WHITE MOUNTAIN STATE

The two-toned tune of the Eastern Phoebe pierces the fog from the woods surrounding the house through my bedroom window. The lawn glistens with morning dew and perhaps some rain that fell last night while I slept. Sweatpants on, down the stairs, through the dining room, around the corner into the "mud room." To my surprise Emma is also just waking. I walk in to witness a ceremonial full-bodied, four legged stretch immediately followed by an emphatic yawn. She rises slowly and begins a relaxed tail wag, no doubt looking forward to our walk. She draws her ears back in anticipation as I take the leash from the closet.

We walk down the driveway, across the street into the woods. To this day I do not know what purpose or service that path served in the years it was formed. A 15 foot wide trail leading from the street a half mile through the woods to a brook. Several trails have branched off since recreational snowmobiles were introduced to the region. I veer off onto one of the branches while Emma sniffs each and every element as if she's investigating a crime scene, all the curious seasonal smells found in the woods of New Hampshire. The brook is coated with a thin layer of yellow pollen, water partially held in place by a small beaver dam. Our oddly unique state flower, The Pink Lady Slipper, found sporadically throughout the woods. There is almost complete silence walking alongside the brook, just the crackle of twigs and leaves under our feet, and the sound of the birds in the trees as bright clear sun shines through us and onto the brooks clearing.

A few years from now, I will have been away from the Granite State as long as I lived there. The more time passes, the stronger the connection I've found over the past decade and a half. I've always looked forward to my return visits with anticipation towards achieving a greater knowledge and connection to where I spent my first 18 years on Earth. I've always placed emphasis on a persons upbringing and habitat of origin. From natural landscapes to urban organization, surroundings have a huge effect on formulation of self. Since my earliest memories I've had a connection with the woods of Merrimack.

For just as long, I've been fascinated with and drawn to the city. Sparked from family trips into Boston for baseball games, Quincy Market, museums, Newbury Street etc. Stoked by trips into Manchester when Dad worked some Saturdays; I'd stroll up and down Elm Street, marveling the tallest building in the state towering 20 stories above Manchester at 259 feet. I knew I'd go to college in either Boston or New York, ended up in Boston. Four years completely immersed in the urban scape; brownstones, skyscrapers, parks, the esplanade, neighborhoods, history.

On to Los Angeles for 7, then Chicago the past 4.

It's been 2 years since I've been home. Only once before have I been away for longer.

I'll be back on Friday.

Over the next 2 weeks I will cover more miles on more roads, view more mountains, lakes, rivers, parks, cities and towns from more angles than ever before. My natural sensors will be on high alert as we select a proper location for our wedding next summer.  I very much look forward to seeing some of you, reminiscing on the past and looking toward the future.

No matter how long it's been, no matter where I go, the granite state will always remain home in my heart . . . long live the old man of the mountain.

"Men hang out their signs indicative of their respective trades; shoe makers hang out a gigantic shoe; jewelers a monster watch, and the dentist hangs out a gold tooth; but up in the Mountains of New Hampshire, God Almighty has hung out a sign to show that there He makes men." DANIEL WEBSTER