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While it may seem, in the communities in which we live, that there are some things that never change.
But in November, we saw that they can and do, sometimes in the span of a heartbeat. There’s a hole on Main Street now after the Chalet Restaurant burned down, although construction is coming along just fine.
Fire has shaped the landscape of North Woodstock and it took with it the grand hotels of a bygone era.
There are, however, testaments to another time. If objects could talk, the stories would be captivating.
Take the fire hydrant in the middle of nowhere. It has stood for a fraction of one century, through through the duration of a third and has gracefully, if not quietly, working on its third.
There were no Y2K worries here at the bottom of southbound exit 32 off Interstate 93 - the red and silver Ludlow fire hydrant needed some help to be compliant through much of the 20th century.
Woodstock fire Chief Bill Mellett has great affection for this hydrant and its mate across town and had been keeping his fingers crossed in the waning days of the 20th century, hoping these two sentinels of safety would survive to see 2000.
The two hydrants were put in place in either 1897 or 1898, which is when the town’s water system was built. The one at the bottom of the exit ramp was for the protection of the grand Deer Park Hotel and the summer railroad station that was across the street. The other, on Route 3, was in sight of the old Alpine Hotel. Both hotels are long gone.
Mellett is also Woodstock’s public works director and knows much of what needs to be known about town. As far as he can recall, the old Deer Park hydrant hasn’t seen any action in nearly 50 years.
``It hasn’t been used since June 23, 1952 - the night the Deer Park burned down,`` he said.
And whether it had seen much action before that night is not known. Mellett is inclined to think that it has only ever been used once.
``The hydrant hasn’t been used for a fire, but it is flushed and shoveled out in the winter and kept maintained,`` he said.
Over the years, the hydrant system around town has been replaced to conform with the 4 1/2 - inch connections on the fire trucks.
``In 1897, there were no fire trucks, so the hydrants had only 2 1/2 -inch connections for fire hoses,`` he said.
The old Deer Park hydrant hasn’t had much to do the past few decades, which is why Mellett has resisted replacing it. But the fire department has the necessary connection should the time ever come when it will be pressed into service.
``It’s `eye-ing` the new Cafe Lafayette Dinner Train across the street,`` Mellett said.
He has no plans to replace the town’s two surviving original hydrants. Besides being nostalgic, Mellett is a good Yankee and can’t see the sense of replacing something that works fine, even if it is entering into its third century.
And that’s a feat for which he has great respect.
``I might make part of two centuries, but I don’t hold out hope for three,`` he said with a laugh.
The January Thaw has relaxed winter’s grip here in North Woodstock. Thanks for coming by and I invite you to use the links below to get on my mailing list.
5:38 a.m.
Jan. 21, 2002
There was more snow than sun last week. With few exceptions - very few exceptions - the sky each day was cast a cold, gun-metal gray, from which snow erupted - from gentle flurries to white-outs.
It gathered on the metal roof of my house, sliding once a day or so, banking it tightly. Aaron plowed several times, piling it up in front and alongside the porch and eastern exposure. My little home is embraced by the snow and on these cold and frosty days, I have little desire to leave it.
But you try not to surrender to white-washed landscape, particularly at night, when all that lights the way, it seems, is a quarter moon. So you pull on layers - turtlenecks and fleece, hats and gloves. The brighter the colors, the more energized you feel.
We did that Wednesday night when celebration called from the black and white world. Cara is counting down to the birth of her first child and we gathered to shower her blankets and rattles and books and cozy stuffed toys.
Alice had warmed her truck up to tropical proportions and off we set to Thornton Gore, where street lights fall away and the darkness is lit up only by warm lamplight punctuating the winter night.
It was a small shower ... with way more food than was necessary for those of us braving into the cold. Generations were represented - Cara’s grandmother, the baby’s grandmothers. Five-week-old Emma was passed gently around tender arms, into those who have rocked and comforted babies now grown and those for whom it remains a curious wonder.
We talked and laughed a lot that night, marveling at tiny socks and little sweaters; amazed at accouterments Cara’s grandmother could hardly dream of. Baby Tower, it seems, is now well prepared for his or her entry into this world.
Before too long, we all bundled up again for our journeys home. Warmed by the comfort of good and kind friends, we hardly noticed the chill.
We do not take with us on our journeys the memories of entire days, but those moments, even the simple ones, that lift us and carry us along. And in this night, we were all buoyed in sharing the joy and anticipation of something new and wonderful, our friendships strengthened and renewed.
Thanks for wading through the deep snow for another visit to North Woodstock, where it’s thigh deep in places. If this is your first visit, welcome! Please sign my guestbook or drop and email so I may add you to the mailing list.
5:46 a.m.
Jan. 14, 2002
It snowed again - hardly news from New Hampshire in January - yet each storm always seems to make news. Erstwhile TV reporters are dispatched into grocery stores and on to the streets in the big city to see how people are coping. Weathermen talk urgently over swirling satellite photos and give their latest, up to the minute predictions.
Here, and by now, we have settled in to the rhythm of winter. Our world is white, to be refreshed every few days. We had snow yesterday that began just after sunrise, small flakes floating silently earthward. And then the wind picked up, clearing tree branches of their loads, drifting millions of flakes around our cars, our homes, anything that can stop the journey.
It snowed Friday night, too, a light, fluffy, weightless snow. Throughout the night, the plows rumbled by, salting and sanding the roads, back and forth, back and forth.
Last week’s snow totaled more than 10 inches by Monday morning. Bo literally jumped off the front steps and swam through it first thing in the morning. I bushwhacked down the driveway through the neat and tidy mantle that came up almost to my knees.
In the cycle of the seasons, what comes around is part of the moment. I look out my window and see simply a blanket of white. The collection of flakes from each and every storm slides off my roof every so often, banking tightly around the house.
I forget that under the snow is a lawn that probably should have been mowed one last time and leaves that should have been gone over one more time with a rake.
In January, the days are short, the nights are long and cold and dark. Within the next month or so, the afternoons will be lighter longer, but I have no doubt that to see it, I will have to look over the snowbanks in front of my windows.
That’s when I will have to remember that under the snow are bulbs that will burst forth into flowers when the snow is gone. That there is a lawn that can be lush and green and annoying ...
...and I will have to ask myself this:
Would I rather be mowing or shoveling?
Welcome back to North Woodstock in deepest darkest January. The nights are long and cold, but as long as you can force yourself out onto the ski slope on sunshiny days, you can find reason to be happy to be here. Come back every week and spend a couple of moments in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.
It’s 18 degrees this morning. Bundle up. It’s winter.
8:47 p.m.
Jan. 6, 2002
Snow is falling tonight, heavy enough so that sounds outside are muted. Wood smoke is in the air and all is quiet this Sunday night, as we dig in for winter.
I went south today and returned north tonight, meeting the snowline just north of Plymouth. My travel lanes were empty, but coming toward me was an endless line of headlights, stretching like lighted beads. I mused, as my car ate up the miles, of children sleeping in the backs of those vehicles and of adults with heavy hearts leaving the north toward their homes.
And as I headed to my home, I did not gloat. Well, not much ...
The holidays are behind us now, tucked away with the Christmas ornaments and the good china. I had a delightful two-week vacation, thank you, that was filled with visits to and from dear friends, blue sky ski days and, even, wonderful and unexpected things.
North Woodstock is a ski town now, bustling with out-of-towners. The tree and lights in the bandstand are dark now, but we have had some cold, clear nights that magnified the stars and moon so much that it there were times it seemed like daylight.
With the New Year are new beginnings in town. Construction is well underway on the new Chalet Restaurant just down the street from here - it really began almost as soon as the flames from the November fire out. A warm December allowed workmen to dig and then pour a new foundation. Jim Fadden, who is building it, said the new restaurant will be much like the old one.
Later this spring, said Jim, who is also a selectman in town, construction will begin on a sewer line installation. At the same time, the Department of Transportation will make some improvements here along Route 112, which cuts through the White Mountain National Forest on its way to Woodsville.
It remains to be seen, he said, whether my ancient maple will survive the roadwork.
For those so inclined, the skiing is fabulous and the snow we are expecting tonight will set things up nicely on the slopes. If you can shake the urge to hibernate, being in line to catch the first chairlift up any mountain is worth it.
Happy New Year from North Woodstock! Thanks so much, faithful readers, for your warm holiday wishes. If you are new to these pages, be sure to sign the guestbook or drop an email so I may put you on my mailing list. For my local readers, send along your news - readership stretches across the country.
See you next week.