hop in the car”—can trace its start back to 1914, when Massachusetts lawmakers designated a 63-mile stretch of Routes 2 and 2A as the nation’s rst scenic byway and named it the Mohawk Trail. More than a century later, its ability to bring motorists into the landscape is as appealing as ever. You’re in a small town … then passing through farmland … then cresting a mountain … then rambling beside a river. It’s no I-90, and, refreshingly, that’s kind of the point.

69

TEST YOUR NERVE ON THE KNIFE EDGE. This mile-long path atop Maine’s Mount Katahdin has forced more than a few climbers to crawl as it narrows to a yard wide, above drop-o s of 1,000 feet or more. Conquer it, and you’ll reach the summit—and feel you’ve done something extraordinary. How many hikes do that ?

70 SAVOR LOBSTER ROLLS— BOTH HOT AND COLD. When it comes to cold-with-mayo vs. hotand-buttered, we are Team Both. What matters is the quality of the preparation. Is the mayo mixed with the meat just before serving? Is the lobster warmed gently but not overcooked? Two spots where the answer is a big “yes” are McLoons in South Thomaston, ME, where the mayo for the cold lobster rolls is ingeniously slathered on the bun rather than tossed with the meat, and Lobster Landing in Clinton, CT, where owner Enea Bacci has perfected the hot roll by par-cooking the lobster in broth, then gently tossing the meat with butter in a warm pan.

answer is a big “yes” are McLoons in South

71

UNLEASH YOUR INNER PIONEER ON MAINE’S BOLD COAST TRAIL. No, you don’t really have the entire Gulf of Maine to yourself. It just seems that way on this pristine and oftentimes solitary 10-mile trek along beautifully rugged ocean cli s in Cutler, ME.

72

MAKE A PILGRIMAGE TO THE BEN & JERRY’S FACTORY. Its pints, scoops, and other frozen treats might be famous all over the world, but its gee-whiz factory tour, fully stocked gift shop, and fascinating “Flavor Graveyard” can be experienced only in Waterbury, VT.

73

TRY A SLICE OF NEW HAVEN–STYLE PIZZA.

After southern Italian immigrants to this Connecticut city began baking coal-fired pies that were crisper, thinner, and more topped-to-theedges than the traditional Neapolitan pizza they’d known back home, New Haven–style pizza (or “apizza”) was born. Almost a century later, fans still fight over the supremacy of Sally’s versus Frank Pepe’s, but locals also savor the pies at Modern and the relative newcomer Bar.

74 DISCOVER HOW OH-MY-GOSH CORNER GOT ITS NAME. Wait for winter, then take Maine’s Route 27 north along the Carrabassett River, heading to Sugarloaf Mountain, the state’s biggest ski destination. The slopes stay hidden behind the forest until you take the bend, and there it is … and then you say ...

75 SEE HOW REGISTERED MAINE GUIDES LIVE UP TO THEIR LEGEND. There’s no better way to explore Maine’s woods and waters than alongside one of these wilderness experts, who have been o ering their services to hunters and anglers since the 19th century. “The typical Maine Guide is just as much a product of the soil as are the mighty forests,” noted one outdoor writer in 1901, “and his replica is not to be found elsewhere.”

78 BAG A FAMOUS FOLIAGE DRIVE.

Smugglers’ Notch. Acadia’s Park Loop Road. The Mohawk Trail. When it comes to the A-listers of New England foliage roads, you owe it to yourself to see what all the fuss is about. Take the Kancamagus Highway: Sure, this 34-mile stretch of Route 112 between Lincoln and Conway, NH, can be jammed with cars and RVs on a brilliant autumn day, but the payo is undiminished. Up and up you go, to 2,860 feet, with a scattering of lookouts where you can pull over for views of the Mad River Notch and the chance to linger among all those White Mountain peaks.

79 SNAG A SELFIE WITH MAINE’S LIGHTHOUSE TO THE STARS. When the Voyager spacecraft blasted o in 1977 for Jupiter and beyond, it carried (for the bene t of any curious aliens) images showing what Earthlings revered: the Great Wall and the Grand Canyon, yes, but also Nubble Light, the pride of York, ME.

81GO FACE-TO-FACE WITH THE MONSTER. You may have seen the Green Monster on television, but a true appreciation of Fenway Park’s 37-foot-high left field wall requires the smell of mown grass, the sizzle of franks on the grill, and the thump of the ball off the beast itself.

76 HAVE YOUR WHISPER HEARD ROUND THE WORLD INSIDE BOSTON’S ACOUSTICALLY MIND-BLOWING MAPPARIUM. And oh yes, marvel at standing inside a three-story stained glass globe.

77

GO CAMPING AT COBSCOOK BAY STATE PARK. If America had been explored from west to east rather than east to west, this 888-acre Maine park, with its breathtaking tidal flow that seems to drain the sea, might be our Yosemite—and it’s worth trekking the 100 miles beyond Bar Harbor to pitch a tent here.

80 FEAST ON FRIED CLAMS AT THEIR SOURCE. As the story goes, fried clams were invented in 1916 by Lawrence “Chubby” Woodman of Essex, MA, when he threw some battered bivalves into the hot oil at his potato chip stand. Essex has since become the nation’s fried clam capital, and there are prime examples to be had at Woodman’s and J.T. Farnham’s, which both o er views of the Essex River salt marshes where some of the world’s best clams are raised.

HOP ONTO YOUR BIKE FOR A TOUR DE CHAMPLAIN ISLANDS. In the world of road biking, the country lanes of Vermont’s Champlain Islands are spoken of with reverence, leading as they do through the heart of Lake Champlain and o ering views of the Adirondacks and the Green Mountains. There’s even the chance to ride a little seasonal ferry whose sole purpose is to carry bicyclists across a narrow gap in a railroad causeway between the mainland and the islands.

83 GET ALL TURNED AROUND IN NEW ENGLAND’S BIGGEST AGRICULTURAL CONUNDRUM —aka the 24-acre Great Vermont Corn Maze in Danville, VT.

WHOOPIE IT UP.

Any whoopie pie is a good whoopie pie; that said, make a point to seek out the Ghirardelli chocolate version at Moulton Farm in

Meredith, NH. As for Maine, you can go to the reputed birthplace of whoopie pies, Labadie’s Bakery in Lewiston, but Cranberry Island Kitchen in Freeport and Lil’s Café in Kittery also merit a visit.

85

TAKE IN NATURE’S LIGHT SHOW AT RACE POINT BEACH. Sunset is appointment viewing at this strip of National Seashore land in Provincetown, MA. Dunes at your back, seals bobbing in the waves, sun melting into the horizon … look around. Everyone’s in awe, no matter how many times they’ve stood here before.

FIGHTING FOR SURVIVAL

PHOTOGRAPHS BY COREY HENDRICKSON

By Jon Marcus

When small New England colleges fail, the towns they call home share the pain. But one Maine college has found the way to pass the ultimate test.

Motion sensors trigger the lights in the waiting room of the deserted administration building at Green Mountain College, as if the place was occupied by ghosts. There are hooks on the bare walls where the artwork has been auc tioned off. Graffiti covers a whiteboard in a dorm, where a solitary bicycle has been abandoned. Chairs are up on desks in silent classrooms. Almost all the clocks have stopped. In the gym, a couple of basketballs sit motionless on the preter naturally quiet court; lane dividers droop uselessly across the drained and dusty pool; trophies in a glass case tell of longforgotten victories.

On sunny days like this, there once were students flipping Frisbees or crossing Granville Street to Main Street for a slice from the Poultney House of Pizza or a beer at Tap’s Tavern. Bob Allen sounds almost as though he can see them as he describes this during a walk across the vacant quad. The last president of this 185-year-old college in Poultney, Vermont, he remained almost alone on the abandoned campus, trying to find a buyer for the 22 tidy red brick buildings before they fall into ruin, to meet what creditors consider Green Moun tain’s sole remaining purpose: paying off its $21.5 million worth of debt. In the end, the place was put up for auction.

This will be the second successive fall in which the col lege won’t be opening its doors to students anticipating

Founded in 1834, Vermont’s Green Mountain College (top row) closed last year in the face of declining enrollment and economic pressures, leaving former president Bob Allen (below) to become a tour guide for prospective buyers. Hoping to avoid a similar fate, Maine’s 207-year-old Colby College (below left) is making new investments and forging closer ties with the larger community.

BELL (COLBY COLLEGE)

their independence and embarking on their higher educations. Green Mountain closed in 2019, after its final crop of graduates crossed the lawn outside the library in their caps and gowns with dandelions tucked behind their ears to symbolize persistence; the yellow weeds, one anthropology professor noted, are resilient and seemingly impossible to kill.

It was a nice thought. But Green Mountain and other small colleges like it, tightly woven into the history and culture of New England as in no other part of the United States, have been uniquely vulnerable to demographics, economics, and technology, among the other changes that have left many fighting for survival—now including a pandemic that is vastly worsening their already grave financial and enrollment troubles.

Theirs is a narrative of anger, worry, and frustration triggered by abrupt misfortune, poor decision-making, and a failure to stay relevant, with the resulting lifechanging shock to students and alumni. Maybe there’s a tinge of smugness out there in the rest of society, too, at the spectacle of elitist academics proven to be not as smart as everyone thought.

There’s another side, however. Quietly and without as much attention, some New England institutions have been trying to take hold of their own fates in dramatic new ways that are restoring long-severed connections to their communities, with the added benefit of exposing their students to a world beyond the campus. More will shut down, of course—and at a much more rapid pace beginning this autumn, as the fallout from the COVID-19 pandemic increases expenses while driving away desperately needed enrollment and reducing families’ ability to pay. (In the most dramatic example of this, the chancellor who oversees Vermont’s state colleges recommended closing three public campuses because of the financial downturn, though the idea was withdrawn after a public outcry.) The number of institutions at risk of closing in New England in the next six years has nearly doubled since the start of the pandemic, from 13 to 25, according to the Boston-based college advising company Edmit.

Whatever happens, New England will almost certainly see many more of its colleges—which have long been familiar features on the landscape—fail. And while the focus will likely continue to be on such things as the strain on suddenly displaced students, what to do with now-abandoned campuses, and how to settle those accounts, perhaps the greatest long-term casualties will be the ones that get the least attention: the surrounding towns.

For that perspective, Jonas Rosenthal picks up on a tour of Main Street in Poultney, one end of which is dominated by the idle college as if a continual reminder of what the locals now are up against. “That was the bank,” says Rosenthal, who was town manager in Poultney for 31 years, tilt-

ing his head toward an empty building with grand white columns and a “For Lease” sign in front of it. “They’re moving out too,” he says, gesturing at an insurance agency. A restaurant, a drugstore, and the co-op have all closed.

“There have been a lot of hurt feelings,” says Rebecca Cook, a Poultney native and director of the public library, which sits just a stone’s throw from Green Mountain— where her son was a freshman when it folded.

There were 427 undergraduates at the end, down from nearly twice that many 10 years earlier. Another 150 people worked at the college, which had a payroll of about $6 million—a big loss in this small town of 3,340. They shopped at the supermarket and the hardware store. Median home prices plummeted when many put their houses on the market.

The least apparent contribution of the college was perhaps the most important, however: A lot of Green Mountain students stayed around after they graduated, settling in town and often starting businesses or telecommuting. There won’t be any more of those now to bring their youth and energy to Poultney. And that matters, especially in a region with three states claiming the first-, second-, and thirdoldest populations in the nation: Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont. One in four Vermonters is 60 or older, which is expected to increase to one in three by 2030.

“There’s an economic impact, but there’s also a very human impact” of suddenly being without a college, Cook says. “So many students and faculty who were involved in things in town are gone.” Since the college closed, “you see the immediate effects, but it’s going to take a while to understand what the long-term effects are going to be.”

Cook pauses. If they ever even thought about it, she reflects, townspeople assumed the college would be there forever. Now, she says, “We could end up with a ghost town.”

Eighteen New England colleges have closed or merged since 2016, and many others are on shaky ground. At least seven made the most recent list of institutions whose cash reserves and other assets are so low they require additional federal oversight. Accreditors for several more have put them on probation.

Vermont alone has seen the shuttering of Green Mountain, the nearby College of St. Joseph, and Southern Vermont and Burlington colleges. Even the public university system has already shrunk from five institutions to four, with the fusion of Johnson and Lyndon state colleges. Its enrollment down to 150 and running regular annual deficits, Marlboro College was scooped up by Emerson Col-

“Townspeople assumed the college would be there forever. Now we could end up with a ghost town.”

lege in Boston. The two schools call this an “alliance,” but it resulted in the closing of Marlboro’s campus in Vermont after its final graduation was, in a last indignity, thwarted by the pandemic. Many such combinations are between unequal partners, and they leave the smaller institution essentially reduced to the name of a department or division of the larger one; in this case, Marlboro’s liberal arts and interdisciplinary studies program became the Marlboro Institute for Liberal Arts and Interdisciplinary Studies at Emerson College. (The Marlboro property was sold in May to a network of public charter schools with aspirations to start a new college there.)

In Massachusetts, Mount Ida and Newbury colleges have closed, and Wheelock College was combined with Boston University, which took over its valuable real estate and its school of education—renamed, in a similarly symbolic gesture, the BU Wheelock College of Education and Human Development. Pine Manor College was acquired by Boston College. Hampshire College is revamping its educational model to stay relevant after its then-president announced it was the latest New England institution that might have to merge or shut down.

“The amazing thing is that there haven’t been more,” says Thomas Parker, a senior associate at the Institute for Higher Education Policy who taught higher education finance, administration, and history for 15 years at Boston University.

There almost certainly will be. That’s in part because there’s been a huge decline in their biggest pool of customers. Thanks to an anemic birth rate, the supply of 18-year-old high school graduates in the New England states has been steadily declining since its last peak, in 2011.

Demographics are not the only problem for New England’s colleges. High prices have also kept students away. Published tuition and fees at private nonprofit colleges in New England are, on average, 29 percent—and, in Massachusetts, 44 percent— above the national average. That’s partly a function of high energy costs, but in some cases it’s also a legacy of self-importance. After all, doesn’t everybody want to go to college in New England?

Not anymore. The number of freshmen coming here from out of state fell by about 40 percent in 2017, the last year for which the figure is available from the New England Board of Higher Education. And that was before the coronavirus shutdowns made students reconsider going to a college far from home, while also causing deep financial hardship on parents. Meanwhile, the decline in the supply of graduates from high schools in New England shows no signs of slowing. In fact, it is projected to speed up.

Many institutions now are doling out so much money in discounts and financial aid, just to attract business, that their revenues are falling even as their sticker prices climb. By the time Green Mountain closed, federal figures show, not a single student was paying the full tuition.

This is a problem for more than just the students who attend, and people who work at, New England colleges and universities. Higher education has an outsize influence on the economy here. It’s a major employer, purchaser of goods and services, and manager of real estate, and it produces research and graduates that fuel innovation. Although enrollment at New England colleges and universities has slipped below a million, that still has a significant spinoff impact. Nearly one in five students from outside the region who complete a bachelor’s degree were still here a year later, research shows, invigorating their communities.

There’s been little sustained public reaction, however— as seems to follow instantly when factories close or corporate headquarters move—to the existential crisis facing one of the region’s most important industries. Allen and others in Poultney wonder why the state didn’t step in to save Green Mountain, which made a bid to survive by merging with neighboring Castleton State University but was rebuffed.

A vacant storefront on Main Street in Poultney, Vermont. When Green Mountain College closed in May 2019, the town of fewer than 3,500 residents lost its biggest employer.

This lack of response is in part because the scale of the predicament is not well understood. Colleges don’t like to talk about their shaky finances; it’s in their best interest to project a sense of permanence, and to make prospective applicants believe that they’ll be lucky to get in. That has so infuriated unsuspecting students and their families at institutions that abruptly closed, such as Mount Ida, that Massachusetts legislators passed a law requiring new financial disclosures that could expose potentially fatal shortfalls. College closings in New England are becoming so routine, in other words, that lawmakers are attempting to make them more orderly.

But something else is at work, too, in this broader failure of society to actually try to prevent more shutdowns: historic ambivalence in the relationships between these institutions and their surrounding communities, from which many are literally walled off.

“I think some people do” take for granted the importance of the colleges in their New England towns, says Bob Allen, back in Green Mountain’s otherwise deserted administration building. “Some will only acknowledge this when more institutions begin to close.”

Laird Christensen thinks so, too. A member of the faculty at Green Mountain, he has moved from Poultney to Prescott College in Arizona, which has also taken many of the last Green Mountain undergraduates.

A bearded mandolin player and songwriter who was a regular at bluegrass night at Tap’s, Christensen has a simpler way of summing up the situation: by quoting folk singer Joni Mitchell.

“You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone,” he says.

The tenor of town-gown relations in New England might best be traced to 1806, when students at Yale and off-duty sailors in New Haven faced off with knives and clubs. In 1841, still other Yalies attacked a firehouse, in revenge for which the townspeople tried to burn down the college. In 1854, locals wheeled two cannons to the campus and were about to fire them when constables intervened.

Today’s divides are less violent but still run deep. They’re largely cultural. Academics often speak the language of a doctoral dissertation, alienating many of their neighbors. And many students aren’t just occasionally unruly; they’re often from more privileged socioeconomic backgrounds and hold different political views from those of the people in surrounding towns, especially in rural areas, inviting resentment.

Thomas Parker remembers talking to the Rotary and Kiwanis clubs in Bennington, Vermont, when he was vice president of Bennington College. “They were very interested, in the way an anthropologist might be interested in a primitive tribe,” he says. “There was never any sense that the college was important to the town.” On the other side

of the equation, Parker says, “the faculty had a kind of liberal notion that they should be doing something for the town. And they didn’t know quite what to do. The town wasn’t really interested in a free ticket to a modern-dance performance.”

Even in Poultney, where town-gown relations were comparatively peaceful, “there were people of a certain age group who were causing trouble downtown and townspeople thinking they were from the college and that everybody at the college was like that,” says Jaime Lee, a Green Mountain alumna who stayed in Poultney, where she chairs the planning commission and runs a consulting business as a grant writer and digital media producer.

There was a political rift, too: Even in blue Vermont, 45 percent of Poultney voted for Donald Trump in the

Among the new businesses on Waterville’s Main Street is Portland Pie Co., located in a historic building that had sat mostly vacant for decades before Colby bought and renovated it for $5.5 million.

2016 presidential election versus 49 percent for Hillary Clinton, a much closer outcome than was reflected by the sentiment on the liberal campus. “Green Mountain and the town didn’t coalesce as much as we would like. A lot of the time we were at odds,” says Danny Lang, another Green Mountain graduate who stayed, and who jokes about the college’s emphasis on environmental studies and the environmentally conscious and generally left-wing students it attracted. “You’ve got rural Vermont people versus hippies.”

Nor does higher education today enjoy the veneration that it used to. There have been athletics and sexual abuse scandals, and parents who have used their wealth to shortcut the admissions process. Colleges and universities pay generous salaries to their employees and are tax exempt—

some in spite of having huge endowments—which means higher property taxes for their neighbors.

Gallup finds that fewer than half of Americans have a great deal or quite a lot of confidence in higher education, which has suffered the biggest decline by this measure of any institution. And while people feel more positively disposed to their local colleges or universities, a poll by Boston public radio station WGBH found that fewer than half have a positive view of even those.

“Colleges and universities can represent affluence, but sometimes they can also represent arrogance. I get it,” says Gary Stewart, a member of the board of the International Town Gown Association, or ITGA, who deals with this in his role as associate vice president for community relations at Cornell. “There’s just this sort of odd gulf sometimes.”

Colleges and universities are working to reverse this. Forty-four percent team up with their communities on economic development projects, according to the ITGA, and 29 percent are jointly building housing, offices, public transit, and other projects.

Some pitch in voluntarily toward the fire, police, and snow removal services they use, though generally in amounts far lower than their towns and cities ask them to. None of the institutions in Boston pay what the city has

“It seemed obvious what we had to do. We owed this to the city,” says Colby president David Greene (above) of the school’s recent local investments.

SARAH RICE (PORTRAIT); MICKY BEDELL (RESTAURANT)

requested of them, for example, though they say they offer scholarships, business loans, and other benefits worth at least as much.

“When they’re working well, colleges and universities are letting people know about lectures and music, that there are students who want to volunteer in the community, that there’s the opportunity to take classes,” Stewart says. “Eventually you beat down some of the walls that prevent people from talking to each other. There are more connections than are obvious a lot of times.”

None of those things brought together the people in Poultney with the students at Green Mountain anywhere near as much as what finally united them in common cause, however, Lang says. “Now that the college is not in operation, the town and the students are on the same side,” he says. “They’re all pissed off. People in town were up in arms about the college closing, and so are the students.”

Laird Christensen, whose academic specialty is resilient and sustainable communities, says that for small colleges to survive they must be willing to adapt. “[They] need to be woven into the fabric of the community, so that they become impossible to take for granted.”

Construction noise rattles the windows of the many vacant storefronts on Main Street in Waterville, Maine. A new boutique hotel is going up. A block away, a onetime department store is being converted into a $20 million arts center. And in the heart of the downtown, on a former parking lot, a brand-new five-story brick-and-glass building has settled in among the early-20th-century colonial and Renaissance Revival architecture of the once-bustling business district.

“Colby,” it says near the top, in five-foot letters.

This is the anchor of an ambitious attempt by one New England college to help restore the flagging fortunes of its town: a dorm for 200 undergraduates from Colby College who are adding life—and much-needed commerce—to a street where they’ve already helped attract a few new pubs, restaurants, and coffee shops. It’s the other, less widely told story of how some New England colleges are quietly trying to heal their connections to their communities, and help themselves in the process.

Colby is also behind the new hotel, has plans to redevelop the long-empty building across the street that once housed the local hardware store, and is a big investor in the arts center, which will include an offshoot of the college’s art museum along with cinemas, studios, and a connection to the theater next door in City Hall.

It even loaned money to an alumnus who redeveloped the abandoned mill where Hathaway shirts were made during Waterville’s manufacturing heyday, which has been

converted into apartments and retail businesses including the ultimate symbols of youthful hipness: a microbrewery, a CrossFit gym, and a coworking space. Along with a foundation and some private developers, Colby is seeding projects worth $50 million in all in a downtown where half the businesses had closed.

“None of this would be happening without Colby’s investment,” says Shannon Haines, president and CEO of the arts organization Waterville Creates. Main Street, she says, “was quite empty and depressing and lacked investment for a long time. It wasn’t until Colby came in that things started to change.” That spurred others to step in. “It feels hopeful again,” Haines says. “Everyone’s aspirations have been raised.”

Colby once needed Waterville more than Waterville needed Colby. A prosperous rail hub with paper and textile mills powered by the Kennebec River, Elm City—named for the elegant elm trees that hung above the graceful streets—was booming. Old black-and-white photos in City Hall show a busy Main Street filled with people riding on electric trolleys to and from stylish shops. Boxed in by the railyards and the river, however, Colby had no place to expand. It announced in 1930 that it was moving

Higher education has an outsize influence on the economy here. Nearly one in five students from outside the region who complete a bachelor’s degree were still here a year later, invigorating their communities.

far left : Main Street in Poultney, Vermont, where some residents are embracing the challenge of “starting again from scratch” after the closing of Green Mountain College. left : Graduates throw their caps into the air at Colby College’s 198th commencement in May 2019.

to Augusta, where a benefactor offered it a larger tract of land. But Waterville residents raised $107,000—$1.6 million in today’s money—to buy Mayflower Hill, a 714acre wooded idyll at the edge of town on which the college could build a bigger campus.

There it would stay, largely removed from the forces that pushed the city into decline. Unable to compete with cheaper imports, the mills began to close, ending with the Hathaway factory in 2002. A Walmart opened at the highway exit, sucking business from downtown. Other chain discount stores would follow. The clothing shops on Main Street went under. Then the hardware store. Young people left. Even the elm trees died, from the wilt fungus Dutch elm disease.

In the 1999 movie Mystery, Alaska , written by Waterville native David E. Kelley—son of a onetime Colby hockey coach and creator of Chicago Hope , Boston Legal , and Big Little Lies , who still has a summer house near Waterville with his wife, the actress Michelle Pfeiffer—a rural town is facing the threat of a new, thinly disguised big box store called Price World. “Margie has relatives in Waterville, Maine,” one of the characters in the movie warns. “She said as soon as Price World moved in, all the local shops went right out of business.”

“It seemed obvious what we had to do,” says David Greene, the president of Colby. “We owed this to the city.” Besides, he says, “particularly when you live in a fairly small city, your fates are intertwined. If the city is having deep challenges, there’s no doubt that it’s going to affect Colby. If we’re in a place where faculty don’t want to live, staff don’t want to live, we lose the very best people.”

So Colby began investing in the world around it. Unlike many other small New England colleges, it has the resources to do that: an $870 million endowment. Com-

pare that with Green Mountain, whose endowment when it closed was $3.6 million. But even in a city in such obvious need of help, the college’s sudden interest was not universally welcomed. “We’re down here. The college is up there on the hill,” says Mike Roy, longtime city manager, gesturing with his hands.

Roy grew up in Waterville and went to Colby, where he played hockey and remembers being called, disparagingly, a townie. “There certainly was suspicion and just plain opposition because ‘they’re not like us,’” he says of the initial reception to the college’s outreach. “There was that suspicion that Colby is just trying to take over and they’re only doing things to help themselves.” There was skepticism inside Colby, too. “At the beginning I was hearing we should be spending our money on campus, not downtown,” Greene says.

The biggest gesture was the Main Street dorm, whose hallways and public spaces still smell new. The 200 students who live there are required to do community service, but the greatest service to the community is their presence, says Brian Clark, the college’s vice president of planning. “The idea of getting 200 wallets on the street, that was as great of an economic stimulus as you could think of,” Clark says. Colby’s new hotel and the commercial properties it’s redeveloping remain on the tax rolls as wholly owned limited liability companies, which lessened some community resistance.

Before the dorm went up, “we would always talk up Waterville as a college town, but if you walked downtown there was no evidence of it,” says Haines. “Colby was always seen as being removed. Now there’s no question they’re becoming more integrated.”

(Continued on p. 120)

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Fighting for Survival

(Continued from p. 115)

Young people are returning. Greene personally lobbied a tech company called Collaborative Consulting, since acquired by CGI Group, to open an offshoot in a building Colby owns across the street from the new dorm; the college sweetened the deal by defraying the costs and the company will offer internships and jobs for students and graduates who want to stay in Waterville. Colby is even planting new, disease-resistant elms, Clark says.

“It feels nicer than it did before,” says Bobby McGee, who moved to Waterville from Florida (“People said, ‘Are you crazy?’”) and opened Selah Tea in the space where a drugstore had long since closed. Colby students make up a third of the business in his café, whose savory smells drift onto the resurgent Main Street. Even now, he says, some locals resent the college, “but I tell them, ‘Do you

realize without Colby how many people wouldn’t have a job?’”

Home sales in Waterville are up 33 percent, to the highest rate in Maine, says Roy, who calls what’s going on a renaissance. “That’s a very good sign to us that people have decided to move here.” An analysis by economists at Colby finds the city’s population is, in fact, growing slightly, and the housing vacancy rate is lower than the state average. Things still aren’t great; unemployment remains higher than in the rest of the state, as does the proportion of residents on public assistance, and more than half of the students in the public schools are eligible for free or reduced-price lunch.

But Greene and others say the college’s reconnection with the city is the first step to helping solve these deeper problems.

Higher education “is much more relevant when it’s connected to the world, not disconnected from it,” he says on the genteel, hidden-away campus that remains a stark contrast to

the still-gritty downtown. “Many colleges and universities have been insular in their approach to their communities. They could do a lot more, and recognize the role they play that goes beyond economic impact statements and platitudes. I hope we become a model for this.”

For his part, Roy says there’s a much stronger bond now between his hometown and his alma mater. “Each helps to define the other. Colby helps define what Waterville is, and Waterville helps define what Colby is. I’m surprised that more colleges haven’t made as big of an investment in their communities.”

Haines looks at things more simply. “It’s nice to be on the happy side of this story for a change,” she says.

Even before its last commencement, Poultney residents and civic leaders gathered under the championship banners in the high school gym to spitball some creative solutions to the closing of Green Mountain College.

They could expand biking and hiking trails and beef up outdoor recreation as a draw for tourists. They could try to reopen the co-op and lure a coffee shop to bring more foot traffic to Main Street. They could convert the college into an incubation space or satellite location for a research institution or another college, or a culinary school, or a conference space, or a boarding school, or even a casino or a prison.

But what happens to the campus isn’t really up to the town. The college had to sell it to the highest bidder to pay off its creditors. That wasn’t the only bad news. Without the college contributing its water and sewer payments, Rosenthal informed the gathering, everybody else’s rates were likely to go way up. Even if they do take root, few of the options available to the town are likely to return it to its more contented past, says Patty McWilliams, owner of Hermit Hill Books. “How do you replace a college?” she asks, exasperated.

Many of the college’s departing faculty sold her their books before

they moved. “It was sad. I’ve lost some good friends and good customers,” McWilliams says, her cat on her lap on a sofa in the cozy shop. Business has fallen. “I just feel the vibrancy going out of the town.”

But there’s also hope. “People really care about what happens,” McWilliams says. “Where I’m seeing a lot of optimism is folks saying it’s OK and we’re going to find another way,” says Cook, the librarian.

Along with other Green Mountain alumni, planning commission chair Lee is determined to stay. She likes a comparison to How the Grinch Stole Christmas , in which the Whos in Whoville make a circle and sing carols, even though their gifts and all the other vestiges of the holiday have been stolen from them. In this analogy, the college is Christmas, Lee says, and “I’m still singing in the street without the Christmas tree.”

Lang is staying, too. He crafts fine wooden furniture at a workshop outside Poultney that’s redolent with varnish, and lives in a house he built himself. “There’s a lot of people who left town because they think the town is going to fall apart,” he says. “We’re looking at it through a very different lens. We’re starting again from scratch.” So many alumni have stuck around, Lang says, “that the people in Poultney are starting to recognize they’re lucky to have these people from Green Mountain.”

There are embryonic efforts to attract more. The nearby Rutland Economic Development Corporation, for example, rushed together a brochure not so subtly titled “We Want You to Stay: A Guide for Recent Grads for Life in Rutland.” But there aren’t any more students graduating from Green Mountain College. And it’s the town that’s facing many of the greatest consequences of its closing, Rosenthal says, just as more New England towns—to their frustration and regret—will likely have to.

“Some people,” he says, looking toward the empty campus at the end of Main Street, “thought that it would last forever.”

Call Adam at Princeton at (561) 800-0041.

Adam Falcon, CFA, has deep roots in New England. He grew up in Hancock, NH, attended grade school and high school in NH, and later graduated from Bowdoin College in Maine. Professionally, he has served as CIO for a multi-billion dollar single family office, has worked in bank trust divisions, and has co-founded Princeton Asset Management, LLC, which specializes in providing asset management to trust assets.

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Life in the Kingdom

(Continued from p. 128)

on each hand going slowly numb; I don’t undertake the somber and messy work of slaughtering our pigs without daydreaming about home-smoked bacon and inch-thick chops with an equally thick rind of backfat.

And yet the primary motivation for raising so much food has always been in the raising itself. Because for every milking at 10 below, with fingers freezing, there’s one on an early June morning when the cows are pastured in the orchard, and I’ve haltered Pip to a blossoming apple tree, and there are petals floating in the air like the biggest, most benevolent snowflakes you ever saw. You can even catch them on your tongue just like snowflakes (yes, it’s true: I’ve done this). And when I’m finished milking, there’s actually a handful of blossoms floating on top, and it’s with a sense of gentle reluctance that I return to the house with my almost-

overflowing pail. Of course, even the hard moments, the hard hours and sometimes entire, interminable days, have their rewards. I guess what I’m saying is that there is purpose and pleasure built into the raising of food that’s often much bigger and more rewarding than the food itself.

It is also true that our family never followed this path because we fretted over disruptions to the food supply, or for any other reasons related to security. I’m not suggesting these aren’t perfectly good reasons, and I know many people whose gardening and homesteading efforts are primarily rooted in their desire to retain a certain degree of control over their food sourcing, a source of motivation that now seems particularly prescient. But that hasn’t been our story.

Of course, the pandemic has changed the equation a bit. Now, maintaining a bit of control over our food sourcing seems like nothing more than simple common sense. Furthermore, like so many families, our income has taken a considerable hit, thanks to the

economic fallout precipitated by the pandemic. We’re fortunate to still have enough income that we’re in no immediate threat of true hardship, but the economic benefits of raising our own food are now in much clearer focus.

And so, with the harvest now only a few months away, and a growing chorus of predictions that the virus will be with us for many months past that, we are slowly returning to our old ways. This morning I milked Pip, strained nearly three gallons of stillwarm milk into a large pot, and left it in the cool of the basement. Later, once the milk has chilled, I’ll skim the thick layer of cream that’s risen to the top for churning into butter (I’ve made nearly 20 pounds in just the past two weeks and have my sights set on triple digits). The small, glassed-in back room of the house is more crammed with trays of seedlings than it’s been in years; sometimes I like to stand in the middle of the trays just so I can be surrounded by all that new life. There are exactly 63 broiler chicks brooding under a pair of heat lamps in the barn. By the time you read this, they’ll be a half-dozen pounds or more each, pecking and scratching and strutting around the pasture, blissfully ignorant of their impending fate.

It is a tremendous privilege to live this way, perhaps now more than ever. Sometimes I truly feel this; sometimes I have to work at it. In my experience, gratitude is a slippery critter. But that’s OK. I think it’s like that for most of us. We’re all jaded, me in my unique ways, and you in yours. So I’m forgiving myself in advance if there are times this summer when I look longingly at my bicycle, still coated (as it’s sure to be) in a layer of barn dust, before grudgingly returning to the task at hand.

And if there comes a time in the late afternoon of a long, hot summer day, when I’ve been up and moving since 5 a.m., and all I really want to do is lie under a tree and let the minutes slip through my fingers until it’s chore time, then dinner time, then time to make butter, then time to sweep the day’s accumulation of dirt and debris from the kitchen floor, well, then ... hell. I think I’m just going to do it.

FIREWOOD ALERT!

You have the power to protect forests and trees!

Pests like the invasive emerald ash borer can hitchhike in your firewood. You can prevent the spread of these damaging insects and diseases by following these firewood tips:

 Buy locally harvested firewood at or near your destination.

 Buy certified heat-treated firewood ahead of time, if available.

 Gather firewood on site when permitted.

What might be in your firewood?

THOUSAND CANKERS DISEASE of black walnut is caused by the walnut twig beetle and a fungus it carries to trees. The walnut twig beetle is tiny — about the size of the “I” on a dime — and thousands of them could be hiding in the bark of a single piece of walnut firewood.

GYPSY MOTH is a devastating pest of oaks and other trees. Female moths lay tan patches of eggs on firewood, campers, vehicles, patio furniture — anything outside! When these items are moved to new areas, this pest gets a free ride.

SPOTTED LANTERNFLY sucks sap from dozens of tree and plant species. This pest loves tree-ofheaven but will feed on black walnut, white oak, sycamore, and grape. Like the gypsy moth, this pest lays clusters of eggs on just about any dry surface, from landscaping stone to firewood!

OAK WILT is a deadly disease of oak trees, especially red oaks. This disease is a fungus spread between trees by small beetles — and this deadly fungus could easily be brought to your neighborhood or favorite camping spot through infected firewood.

ASIAN LONGHORNED BEETLE will tunnel through, and destroy, over 20 species of trees — especially maple trees. The larvae of this beetle bore into tree branches and trunks, making it an easy pest to accidentally transport in firewood.

EMERALD ASH

BORER — the infamous killer of ash trees — is found in forests and city trees across much of the eastern and central United States. This insect is notoriously good at hitching rides in infested firewood. Don’t give this tree-killing bug a ride to a new forest, or a new state!

A Return to the Old Ways

On re-embracing the business and blessings of homesteading.

ILLUSTRATION BY TOM HAUGOMAT

he truth is that life on the homestead was starting to slow down. Penny wanted to spend more time evolving her skills with wood and other natural materials, making intricate and functional baskets, and teaching others how to do the same. I, on the other hand, imagined putting more miles on my bicycle, exploring new places on my backcountry skis, and generally loafing about. For the past two decades or so, we’d devoted a generous portion of our waking hours to producing food and tending to the myriad other needs of our rural existence, and while we had no intentions of quitting the homestead life, we wanted to expand our horizons a bit. Besides, our boys, now 15 and 18, have slowly been emerging into the world beyond our homestead, taking their insatiable appetites with them.

In other words, we simply didn’t need to raise as much food as had long been our custom. Oh, sure, we still had our small herd of bovines and a sprawling garden, and last fall there were two fat hogs rooting about at the height of the knoll behind the barn, and the 40 blueberry bushes we’d planted four years earlier had begun to bear fruit, not to mention that our son Rye’s hunting skills had evolved to the point where he’d become a reliable provider in his own right. But over the past couple of years, we’d also let a lot go: the homemade butter, the maple sugar, even the dry-cured sausages I liked to cut into translucently thin slices that I’d tuck into a corner of my mouth, where they’d slowly release every molecule of their funky flavor. We’d even planned to shrink the garden this year, allowing half a dozen or so beds to go permanently fallow. It just felt like it was time for change.

Of course, the big change, the one we never expected, was the pandemic. Suddenly, the boys and their bottomless stomachs were home for three (if not four or five) meals every day. Suddenly, making quick trips to Willey’s to pick up an ingredient or two wasn’t quite so simple, involving a phone order, a face mask, and the particular sense of unease that’s become all too familiar lately. Suddenly, it seemed as if perhaps this wasn’t the smartest year to shrink the garden after all.

For me, raising our own food has never really been about the food. I realize this sounds absurd; I even realize that it’s not entirely true, because of course it’s about the food, at least to a point. I don’t milk our cow at 10 below merely because I crave the sensation of the ring and pinky fingers

(Continued on p. 126)

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