The architecture of fire towers is pretty simple, stark and functional. With the exception of the glorious stone tower at Weeks State Park in Lancaster in New Hampshire’s north country, they all look pretty much the same, distinguished only by the number of antennae and dishes attached. But oh, the wonderful hikes I’ve had to each one of these towers … with more to come.
I walked to Naticook Lake again this week – a familiar place to me in summer, but I’d never really noticed it in autumn before, so every recent walk there has been a little journey of re-discovery. I came across it in the oddest light late in the day. I saw the last of the colorful leaves floating on the lake, so out came the camera phone for a quick shot. When I reviewed the photo later, there was this muted hazy look. The camera itself was fine; other shots taken that day were sharp as could be. Somehow, I had caught the light on the lake at just the right time for this almost-smudgy look. I used a high-resolution setting, with Auto exposure and no adjustments to white balance.
The park has grown quiet with the athletic field no longer humming with youth football, now wrapped up for the season. Too cold for tennis, I guess, since the courts have been empty on my recent visits. I share the lakeshore with only a couple of people at a time, all of us just passing by on our walks, shedding our workdays one step at a time.
I live in a textured place. Nothing dramatic or showy, but interesting. Hills here, watercourses there, ledge all over the place: it adds up to very few straight roads and not nearly enough bridges for convenience. The Nashua River in southern New Hampshire could use a few more bridges, and if you don’t believe me, try driving through Nashua during rush hour. Hollis, the next town upstream, is a much quieter place. It gets by quite comfortably with one bridge over the river, connecting a small quiet town with a much busier one. There’s something about this bridge, though, that speaks to me less about connection than about rest and pause. I wouldn’t be surprised if someday I saw a sign here saying Don’t be in such a hurry to get from here to there. Stop awhile.
A few short weeks ago, this was the view of Blueberry Island from a park near my New Hampshire home. Fall was coming. I knew that within days I’d be wearing a sweater and raking the lawn (and I was right), but on this particular afternoon, something drew me to this dock, a three-mile walk from my house. It’s on the town beach at Wasserman Park on Naticook Lake. I used to take my kids here for swimming lessons every summer. This is where my son got a trophy at the cardboard boat race the library used to sponsor. In this park is the nagging little hill that I used for uphill intervals as I trained for my first half-marathon. Near the beach is the community tennis court where my mother-in-law liked to take her grandchildren.
I remember when our town acquired this land. A family that had operated a summer camp on the site for many years offered the land for a ridiculously low price, and at town meeting, residents voted to accept the offer. I didn’t know then how much time I’d be spending at the park and its trails and its little beach.
On this day, camera in hand, I simply stood on the dock and breathed in the early-fall air at the end of a workday. The place, the view, the sheer delight of not having to be anywhere else: I was home.
Granite State Walker 