
Thirty-five years ago today, we were buried in volcanic ash erupting from a summit 85 miles away. For days afterward, everything was buried in gray. Until then, it had been my Garden of Eden.
You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall

Thirty-five years ago today, we were buried in volcanic ash erupting from a summit 85 miles away. For days afterward, everything was buried in gray. Until then, it had been my Garden of Eden.

Taking its name from an old use of “street” as “neighborhood,” the stretch is also known now as the Quaker District. It’s up in the hills in a remote corner of Henniker, New Hampshire.







When the river herring run from the sea into freshwater streams to spawn a new generation, the cormorants tag along, along with a cloud of fishermen.
The herring, which include the alewife variety, are part of New England lore. Look closely here and you’ll see them crowded in under the shade along the river.


As the largest city in northern New England, Manchester was built on the water power captured at the Amoskeag Falls in the Merrimack River.



Trying to convey the experience of living in a desert to those who’ve known only moister climates often feels futile. It’s simply mindboggling, especially as you move away from the insulation of modern conveniences like air conditioning, automobiles, or even sunglasses. In its raw nature, this terrain is often life-threatening.
I’ve regretted not having a camera to record what I observed there, but one colleague from those years – another Ohio flatlander who relocated to the wet side of the Cascades after our journalist team was forced to scatter – has captured its essence better than anyone else I’ve come across.
Here are some of Kurt E. Smith’s images over the years of the land I call Katonkah Country. He has much more on his Seeing Small blog, which comes highly recommended. What he captures is sometimes enormous.
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