The Silence of the North

Priscille and I have been vacationing in what people hereabouts call “up north,” in the environs of Meredith, Center Harbor, and Moultonborough, New Hampshire. 

These communities are only a few of the many small, yet numerous towns huddled in nature’s nooks and crannies about thirty miles south of the White Mountain National Forest. 

They are hard-working, resort towns that hug the craggy, irregular, granite encrusted shores of Lake Winnipesaukee, a 70-plus square mile remnant of the last glacial period, a body of water that one of Center Harbor’s eighteenth century luminaries – in typically understated Yankee fashion – referred to as “the big pond.”