verge (vʉrj)
the edge, brink, or margin (of something): also used figuratively the verge of the forest, on the verge of hysteria

to tend or incline (to or toward)
to be in the process of change or transition into something else; pass gradually (into) dawn verging into daylight

Friday, May 27, 2011

Passing North

Columbia, NH

We hit the road yesterday.  I didn't know the definition of north until we started driving.  I used to think Concord, NH was pretty far north.  Ha.  Turns out Concord is practically in the tropics.  But it was a fascinating trip.  The plan was to travel to the birthplace of Pam's mother and grandparents, and to see what we would find there.

For me, it was a chance to see the north country and get a glimpse of rural life.  We drove so many miles, winding our way through the mountain passes and between the Notches, rarely passing cars, houses, or pedestrians.  The mountains and valleys were breathtaking, and a little daunting. It takes as long to get out of there as it does to get in! Political activism is alive and well in Northern New Hampshire as we passed many signs protesting the Northern Pass (Kiss My Ass, Live Free or Fry) Project.  I saw my first moose (so he was dead, but it still counts...), and I experienced what seemed to be the edge of the earth at 50 mph on the Dixville Notch State Park Highway. My stomach is still reminding me...

Moose Alley

What I treasured most was the way Pam pointed out childhood landmarks and scenes from her mother's childhood.  It was an important trip, and we found Mary's home and dairy farm, cruised the streets of Colebrook and had a lovely lunch at Howard's, the place where Pam's parents met years ago.  The highlight was the cemetery where Pam's grandparents are buried.  It took only a little hunting before Pam found her family's plot. With a gentle breeze and the scent of lilacs, it was a lovely spot and quiet moment.

The best part of this entire adventure was the conversation that wove its way from mile marker 22 (roughly) to mile marker 874 (yes, an exaggeration) where we practically kissed Canada (but not quite), and back again to mile marker 22.  We spanned everything from Mary's childhood to our own aging bodies and mortality. The day passed quickly and we laughed or sometimes said nothing. In a solitary lifespan found in the solitary northern wilderness, companionship became the highway.  I have an amazing friend. It will always be one of my favorite days.

1 comment:

  1. This is just the nicest thing you have ever written...thank you my friend.