This is the road you have to drive if you visit the White Mountains.
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The Notch was famous for The Old Man in the Mountain, a natural stone outcropping that resembled a face. Sadly, it crumbled years ago but there’s a museum devoted to it at the Canon Mountain gondola sight where you can grab a glimpse.
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Peak foliage was long past when we drove through and everything looked very grey.
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But it’s still an impressive sight.
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And a huge tourist destination.
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This was the road the day we drove it. Below was the road two weeks before…
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There’s something to be said for traveling off season. No traffic jams for us.
Heading back to the resort for the last time it looked like there was a hole in the sky…
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And before long we were approaching the Notch.
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These signs are on both entrance sides to the road and it took me a few minutes to figure out what they were talking about.
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TT’s won’t fit?
How odd.
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As we entered the Notch, rain. I swear the mountains make their own weather.
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Godzilla barfing?
No, just falling rocks.
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Not sure if you can tell from the photo, but the road is positively pink. Vermont has the oddest color tar in places. Perhaps it’s mixed with Ben and Jerry’s Strawberry Shortcake…?
Since our neighbor was caring for Lord Dudley Mountcatten… as well as feeding the fox and deer.. a thank you gift was required. This meant dragging my husband shopping and you know if it isn’t antiques he isn’t happy.
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A bottle of local Vermont wine…
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And some Vermont chocolates were perfect, but then I lost the husband in the store.
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You knew he’d find something vintage, right?
He actually collects these old gas station oil bottles and was thrilled to find a complete set with the holder. He was less than thrilled to find they were being used as decoration and not for sale.
He was so grumpy about that he wouldn’t let me go back and purchase this special maple syrup.
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Which in hindsight was probably a good thing…
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Because as soon as I saw they had various Dog liquor I wanted one of each.
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But at nearly $200 for the pair it’s a good thing they were under lock and key.
Another few days of sweat equity and my husband is still at it.
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His dedication to the rehab of the discarded free furniture is actually quite impressive. Shame he doesn’t show the same enthusiasm for my honey do list, but what can I say? Things you don’t have to do are always more rewarding.
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The six chairs turned out to be more of a job than he bargained for but the result was a definite improvement.
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But here’s where it got amusing… at least for me. My husband went to a craft store and purchased fabric to recover the cushions.
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Did he choose a nice quality, attractive fabric? Of course not, he’s a man. But it was fresh and clean…. and standing to the side watching him play seamstress was priceless.
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Look at that cute little Suzy Homemaker.
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Okay, there was a hammer for fine tuning… Martha Stewart he’s not. But even I had to admit the results made a difference.
I admit to taking a selfie now and then, usually when we go somewhere wonderful… but mainly because I have a husband who never takes pictures. Ever. It’s a harmless if slightly narcissistic endeavor, and my mother is dead… so if not me, who?
Then there’s the Instagram crowd. The influencers. The vapid youth of today who get paid ridiculous sums for photos that go viral. They’ll go to any lengths to get a breathtaking selfie and call me cold hearted, but I rarely feel bad when I read they fall into the Grand Canyon or off a speeding train.
Which is probably why I cringed when I read this article.
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I have been to Le Gorges du Verdon and it was fabulous. Mainly because there was no one else there.
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The husband, a friend and I drove through the French Alps for a solid 10 hours and saw only one other person. A sheep herder with his flock. It was beyond marvelous.
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That’s me sitting on the wall filing my nails waiting for the husband to climb back up from below.
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The gorge was wild and wonderful. Unspoiled nature ruled.
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As did the goats.
We visited in the early 90’s. The fact that’s it now jam packed with insipid, shallow Instagram tourists breaks my heart. And I bet the goats don’t like it either.
Because my husband never likes to rush things he moved around to the back side of the baby barn yesterday to complete the gutter installation…. 12 days after he did the front. Better late than never is his middle name.
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Did things go more smoothly on the flip side?
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They did not.
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Miscalculation on length left him with two short pieces instead of the one long piece he needed which meant yet another trip to Lowes for additional connectors. Sigh.
Was the finished gutter line straight and true?
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Not quite, but it doesn’t leak. That’s probably as much as I can hope for.
And if you’re wondering just how dry it’s been here?
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Dry enough for the husband to a pan under the downspout to catch the small amount of rain we got last night.
Please note the green you see is all weeds. Most of the grass is still brown.
Too many antique stores, too little time. Not to mention money.
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Mantiques? That sounded like trouble…. and as soon as we walked through the door of the large converted barn I feared my checkbook might not survive.
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1939 Rockola Art Deco juke box with unusual pop up speaker? Fabulous! The husband drooled on behalf of the man cave, but I broke his heart and refused to fork over $9,995.00.
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You know it’s not your every day thrift store when you see things like this.
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Embalming pump? That’s a coffee table piece sure to spark scintillating conversations.
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Any ideas what that is…?
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Apparently pumps of all sorts are popular.
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I got a huge kick out of the price tag description on this item.
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Lock the kids in the sweat box. That’ll keep ‘em quiet.
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If a naked blonde doesn’t encourage Junior to save his pennies, nothing will.
Three full floors of amazing items later we almost made it out the door without purchasing anything and then…
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The husband fell in love.
A long conversation with the owner followed. Photos of the Barn Mahal were shared, placement of the item was discussed. Meanwhile, I sought the price tag…
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And while slightly less painful than the first jukebox, it was still a tad more than I planned on spending that day.
Husband eyes were flashing that “I have to own it!” look and yours truly had to do some quick thinking.
A jukebox.
From 1946?
It only played 78’s!
Perry Como, Doris Day, Mitch Miller, Bing Crosby? Not man cave music. Nope. Not even close.
Phew! That was close.
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Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
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