Leaf Peeping in the White Mountains

All these years we have been talking about going leaf peeping and we finally did it. In early October we drove up to New Hampshire looking for some colorful foliage.

Our ambitious plans involved hiking the entire 9 miles of the Franconia Ridge Loop, an extremely popular hike, hailed to be one of the best in New England.

Always reluctant to get up early, we had to improvise a spot in the trailhead parking. Despite the day being rather overcast, we were not alone, when we started hiking along the Old Bridle Path. As we gained elevation, the sun started peeking out from the clouds lighting up the golden valley below.


Views from the Old Bridle Path

As we surmounted the “three agonies” on our way to the Greenleaf Hut, we found ourselves and the path well hidden from view by a milky fog. We have reached the clouds.

The Greenleaf Hut was buzzing with hikers. Everything (everything! including garbage) has to be carried in and out of the hut along the same hiking trail we just climbed. Yet for just a couple bucks, the hut crew offered hikers freshly made cookies, and bread, and even hot potato soup, which Nick and I could not resist despite having packed enough food for twelve.

More Views from the Old Bridle Path

It was while sitting in the comfort of the hut and enjoying the steaming peppery potato soup that we decided to turn back. It was almost 2 o’clock in the afternoon and we have only covered about a third of the journey we originally planned. Hidden in the clouds, the ridge did not promise clear views of the landscape. The waters of Dry Brook were at least knee high. If we continued onto the loop, we would have to cross this brook several times, and the idea of wading through icy waters just did not sound as appealing as it usually does.

Dry Brook at the end of the Falling Waters Trail,
which we did not hike

Our descent along the Old Bridle Path was not necessarily made easier by gravity, as we clambered down large smooth rocks. Nevertheless we safely made it back as the sun started to set over the White Mountains. Despite the last minute route change, we deemed our hike a great success.

Colorful Boston

I went out for a nice walk today for no reason other than it was a beautiful day. I followed Dartmouth Street to the Esplanade and sat around for a little while enjoying the water. Then I headed to the Public Gardens, wondered by the "Ducklings" saddled by little kids, and climbed onto the Beacon Hill.

"Golden Autumn"

It is the time of golden autumn in Boston. Who in the world says “golden autumn”, or “golden fall” for that matter. Certainly no native English speaker does. Yet this wonderful metaphor is widely used in the Russian language to describe that magical time of the year when the sun still warms your face, but the early morning air chills. The trees shimmer in the breeze, their yellow and orange leaves sparkling in the last rays of the sun.

Fall is here. Bostonians are back from the Cape, and you no longer have to wonder where everyone went while driving down Mass Pike. Kids grew taller in the summer sun, and Susie Baby is back behind the wheel of her yellow school bus scooping them up from the Natick front yards. Walnut Hill School teens too have returned, tan and bright eyed, and their gossip and giggles fill up the quiet morning commuter trains.

Apples are crisp, and pumpkins are out. The Russians head out to Cape Cod to pick wild mushrooms, and I dream of Christmas and apple pie. Soon the chill in the air will turn to frost, and the trees will shed their colorful dresses. Winter will be here in no time, and I will be a little older still.