New England

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NEW ENGLAND

Somewhere on the windswept New England coast

September 1996 trip to the New England States of Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New Hampshire, Vermont and Maine

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A small country inn, Barnstable,Cape Cod,Mass.

Our trip to the New England States began as our

Donna and Provincetown’s Pilgrim Monument

“Old Salt” on windswept Cape Cod beach

storm delayed flight landed in Boston’s Logan Airport past midnight. As it was our plan to spend our first night in Plymouth, we rented a car at the airport and headed south in the dark and rainy night, where we arrived starved, in the wee hours of the morning, to check in at the John Carver Inn. After a few hours sleep and a hearty breakfast at the inn, we embarked on a brisk walk of “America’s hometown” Plymouth, with its narrow streets, clapboard mansions, antique stores and admired the picturesque waterfront, where the Mayflower II is moored, an exact replica of the 1620 ship that saw 102 weary pilgrims disembark on this spot and subsequently colonize at nearby Plimouth Plantation. On then to our first major stop: Cape Cod. After checking out Woods Hole, where ferries depart for Martha’s Vineyard, we soon found lodgings at a small country inn called Ashley Manor, dating back to 1699, where our charming host joked about the impossibly steep stairs leading to our enchanting rooms. From here we went on exploring the rest of the Cape. Along Route 6, we stopped at Scargo Lake and fantasized about owning a house here, through the historic towns of Dennis, Brewster and Truro and then finally Provincetown, which offered spectacular beaches and dunes, first rate shops, galleries and restaurants, lots of nightlife, a bohemian mix of painters, poets and young rebels, not to mention a steady nesting of gays and lesbians. We returned by way of the National Seashore looking at Nantucket Sound and spent our last day here walking Sandy Neck Beach, one of the Cape’s most beautiful: a wide swath of pebbly sand backed by grassy dunes extending forever in both directions.

Newport, Rhode Island

Now here was one place, I positively would not wind up in, at the end of my playing days

Donna on Newport’s 3 mile long Cliff Walk with its breathtaking vistas and water view of the many grand Gilded Age mansions

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Leaving Cape Cod, we stopped off at Sandwich, the oldest town on the Cape (founded 1637) and one of the most charming where we visited the Hoxie House overlooking Shawme Pond and the waterwheel operated gristmill. Heading south towards the little state of Rhode Island we crossed over mighty rivers on mighty bridges and finally arrived at Newport, bounded on three sides by water. It is one of the great sailing cities of the world and host to world class jazz and classical music festivals. Staying at the Inntowne, a small town-house in the center of Newport and a block from the harbor, we enjoyed walks around Colonial Newport which left us with a pretty good idea of what the town was like in Revolutionary times. Turning to the southern part of town, along Bellevue Avenue, we visited the Newport of the Gilded Age, where many of the city’s stunning turn of the century mansions stand. Viewing homes like Vanderbilt’s Breakers(which we went through) and the Astor’s Beechwood, we tried to imagine the sums of money possessed by the wealthy elite who made Newport their summer playground in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Also on Bellevue Avenue we found the International Tennis Hall of Fame where we lunched after checking out its grass courts and splendid Tennis Museum. Our stay in Newport came to an end while tackling its popular 3 mile Cliff Walk, which runs south along its cliffs to Bailey’s Beach. While traveling further south, we made it a point to stop at the pretty Victorian era resort town of Watch Hill and admired its lovely homes and miles of beautiful beaches.

Vanderbilt’s the Breakers, the most magnificent of the Newport mansions. I said: ”big deal, only 70 rooms and 40 servants to keep it running?”.

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New Canaan, CT. - Deerfield, MA. - Woodstock, VT.

On the road again, heading for Connecticut, we stopped at Little Stonington Village, a quiet fishing community of historic buildings clustered around white spired churches, and with a great view of the state’ coastline. We stayed overnight at a nearby motel, and had an old fashioned breakfast the following morning, in the famous maritime town of Mystic, where we watched the town’s old drawbridge open and close for the many boats gliding down the Mystic River. In a pouring rain we passed right by the big city of New Haven and soon got off the Highway to check out what’s dubbed as Connecticut’s Gold Coast, where an enclave of old money Gatsbyesque mansions, hid behind creeper covered fortress walls. Wanti to explore the Litchfield Hills region of Connecticut, we spent the night, first in the chic little town of New Canaan, whose surrounding estate studded countryside, so rich and elegant, left us thinking it was one enormous country club. We stayed at the old and venerable Maples Inn where the rooms were furnished with antiques and canopy beds, but no bathroom. Enormous Oriental rugs strewn everywhere, covered the creaky floors and stairs. On then to the Litchfield Hills where in the foothills of the Berkshires viewed some of the most spectacular and unspoiled scenery in the state. Rolling farmland abut thick fores and sizable lakes are here, such as the Waramaug, which was supposed to remind us of lakes in Austria and Switzerland. Continuing north to the Berkshires we came upon the archetypal New England small town of Stockbridge, made famous by former artist inhabitants such as writer Norman Mailer and painter Norman Rockwell. A little further north we found the village of Lenox, epitomizing the Berkshires with its “Summer Cottage” region, where we visited the Mount, former summer home of novelist Edith Wharton. Following the Mohawk Trail we came upon the village of Shelburne Fall with its Bridge of Flowers straddling the Deerfield River, which brought us to our next overnight destination, historic Deerfield. Settled by Indians 8,000 years ago, it is now a one street village with fifty 18th and 19th century houses maintained as a museum site. We luxuriated at the Deerfield Inn with its beautiful rooms and elegant dining. On then to the Green Mountains of Vermont and the town of Woodstock, a quaint New England town of perfectly preserved Federal houses around a tree lined village green and flowing streams anchored by a covered bridge. We loved our stay here Donna in front of the Deerfield Inn at the Rockefeller owned Woodstock Inn and Resort. in Massachusetts’ Pioneer Valley

The Rockefeller family’s Woodstock Inn and Resort in Central Vermont

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New Hampshire and Maine

Time to pause and contemplate the beauty of nature’s autumn hues along the way

On Mount Battie in Camden Hills Park

Leaving Woodstock in central Vermont, we soon

came upon the impressive 165-foot-deep and mile long Quechee Gorge. Carved by a glacier, we viewed this phenomenon from an enormous bridge spanning it. Heading north through a region of intense natural beauty towards the White Mountains of New Hampshire, we reached the area of Franconia, where in a misty rain we visited The Frost Place, Robert Frost’s home from 1915 to 1920. It was here that he wrote his best remembered poem, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”. After going through the tiny house, containing memorabilia, we followed a short trail in the misty woods, marked with lines of Frost’s poetry, which became a very special moment for us. We stayed overnight at the Bretton Arms Inn, next to the Mount Washington, one of the Nation’s few remaining grand hotels and truly enjoyed our Inn’s superb cuisine. The next day, we drove through the Franconia Notch State Park, looking for the Old Man of the Mountains and visited the 800foot-long natural chasm known as the Flume, where the narrow walls give the gorge’s running water a deep and eerie echo. Time now to head east to the coast of Maine and while bypassing the big city of Portland, we turned north towards Camden, our next over-night destination. A town described as “Where the Mountains meet the Sea” one realizes this is aptly put when looking up from the harbor. Camden is famous for the nation’s largest fleet of windjammers, some of which cruise the islands of Penobscot Bay. We stayed at a charming Bed and Breakfast house overlooking these islands and visited the 5,500 acre Camden Hills State Park, where on Mount Battie, Donna was moved to recite a poignant poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay, who grew up in the area.

Camden’s picturesque harbor

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Bar Harbor and Kennebunkport From Camden we motored on to Mount

Frenchman Bay, Bar Harbor

Sand Beach in the Acadia National Park

Donna cavorting on Kennebunkport’s rocky shore

Desert Island’s busy town of Bar Harbor, where we stayed overnight at a standard motel. We strolled the town and admired the beauty of its commanding location on Frenchman Bay, where ferry boats came from and went to Nova Scotia, Canada. On then we went to explore the island’s Acadia National Park, Maine’s principal tourist attraction with its 40,000 acres of woods and mountains, lake and shore, footpaths and hiking trails. We stopped at Sand Beach, a small stretch of pink sand backed by the mountains of Acadia and marveled at Thunderhole, a natural seaside cave into which the ocean rushes and roars. We drove to the summit of Caddilac Mountain and endured its windswept baldness, while enjoying the 360 degree view of the ocean, islands, jagged coastline and the woods and lakes of Acadia with its magnificent surroundings. Time to return southward, this time by way of Bangor, we streaked along 95 heading for Kennebunkport, where we planned to spend the night. As the Bushes appeared to be in residence at their Walker compound and probably in no mood to entertain overnight guest from the opposition party, we had to settle for staying at the Shawmut Ocean Resort, a forgettable monstrosity of a place nearby. Kennebunkport seemed to offer the complete Maine-coast experience: classic townscapes where perfectly proportioned white clapboard houses rose from manicured lawns and gardens; rocky shorelines punctuated by sandy beaches and a quaint downtown district packed with gift shops, ice cream stands, and tourists. Lobster boats bobbed alongside yachts in the harbor and well appointed dining rooms could be found everywhere. Nice place to visit, but we wouldn’t necessarily want to live here.

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Salem and Marblehead

trade routes and provided the wealth that produced America’s first millionaires. After securing lodgings at the Salem Inn, a lovely Continuing south on 95, we decided to stop and ex- Federal style inn built in 1834 by sea captain plore Salem, Mass. A bit put off by the town’s indus- Nathaniel West, (Donna had her first Maine trial surroundings, Salem turned out to be a gem, full of lobster dinner here) we took in the sights of trendy waterfront stores, restaurants and a traffic free “witchy” Salem by following the Heritage shopping area to stroll along. Settled in 1630, the town Trail (a red line painted on the sidewalk) that is known for the witchcraft hysteria of 1692, a rich mari- ultimately led to The House of the Seven time tradition and architectural splendor of its Federal Gables, immortalized by Nathaniel Hawthorne in his book of the same name, homes. The frigates of Salem opened the Far East which we dutifully toured. Our final stop before returning home via the Boston airport became Marblehead, a town of ancient clapboard houses and narrow, winding streets retaining much of the character of the village founded in 1629 by fishermen from Cornwall and the Channel Islands. Today's fishing fleet pales in comparison to the armada of pleasure craft that anchors in the harbor: Marblehead is one of New England’s premier sailing capitals. The last night of our super New England sojourn was spent at the delightful Harbor Light Inn, where we were charmed by its fourposter canopy bed, antique mahogany furnishings, wide board floors and richly colored Federalist rooms, that spoke of a warmth and hospitality of the past. A most fitting way to end our trip to the birthplace of our Nation. Donna in the garden of The House of the Seven Gables

Marblehead and its armada of pleasure craft anchored in the harbor

“THE SPIRIT OF 76” in Abbot Hall, Marblehead