



You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall





Growing up in the American Midwest, I had the impression that New England was, well, uniformly cultured. Moving here at the end of the roundabout route that emerged, however, I was surprised to discover how unevenly that Culture was distributed. It was essentially centered in Boston. Or more specifically, Huntington Avenue in the city’s Back Bay neighborhood, in the Theater District, Museum of Fine Arts Boston, and Symphony Hall, plus Harvard Square in Cambridge across the Charles River.
For perspective, New England has only one major-league professional orchestra, the Boston Symphony, compared to eight in the Midwest – Cleveland, Cincinnati, Detroit, Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City, Milwaukee, and Minneapolis. (Well, maybe seven these days, after the disastrous events in the Twin Cities.)
The underlying reason, I’ve sensed, arises in the historic ownership of New England’s economic base – the textiles mills, especially, along the rivers and streams – by the fabled Boston Brahmins. In other words, while New England’s products sold around the globe, the profits flowed into Proper Bostonians’ mansions, and these, in turn, endowed the great cultural institutions.
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The region’s art museums, on the other hand, provide another slant on this legacy. I’ll argue that the largest, wealthiest galleries are not always the most exciting; when it comes to art collections, quality is often based on the gifts of a few insightful, daring donors. Since we frequently visit museums when we travel – and art museums, especially – here’s an overview of what we’ve found. Admittedly, we’ve missed some.

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.
For my related poetry collections and novels, click here.