Weirdly, I’m feeling homesick for the White Mountains. It’s not an autumn thing- we always used to go in late spring, around Dad’s (and, incidentally, Patrick Henry’s) birthday. We haven’t been in years.
In fact, I think the last time we went was in the winter. We’ve been a few times in the winter too. It’s better for skiing and snowshoeing- I used to be a pretty good skier. And the first year we went I think it was around Autumn times. In any event, it was cold enough that I was able to feel my metabolic processes shut down when I jumped into Lonesome Lake like an idiot. I also lived on Hershey bars that trip. Continue reading “Plants of the White Mountains”