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Sunday, February 7, 2010

Seven Years Of Small Town Living

I love my small town!

New London, NH a NY Times Best Destination

I have for the entire time we’ve lived here. 

Seven years ago, this month to be as close to exact s I can. We came to New London for the first time when the company my husband was interviewing with invited to spend the weekend and check out area. We drove through down Main Street and fell in love. The snow was heavy that winter. We awoke to 13 inches of bright white snow. We drove all around the town, down snow covered dirt roads, looked at houses, dreamed of all the new possibilities and fell in love with New Hampshire. 

My husband moved up at the end of April, the kids and I arrived the day we closed on the sale of our home in Connecticut. We moved into a rental. A safe bet, until we found just the right home for us. 

Our first summer in New London was just wonderful. Our days were spent at the beach; sunset swims and picnics whenever we wanted. Weekends were spent exploring the state. It was the most relaxed summer we’ve ever had.

Then winter struck!

Winter can get to you. Frost heaves the size of Mt Washington, potholes you could swim in if they weren’t frozen solid, sand ground into the carpet, and road salt making jagged rings on your favorite boots. Not the wonderland we remembered from the winter trip the year before.

Now seven winters later - I still wouldn’t trade it all in. It might be February 2, and we are certain to have more snow, but try as I might to get over it all, I would miss this place. I don’t remember exactly when it became home to me. The moment that matters most, is the moment I realized I wanted to call this place my home for the remainder of my life.

Even on the winter days when the people I like the most really get under my skin like a jagged splinter from the woodpile. When words spew forth without a filter from their lips, because cabin fever has set in, and everyone is irritable and waiting for the thaw. Small scandals grow ripe for gossip and even friends get snippy.

I wrote a poem about it.


Sometimes it’s hard to stay friends 
under an umbrella for one.
Bird’s constant chirping 
about this friend, that friend. Gossip
growing old, growing cold, mean.

Frog can’t decide, stay and 
listen, go and share. Rain like tears, 
glisten as Bird prattles on. 
Talks of Duck’s tail, Squirrel’s hoarding.

Mouse takes a chance on friendship.
Robin, stop! Our friends 
are who they are. Bird you are 
flibbertigibbet. Everyone says so. 
Robin blinks, thinks and stops.

Frog smiles.

On these days I think about why we chose to live here, and, I try very hard to find something good in everyone. To come up with an excuse as to why they are acting or saying the things they are. 

I don’t always succeed!

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