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February 27, 2002
The Olympics are always captivating, but this year, the competition was even more so here in the White Mountains, as we all watched with enthusiasm and hope a native son.
Franconia is just up the road from North Woodstock and through its namesake Notch. The population of the town is 850, give or take. And it was agog for two weeks as it watched and waited for the runs of Bode Miller.
The standout of the Games ended up winning two silver medals in skiing. In his third event, the event in which everyone who knows him said he would win the gold, he did not. When he fell, he got up, climbed back to the gate and went from there. A class act he was.
For a couple of weeks, Franconia was in the news, as anchors and reporters told the story of Bode Miller and his humble roots in neighboring Easton. To the amusement of most and the consternation of few, much was made of the fact that there was an outdoor privy at the home where he was raised.
And during those weeks, the residents of Franconia, Easton and Sugar Hill proudly hung out signs and banners, rooting Miller to victory. In the spirit of his background, Mike Ford at Franconia Hardware put up at the front of his store a silver painted toilet seat and had others waiting in the back room, ready to be painted whatever color Millers next medal would be.
Miller ran his races during the day, but they were not broadcast until prime time. There were two camps in Franconia these past two weeks - those who wanted to know how he fared the minute his race was over and those who wanted to wait and watch it play out on the television. In the end, though, there were probably very few who could hold out that long - the news spread like a wildfire through the little communities.
What was nice about observing all this was the enthusiasm and affection everyone had for a kid they remembered as fearless on the slopes. But that wasnt all. They talked about his golf game and tennis prowess and how money raised at the Village Store through the sale of T-shirts bearing his likeness would be donated to New Hampshires Special Olympics.
On television, it looked like Miller was in the starting gate all by himself. But when he shot out of there, he took downhill with him the hopes and dreams of an entire community - the hopes and dreams they had for him ... and had had for many years.
How nice that was to see.
We took a little detour out of North Woodstock this time around. You are cordially invited to drop by now and then to catch the news from little town in New Hampshires White Mountains. If you would like to know when this page is updated, please drop an email or sign the guestbook using the links below.
We had a taste of spring yesterday, but winter came rushing back to freshen and the landscape and excite us for another day of skiing.
Feb. 12, 2002
Valentine’s Day is a day or two away and what is coming to mind is the marriage proposal my friend, Betty, made just before Christmas.
At 90, Betty is a pistol, in possession of every faculty and every marble she has ever possessed. If you know her, the word `cantankerous` may come to mind, but she has mellowed in the past few years and for those she knows and trusts, her friendship is a treasure.
While the mind is still strong, her body has failed. Married for more than 65 years, Betty and her late husband, Ed, never had children. She has no living relatives and for the past two years, she has lived in a nursing home, some 35 miles from her beloved home in Lincoln. She has the affection of a compassionate nursing staff. I visit her as often as I can and look out for her affairs. But that is no substitute for longtime friends, the sort we all have and hold dear, the ones who have been with us for most of our journeys and with whom we share a common history.
She does have one old-time friend. Chick worked with Betty’s husband at the mill half their lifetimes ago. The two men were friends, sharing an interest in hunting and fishing. The three ended up living at the local elderly housing apartments and when Ed died a few years ago, Betty and Chick became even firmer friends.
Chick now lives in a nursing home about 20 miles from Betty. When we can get them together, we do. The first question Betty asks is ``How’s Chick?`` For the record, Chick doesn’t ask after Betty, but will all but beam when her name is mentioned.
We brought Chick to see Betty just before Christmas. Betty is not one for subtlety and no sooner had Chick sat down when she told him she was lonely and would he marry her? Chick, who never married, sort of grunted non-committedly and Betty just shrugged and asked him to think about it.
It is not a torturous love story, or one with bells and fireworks. It’s affection and connection and friendship and holding on to all of that well into the twilight years. In our lives, friends may come and go ... but some will stay for a very long time.
Happy Valentine’s Day from North Woodstock, where Cupid would be well advised to bundle up in fleece before venturing forth with his bow and arrow. Thanks for coming by for another visit and as always, you are welcome to pass this on to your friends, sign my guest book or drop an email.
The day job is just about ready to come into its busiest time of the year, so `A Season in North Woodstock` will be scaling back for the next month or so to every other week. Or so. Send your news, your memories, your questions and comments by using the links below.
Feb. 4, 2002
Punxsutawney Phil could have kept slumbering Saturday. We could have told him winter is nowhere near giving up its grip!!
Jack Frost opened his bag of tricks on Thursday, letting loose about 8 inches of snow in a storm that dragged on for about 36 hours. That would have been fine, had he not pulled out freezing rain and sleet. The result was a white mass of concrete that was so delightful to shovel.
It took a day or so for the ski groomers to crunch it all out. Our friends at Cannon said Saturday was a challenge, but by yesterday morning, the trails were corduroy in the early morning sun and the skiing was fast. Very, very fast ...
For those of you who don’t know, my day job is as a mild-mannered reporter for a daily newspaper, covering northern New Hampshire, from here to the Canadian border. Sometimes the editors call on me to take pictures and that’s what happened on Tuesday.
They asked me to go skiing and take pictures. I know, I know ... tough job.
So I met up with the outdoor writer from the paper and Boo Blodgett, a ski instructor at Loon Mountain. Boo is from North Woodstock. He photographs nicely.
We skied in some rather pasty conditions, but it was warm enough to leave the gloves off. Not a bad day’s work.
In other news from North Woodstock, Cara Towers had her baby. How much little Ainsley weighed, how long and all those other details I do not know. But mother and daughter are fine.
Jim Fadden says he’s planning to start sugaring by the end of the month. He’s got a sugar house in the middle of town, so it will be easy to see by the plume of steam whether he is. I have not, however, seen any sap buckets around town. Yet.
January is history in North Woodstock and the days are getting longer now. We saw some gorgeous alpenglow at sunset Saturday. When the conditions are right and air is clear, the fading daylight reflects on the snow-capped, going from a translucent pink, right down the spectrum to the deepest mauve, before the indigo of night blankets the mountains and the world.
Thank you for stopping by again and feel free to pass this site on to your friends, wherever they may be. To get on the mailing list, use the links below and come by again next week.