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eorYesterday we got up early, had a quick breakfast, then got out the door. Our stated destination was the Robert Frost Farm down in Derry, NH. It was a pleasant two hour ride down in the van.
When we got to the farm it was packed with people doing work. The local Rotary Club was doing all kinds of projects: cleaning up brush, mowing the fields, cleaning out the barn attic, doing electrical work, shoring up foundations, fixing cracked plaster, and replacing missing signs and broken boards. It was kind of strange to see so much activity at a place that would have normally been quiet and hush.
We took a tour of the house led by the Farm Manager, who's been there a long time and teaches literature at a local college as well. He had lots of stories about the Frost family's history, interactions, and personalities. Then we took the walking tour around the property.
I got different things out of the visit than most people would have. You see when I read Frost I can see what he saw. Since I was a child the vision of Frost's New Hampshire was my vision of home. I used to play around the stone walls, pick apples from the semi wild trees, walk the fields, and play in the brooks. So visiting his farm couldn't much change how I experience his poems. But I loved walking through the house and the barn. The barn is a nice post and beam a bit larger than the one we had in East Kingston. The house is a typical New England farm house. The tour made me happy and heartbroken at the same time. I love those old farmhouses, but to see one as a museum is sacrilege. Too many of these homes are allowed to droop, fold in on themselves, and die while forest and field are destroyed to put up 3000 sq ft houses next door.
When we left the frost house we decided to head north in a wandering circular trip of nearly epic proportions. We travelled up Interstate 93 through the white mountains through the beauty that is Franconia Notch in the fall. Then we skirted the top edge of the mountains east past the Presidential Range to Gorham and Berlin, NH. After stopping briefly in Berlin we wandered our way east back into Maine and southeast to Portland. We left at around 9am and returned around 8pm, quiet tired, having covered nearly 400 miles through incredible mountains and valleys.
The van performed flawlessly through everything. The mileage on the first fill tank of mixed city commuting and highway driving was just a smidge over 20mpg.
When we got to the farm it was packed with people doing work. The local Rotary Club was doing all kinds of projects: cleaning up brush, mowing the fields, cleaning out the barn attic, doing electrical work, shoring up foundations, fixing cracked plaster, and replacing missing signs and broken boards. It was kind of strange to see so much activity at a place that would have normally been quiet and hush.
We took a tour of the house led by the Farm Manager, who's been there a long time and teaches literature at a local college as well. He had lots of stories about the Frost family's history, interactions, and personalities. Then we took the walking tour around the property.
I got different things out of the visit than most people would have. You see when I read Frost I can see what he saw. Since I was a child the vision of Frost's New Hampshire was my vision of home. I used to play around the stone walls, pick apples from the semi wild trees, walk the fields, and play in the brooks. So visiting his farm couldn't much change how I experience his poems. But I loved walking through the house and the barn. The barn is a nice post and beam a bit larger than the one we had in East Kingston. The house is a typical New England farm house. The tour made me happy and heartbroken at the same time. I love those old farmhouses, but to see one as a museum is sacrilege. Too many of these homes are allowed to droop, fold in on themselves, and die while forest and field are destroyed to put up 3000 sq ft houses next door.
When we left the frost house we decided to head north in a wandering circular trip of nearly epic proportions. We travelled up Interstate 93 through the white mountains through the beauty that is Franconia Notch in the fall. Then we skirted the top edge of the mountains east past the Presidential Range to Gorham and Berlin, NH. After stopping briefly in Berlin we wandered our way east back into Maine and southeast to Portland. We left at around 9am and returned around 8pm, quiet tired, having covered nearly 400 miles through incredible mountains and valleys.
The van performed flawlessly through everything. The mileage on the first fill tank of mixed city commuting and highway driving was just a smidge over 20mpg.
