One thing that Jim and I have in common is our love of autumn. This past week, we took a drive through the North Country of New Hampshire, and there, the leaves are glorious! What splendiferous examples of God’s paintbrush at work, in colors of yellow, crimson, orange, and red, juxtaposed again the many Evergreen and Fir trees. I noticed that some of the roadside ferns were yellow, others rust-colored, and still others a deep mauve, and I wondered about the reason for the variations.

The day was rainy, off and on, and fog obscured the tops of the mountains. The fields were a vibrant green in places where they had been fertilized and farmed for hay. We saw one large working dairy farm, with Holsteins, and several pastures with Swiss cows, with their distinctive markings. A white chicken was keeping two horses company.

Amusingly, we passed a “Moose Tour” bus. Do the drivers know something we don’t know? Maybe there are a few trained moose who stick their noses out of the bushes, just as the bus passes? Or maybe they hire some kids to push a faux moose forward so that it can be seen, just for the delight of the viewers.

In all the years I have lived in New Hampshire, I have seen three Moose. One was running around a swampy area north of Keepsake Quilting (in Center Harbor). One was in the middle of the road of my home town, Deerfield, at dusk. The other was browsing vegetation by the side of the road in Jackson, NH. Oh, and one more: I saw a moose crossing a field in northern Maine, but that is Maine. That’s it. Four live moose have I seen. And here these city slicker tourists come to my state and expect to see a moose in the same day … and while riding a large “Moose Tour” bus that any self-respecting moose could see a mile away.

Well, around the time we spotted the bus, we were feeling hungry. Stopping at one of two restaurants in the nearest town, we were greeted by a sign that they were out of mooseburgers! What a shame, huh? I took a bet on this restaurant because I could see so many old people sitting inside. I figured they had good taste. Now, I wish we’d packed a lunch. I scoured the menu, looking for something that was priced under $14.99 or $16.99. I settled on a tuna roll at about $5.00, and a cup of Fish Chowder at ?.

The tuna roll was not grilled. In fact, it appeared that the tuna was plunked into the roll directly, sans celery or mayo. At least, it was edible. The Fish Ran Through It Chowder looked menacing and was not at all warm. The milk was very thin, and like reconstituted milk, you know, watery. I did see a few tiny chunks of potato, but everything considered, I told the waitress to take it back. I am not a fussy eater, generally-speaking, but I’ve learned to trust my instincts.

After being given the wrong amount of change, five dollars in the waitress’ favor, we didn’t feel like staying there any long, so we just considered the rip off an overabundant tip. Heading south from Errol, we pulled off the road a few times and were so glad we did. There was a lovely waterfall, and a wayside marker, set beside a cemetery of some early settlers who perished there. We wondered if the small stones without markings, in the same fenced area, were there to designate the graves of children.

In Lancaster, we visited a little antique shop that had interesting items but nothing I needed or wanted. The main goal of “getting away for the day” was accomplished and enjoyed by both of us. The trouble is coming home again to face all of everything that constantly needs doing. After seeing how badly someone can botch soup making, I now feel like making some good Fish Chowder, my mother’s recipe. That always falls within the category of “comfort food.”

This week is “peak foliage” for northern New Hampshire and Vermont. The leaves, the brisk air, and the overall look of fall landscapes are a wonderful experience. While you are at it, stop at an orchard and buy some apples or pumpkins. Unlike squirrels, we do not have to gather up nuts for the cold winter, but we can gather memories of beautiful trees, and a special time that comes but once a year.

Patricia Cummings

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