I feel so lucky to be living in New Hampshire. We are a small state filled with big hearts and giant minds and lots of creativity. From the so-called “Granite Hills” which are really not “hills” at all but very adequately-sized mountains, to the pebbles on the sands of Hampton Beach, Rye Beach, or Salisbury Beach, we “rock” and we are a people with which to be reckoned.
New Englanders, in general, are known for their independent spirit, their entrepreneurial skills, and their depth of creative perception. After all, such hearty souls as Daniel Webster, William Loeb, and Robert Frost, all lived here. They all spoke their minds, and I am sure that kind of attitude has rubbed off on a lot of us, including me! Sculptors, painters, novelists and many other creative souls have called this state, “home.”
Having been “invaded” many times before, by the quebecois who came to work in the mills from the Canadian countryside, and the Irishmen who made their way north, from the port of Boston, seeking freedom from discrimination, other ethnic groups have also molded New Hampshire into a proverbial “melting pot.”
In the capitol city of Concord, alone, one can choose to eat at a dozen or more Chinese restaurants, or perhaps go to an Australian one, or to a Japanese Sushi Bar, or to the many Greek and/or Italian restaurants in the city, not to mention several Mexican ones. Yes, the Capitol is not short of eateries, of all descriptions. Some serve “real” NH maple syrup!
You know, growing up in a small town, (where I was not born), I learned that the definition of a “newcomer” is someone whose family has not lived in town for a span of several generations. I found out that my family was accepted, but only marginally so. We were, after all, city people. The men in the family did not spit into a spitoon, nor smoke cigars, whether Cuban or not. They had to learn to plow a field but used a tractor, not a team of horses.
The most amazing story I ever heard, as a teenager, was that of Ozra “Ozzie” Dutton. He lived alone on a farm and he kept animals, including steers (or were they bulls?). At any rate, one day, Ozra was gored by one of these animals and the horn ripped up his stomach in a bad way. He hitched up his horses to a wagon, after having tied a towel around his waist, and he drove to the nearest hospital, which, at that time, was Exeter Hospital, a 45 minute drive by car, today.
The doctors fixed him up, and he got back in his wagon, drove his horses home, and lived to be in his nineties. That is the kind of country character that is to me quintessentially New England.
Truth be known, the natives of New Hampshire are tough as nails. The climate makes us that way, and the example that our neighbors set only solidifies our resolve to conquer the elements, tame the beasts, and put the world (or your teeth?) on edge with our far-reaching thoughts.
I knew there was a reason why politicians and their advocates come knocking on our “doors” so often, come election time. They are waiting and hoping for an endorsement. The theory seems to be the same one from a TV cereal commercial: “If Mikey likes it, it has to be good!” If New Hampshire approves, the politician just might be a “shoo-in” for the next president!
I simply reiterate: New Hampshire “rocks!”
Patricia Cummings
