22 September 2011
454
R. Linda:
As I sit here looking out the loft window of my home office, I see the leaves have a tint of yellow and red. Fall be here, most definitely. The 'leaf peepers' will be up from the lower 48 to cruise in large buses the beauty that be New England in the fall. They will file into the quaint historic homes that have been turned into bed and breakfasts and will enjoy the hospitality of the innkeepers. After a day of colourful scenery, they will come in and have a hot dinner with Sally Lunn bread, and homemade cranberry sauce served with a roast turkey and all the trimmings. So New England. Later after warm apple pie with ice cream, they will be off to the common room, nursing their hot cider where they will gather around the fire and the innkeeper, if he be a jolly one, will regale them with stories of the area.
I had occasion to be working the political scene of primary hopefuls running around northern New Hampshire spouting off what they will do for the country if elected, and since I was far from me own abode, I had booked such a b & b and found meself among the leaf peeper population. Now, R. Linda, this particular breed of tourist be unique, in that most are older citizens, most from the states of New York, New Jersey, and Delaware with a smattering of Floridians. They come from all over they do, and they just love the idea of Currier and Ives' paintings coming to life through the windows of a tour bus. I had been out for a day of following Mitt Romney around; me microphone waving at him, me shouting out questions until me voice was a hoarse whisper, me snapping pictures of the folks shaking his hand and the fun part, me being jostled about by the competing news teams. After a day of THAT I was ready to go to the booked b & b and have a hot meal and some relaxation I was.
So once I had packed it up (as we say in the biz), off I took me down a winding dirt road, no street lights (very few in the entire state) slowly picking me way trying to find the place, one Bookman's Tavern and b & b. Well, it had started to rain, and the wind was up making the visibility that much more difficult, but eventually I saw lights ahead and there be a bus parked out to the side and the sign was swinging in the wind heralding I had arrived at the correct address. I parked me motor, locked it up, took what I needed, and putting me collar up to fend off the elements I headed inside.
Right away I walked into a cozy hallway where stairs were directly in front, and to the side an enclosed counter where a guest would sign the register. There was a cheery woman dressed in colonial grab which I found simply charming. I immediately felt as if I had walked back in time. Well, she registered me, had a young man (also in colonial garb) take me bag up to me room and told me I was just in time for dinner, so taking me coat she showed me to a place along a long table filled with LEAF PEEPERS! Yes, I was seated among them and it was like the vicar had arrived! I was treated very graciously and had me fill off food and cider and was treated to a delightful chat. These leaf peepers had stories to tell for instance one peeper wanted a good shot of a valley and leaned a little too far over the precipice and if it wasn't for six other nearby peepers, probably would have got that shot as they fell over the side, but for being saved! Then there was the story about another who left his camera on the bus and ran back to get it and got much more than their camera, but an introduction to a bull moose who happened to wander up to the bus stop. There was some interest by both on the other and the bus driver was waving (with doors closed) for the peeper to RUN, but the peeper had no clue how aggressive a bull moose could be and continued to walk toward the gigantic beast with hand held out with a cracker fish as an offering. OH MY GOD! Well, after a bit of running between parked cars with the bellowing beast coming horns at him, the peeper made his way to the bus where the driver opened the doors long enough to get him in and shut them fast as Mr. Moose came barreling around. Well, there are a few scratches on those doors thanks to moose trying to get on the bus as well. I got to tell ya, I was sitting there thinking, precipice, moose equals stupid.
Once pie and coffee were over the innkeeper told us all to come into the common room for some hot apple cider and tales to be told. I had enough harrowing tales to last me from these leaf peepers, but I found meself being moved forward by two old ladies who had taken a "cotton" to me, whatever that means. They were from Florida and had never met or seen an Irishman before, so I was a novelty. Yes, I was. Seems to happen to me a lot.
Let me give you an idea of this scene. There were about twenty-five peepers, a newlywed couple, and me. The room we were herded into be large and decorated with fall berries, leaves, flowers, and lots of candles. It was all candle lit for the mood and there was a fire going in the big hearth. We all had tankards of spiced cider and had taken seats wherever we could find them and the innkeeper, who looked to me like Ben Franklin, dressed in his colonial garb, from long vest to stockings and buckle shoes, told us about the area and what it was known for and that we were not far from the notch where the Willie family were all killed in a huge mudslide. A few ghostly tales were told until some idiot spoke up and asked about the old colonial house we were all cozily enjoying. Was there a tale about it? Well, of course, there was!
Seems the house was built in 1680, it was smaller then and was built by a gentleman from Sheffield, England who had come with his wife and small child to make his way in the New World. What he found be that the wilds of New Hampshire, with the wildlife, the Indians, and such were more hostile than if he had settled in the milder environs and climate of say old Virginia. But he was determined to make his fortune. He found the land yielded little more than rocks, so farming was out of the question, he bought some goats and sheep, but the wolves soon carried them off. With not much to put up that fall, he worried mightily how the winter would be. Well, before long the entire family was snowed in. The nearest family was over 30 miles away, therefore, it looked bleak for the threesome. Starving, and not being able to get out, the daughter, a child of two succumbed to life and left her parents heartbroken. They could not bury her as the ground was under 5' of snow and hard as iron. They had to take her out and leave her in the old water trough and then bury her in the snow so the animals wouldn't get her. There were nights when the wind and the snow were fierce and the poor mother thought she heard her daughter banging on the door to come in. This upset the husband as it was no more than a broken board. He affixed the board the best he could but it came loose more times than he could count and each time it would bang he had all he could do to restrain his wife from opening the door.
Before the winter was over the wife too died. The husband, just skin and bones took her out to the water trough as well. He removed the snow and there was his daughter completely preserved as if she had died only an hour before. He placed his wife next to her and buried them both in the snow and took himself back inside. The banging of the board was louder than before that night, he had no resolve left to fix it. The wind howled and he thought he heard the voices of his wife and daughter moaning to let them in they were cold. He knew it was an illusion of his starvation, but at times he was convinced it was truly them, and came several times (his hand on the door handle), ready to open it, but each time was prevented by a large crash at the back of the house. What that was he did not know, but it would take his focus off the wind and the door and he'd shuffle to the sound. He stood still listening, but nothing more would he hear.
About midnight the cold bad, and the wood all gone, he got down the last drop of whiskey and medicine for hoof disease he had for one of the ill-forsaken goats, and wanting to end it all, he sat contemplating his end by candlelight when a knock sounded on the door. This time the knock was different, there were no voices and unsure, he sat still staring at the door. The knock came again, and with shaking hands, he lifted the candle and walked toward the sound. He placed the candle out of the wind and opened the door timidly. There he saw a dark figure bundled up against the wind, "Could you spare me a seat at your table?" a masculine voice asked.
The husband let the man in and gestured to the table. Closing the wind out he went to pick up the candle, "Please sir, if ye will just leave that where it is, I'd be most obliged."
Not wanting to offend, the husband left the candle by the door and sat opposite the stranger.
"I have nothing to offer to you," he said.
"Ye can give me that drop of whiskey and I'll be on my way." The stranger said.
The husband stared at the bundled-up man, only his eyes visible. There was something strange about them, they were bright and a very light blue, as if they were what lit the room instead of the candle. Reluctantly he slid the glass toward the stranger and the man took it and drank it down.
"You are welcome to stay the night," the husband said unsure what he should offer as he did not know the man or his intent for being in so remote a place at the midnight hour.
"No, I cannot. I have a message for you though."
"A message?" The husband repeated astounded.
"Ye are not to drink that." The stranger pointed to the bottle of hoof medicine. "Yer wife and daughter said not tonight."
With that, he got up and without another word let himself out. The husband sat in stunned silence and once he got his wits about him jumped up and opened the door after the stranger, but no one did he see. A blast of wind snowed in on him making him fasten the door tight, just managing to save the candle from going out. Shaking he sat back down at his table and contemplated what the stranger said. He put his head down in his arms and sobbed himself to sleep.
It was the next morning he was awakened by another knock on the door. Staggering he went to answer it and there was his neighbour from 30 miles yonder.
"Joseph, I was worried you'd get snowed in, I have a sleigh and bought you and your family supplies. I would have been here sooner but for an avalanche. Unfortunately, I have a victim in the sleigh from such." The neighbour said, handing Joseph a bundle of foodstuffs and leading the way inside the house. "Where is young Josette and your wife?"
Joseph broke down and told his good neighbour what had happened and blamed his stupidity on not being better prepared. The neighbour was sympathetic and once he had the particulars, suggested Joseph try to regain his strength and leave with him. But Joseph didn't want to leave the corpses of his loved ones. With some solid reasoning, the neighbour was able to convince Joseph he'd come back with him just before the thaw and get them and see that a proper burial was had.
"I think it would benefit us to move quicker if I leave this man I found with them," the neighbour said.
Joseph wouldn't hear of not helping to place the body in the snow but the shock of what he saw was almost too much for him to bear. For as they began to lift the frozen body from the sleigh, Joseph immediately recognised the man as the stranger who had given him the message from his wife and daughter.
"Why this man was at my house not a night ago," he said.
"Impossible, he's been dead five days, and five days I've had him in the sleigh."
As the tale ends, Joseph did come back to the house with his neighbour before the thaw, they got the bodies and brought them to the nearest town where proper burials did take place. But for all that, Joseph swore the man who was killed by the avalanche did indeed visit him with his wife's message.
Well, that put a damper on me nerves it did, and as it is with New Yorkers who have a need to know where exactly in the house this took place, the innkeeper answered her.
"This was the room where all occurred. That door to the hallway was the door to outside, but as you can see this old house has been added onto throughout the years." And answer to yet another question, "Yes, some guests have heard knocking but there is never anyone there, and it happens mostly on stormy nights when a woman and a child are seen wearing the clothing of that era. They disappear up the stairs." Yup, they do. Great. "None of you believe in ghosts though do you?" The innkeeper laughed, and everyone nervously laughed, that no they didn't. Just me!
Me room was just above the common room, yes it was and did I get any sleep, no and why? Because the entire night we had wind and rain and the shutter banged against the side of the house outside me window the whole of the night. I had dreams of dead men delivering messages, and a ghostly woman and her child floating through my room. Yup, I did. I be done with leaf peepers and their incessant need to know EVERYTHING.
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
As I sit here looking out the loft window of my home office, I see the leaves have a tint of yellow and red. Fall be here, most definitely. The 'leaf peepers' will be up from the lower 48 to cruise in large buses the beauty that be New England in the fall. They will file into the quaint historic homes that have been turned into bed and breakfasts and will enjoy the hospitality of the innkeepers. After a day of colourful scenery, they will come in and have a hot dinner with Sally Lunn bread, and homemade cranberry sauce served with a roast turkey and all the trimmings. So New England. Later after warm apple pie with ice cream, they will be off to the common room, nursing their hot cider where they will gather around the fire and the innkeeper, if he be a jolly one, will regale them with stories of the area.
I had occasion to be working the political scene of primary hopefuls running around northern New Hampshire spouting off what they will do for the country if elected, and since I was far from me own abode, I had booked such a b & b and found meself among the leaf peeper population. Now, R. Linda, this particular breed of tourist be unique, in that most are older citizens, most from the states of New York, New Jersey, and Delaware with a smattering of Floridians. They come from all over they do, and they just love the idea of Currier and Ives' paintings coming to life through the windows of a tour bus. I had been out for a day of following Mitt Romney around; me microphone waving at him, me shouting out questions until me voice was a hoarse whisper, me snapping pictures of the folks shaking his hand and the fun part, me being jostled about by the competing news teams. After a day of THAT I was ready to go to the booked b & b and have a hot meal and some relaxation I was.
So once I had packed it up (as we say in the biz), off I took me down a winding dirt road, no street lights (very few in the entire state) slowly picking me way trying to find the place, one Bookman's Tavern and b & b. Well, it had started to rain, and the wind was up making the visibility that much more difficult, but eventually I saw lights ahead and there be a bus parked out to the side and the sign was swinging in the wind heralding I had arrived at the correct address. I parked me motor, locked it up, took what I needed, and putting me collar up to fend off the elements I headed inside.
Right away I walked into a cozy hallway where stairs were directly in front, and to the side an enclosed counter where a guest would sign the register. There was a cheery woman dressed in colonial grab which I found simply charming. I immediately felt as if I had walked back in time. Well, she registered me, had a young man (also in colonial garb) take me bag up to me room and told me I was just in time for dinner, so taking me coat she showed me to a place along a long table filled with LEAF PEEPERS! Yes, I was seated among them and it was like the vicar had arrived! I was treated very graciously and had me fill off food and cider and was treated to a delightful chat. These leaf peepers had stories to tell for instance one peeper wanted a good shot of a valley and leaned a little too far over the precipice and if it wasn't for six other nearby peepers, probably would have got that shot as they fell over the side, but for being saved! Then there was the story about another who left his camera on the bus and ran back to get it and got much more than their camera, but an introduction to a bull moose who happened to wander up to the bus stop. There was some interest by both on the other and the bus driver was waving (with doors closed) for the peeper to RUN, but the peeper had no clue how aggressive a bull moose could be and continued to walk toward the gigantic beast with hand held out with a cracker fish as an offering. OH MY GOD! Well, after a bit of running between parked cars with the bellowing beast coming horns at him, the peeper made his way to the bus where the driver opened the doors long enough to get him in and shut them fast as Mr. Moose came barreling around. Well, there are a few scratches on those doors thanks to moose trying to get on the bus as well. I got to tell ya, I was sitting there thinking, precipice, moose equals stupid.
Once pie and coffee were over the innkeeper told us all to come into the common room for some hot apple cider and tales to be told. I had enough harrowing tales to last me from these leaf peepers, but I found meself being moved forward by two old ladies who had taken a "cotton" to me, whatever that means. They were from Florida and had never met or seen an Irishman before, so I was a novelty. Yes, I was. Seems to happen to me a lot.
Let me give you an idea of this scene. There were about twenty-five peepers, a newlywed couple, and me. The room we were herded into be large and decorated with fall berries, leaves, flowers, and lots of candles. It was all candle lit for the mood and there was a fire going in the big hearth. We all had tankards of spiced cider and had taken seats wherever we could find them and the innkeeper, who looked to me like Ben Franklin, dressed in his colonial garb, from long vest to stockings and buckle shoes, told us about the area and what it was known for and that we were not far from the notch where the Willie family were all killed in a huge mudslide. A few ghostly tales were told until some idiot spoke up and asked about the old colonial house we were all cozily enjoying. Was there a tale about it? Well, of course, there was!
Seems the house was built in 1680, it was smaller then and was built by a gentleman from Sheffield, England who had come with his wife and small child to make his way in the New World. What he found be that the wilds of New Hampshire, with the wildlife, the Indians, and such were more hostile than if he had settled in the milder environs and climate of say old Virginia. But he was determined to make his fortune. He found the land yielded little more than rocks, so farming was out of the question, he bought some goats and sheep, but the wolves soon carried them off. With not much to put up that fall, he worried mightily how the winter would be. Well, before long the entire family was snowed in. The nearest family was over 30 miles away, therefore, it looked bleak for the threesome. Starving, and not being able to get out, the daughter, a child of two succumbed to life and left her parents heartbroken. They could not bury her as the ground was under 5' of snow and hard as iron. They had to take her out and leave her in the old water trough and then bury her in the snow so the animals wouldn't get her. There were nights when the wind and the snow were fierce and the poor mother thought she heard her daughter banging on the door to come in. This upset the husband as it was no more than a broken board. He affixed the board the best he could but it came loose more times than he could count and each time it would bang he had all he could do to restrain his wife from opening the door.
Before the winter was over the wife too died. The husband, just skin and bones took her out to the water trough as well. He removed the snow and there was his daughter completely preserved as if she had died only an hour before. He placed his wife next to her and buried them both in the snow and took himself back inside. The banging of the board was louder than before that night, he had no resolve left to fix it. The wind howled and he thought he heard the voices of his wife and daughter moaning to let them in they were cold. He knew it was an illusion of his starvation, but at times he was convinced it was truly them, and came several times (his hand on the door handle), ready to open it, but each time was prevented by a large crash at the back of the house. What that was he did not know, but it would take his focus off the wind and the door and he'd shuffle to the sound. He stood still listening, but nothing more would he hear.
About midnight the cold bad, and the wood all gone, he got down the last drop of whiskey and medicine for hoof disease he had for one of the ill-forsaken goats, and wanting to end it all, he sat contemplating his end by candlelight when a knock sounded on the door. This time the knock was different, there were no voices and unsure, he sat still staring at the door. The knock came again, and with shaking hands, he lifted the candle and walked toward the sound. He placed the candle out of the wind and opened the door timidly. There he saw a dark figure bundled up against the wind, "Could you spare me a seat at your table?" a masculine voice asked.
The husband let the man in and gestured to the table. Closing the wind out he went to pick up the candle, "Please sir, if ye will just leave that where it is, I'd be most obliged."
Not wanting to offend, the husband left the candle by the door and sat opposite the stranger.
"I have nothing to offer to you," he said.
"Ye can give me that drop of whiskey and I'll be on my way." The stranger said.
The husband stared at the bundled-up man, only his eyes visible. There was something strange about them, they were bright and a very light blue, as if they were what lit the room instead of the candle. Reluctantly he slid the glass toward the stranger and the man took it and drank it down.
"You are welcome to stay the night," the husband said unsure what he should offer as he did not know the man or his intent for being in so remote a place at the midnight hour.
"No, I cannot. I have a message for you though."
"A message?" The husband repeated astounded.
"Ye are not to drink that." The stranger pointed to the bottle of hoof medicine. "Yer wife and daughter said not tonight."
With that, he got up and without another word let himself out. The husband sat in stunned silence and once he got his wits about him jumped up and opened the door after the stranger, but no one did he see. A blast of wind snowed in on him making him fasten the door tight, just managing to save the candle from going out. Shaking he sat back down at his table and contemplated what the stranger said. He put his head down in his arms and sobbed himself to sleep.
It was the next morning he was awakened by another knock on the door. Staggering he went to answer it and there was his neighbour from 30 miles yonder.
"Joseph, I was worried you'd get snowed in, I have a sleigh and bought you and your family supplies. I would have been here sooner but for an avalanche. Unfortunately, I have a victim in the sleigh from such." The neighbour said, handing Joseph a bundle of foodstuffs and leading the way inside the house. "Where is young Josette and your wife?"
Joseph broke down and told his good neighbour what had happened and blamed his stupidity on not being better prepared. The neighbour was sympathetic and once he had the particulars, suggested Joseph try to regain his strength and leave with him. But Joseph didn't want to leave the corpses of his loved ones. With some solid reasoning, the neighbour was able to convince Joseph he'd come back with him just before the thaw and get them and see that a proper burial was had.
"I think it would benefit us to move quicker if I leave this man I found with them," the neighbour said.
Joseph wouldn't hear of not helping to place the body in the snow but the shock of what he saw was almost too much for him to bear. For as they began to lift the frozen body from the sleigh, Joseph immediately recognised the man as the stranger who had given him the message from his wife and daughter.
"Why this man was at my house not a night ago," he said.
"Impossible, he's been dead five days, and five days I've had him in the sleigh."
As the tale ends, Joseph did come back to the house with his neighbour before the thaw, they got the bodies and brought them to the nearest town where proper burials did take place. But for all that, Joseph swore the man who was killed by the avalanche did indeed visit him with his wife's message.
Well, that put a damper on me nerves it did, and as it is with New Yorkers who have a need to know where exactly in the house this took place, the innkeeper answered her.
"This was the room where all occurred. That door to the hallway was the door to outside, but as you can see this old house has been added onto throughout the years." And answer to yet another question, "Yes, some guests have heard knocking but there is never anyone there, and it happens mostly on stormy nights when a woman and a child are seen wearing the clothing of that era. They disappear up the stairs." Yup, they do. Great. "None of you believe in ghosts though do you?" The innkeeper laughed, and everyone nervously laughed, that no they didn't. Just me!
Me room was just above the common room, yes it was and did I get any sleep, no and why? Because the entire night we had wind and rain and the shutter banged against the side of the house outside me window the whole of the night. I had dreams of dead men delivering messages, and a ghostly woman and her child floating through my room. Yup, I did. I be done with leaf peepers and their incessant need to know EVERYTHING.
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
