Ah, The Arrival!
Finally arrived, though it hasn't seemed that long a trip. Our amiable hosts, Donna and Byron are both there in the office and we check in. And there, sitting on the counter is the backpack that we had forgotten, left behind in the cottage last June. Like greeting an old friend, with all the vital stuff contained in it - ready, willing and able to accompany us on our trips this coming week.
But to our hosts; Byron with his pink-flushed cherubic face, haloed with a greying, curling mop, and Donna, petite and pretty, the business head of this family enterprise. Both equally gracious and accommodating, friendly and lively. We know the family has a pet dog, a bulldog, which we've seen only several times, from a distance. They are discreet, taking care to ensure there are no run-ins between their pet and any that guests may bring along. And guests, they make clear (and it is the primary reason why we stay here) are free to bring their pets as long as they behave reasonably well, and their owners take care to clean up after them.
The three sisters are there too forming a welcoming committee, all garbed alike in an unflattering, albeit modest grey-speckled dress-coat. They cackle in unison, advance unperturbed at the presence of our little dogs. these guineau fowl handily adapted to their peripatetic lifestyle here, patrolling nearby properties, pecking here and there, maintaining order, before crossing the road to the pasture and the herd of beautiful riding horses idling in their domain from whence they originally came.
Soon we're settled once again into a two-bedroom cottage, equipped kitchen, full bathroom, moderately comfortable living room (those detestable futons on metal frames, evilly posing as comfy sofas) with its spectacular views of the mixed forests, the undulating mountainous foothills surrounding us, the mountains as backdrop. Alas, the mountains block radio signals and our favourite National Public Radio programmes are lost in a dimly-heard static. Small price to pay for the serenity and physical beauty that surrounds us. A big price to pay for radiophiles, which we are.
After the somewhat-wearing drive, the unpacking, the tedious but necessary sidetrip to the local (ten miles distant) supermarket. A well-stocked (replete with organic products of any and all descriptions) and not-surprisingly expensive food emporium, followed again by an unpacking process. We feed our famished pooches (Riley wolfs down his his dinner while Button eschews hers, an expected reaction when they're in different surroundings, away from the familiarity and comfort of home. I set about preparing our own evening meal when !whoosh! I've blown a fuse; the refrigerator is off.
Byron soon has things in hand with a new fuse and settles in for a long chat about this and that in the kitchen while I re-commence my dinner-making activities. It was the electric kettle that we'd brought with us; obviously something the matter with it, although it's working well now. It will, however, prove to have been the culprit as two days on it breaks down completely and we go looking for a replacement. Alas, not to be had; despite their love affair with all things electronic and kitchen gadgetry notwithstanding, Americans have never taken to the indispensible electric kettle.
What a hard-working pair are our hosts, their work never done, always something to be caught up with. Byron is relieved that with the cooler weather they had just cause to close down the in-ground pool for the season: he detests that thing, but his clients, particularly those with young children, feel it a requirement for holidaying. On the side, Donna operates her own thriving business; hand-tailored draperies. Those hanging in the cottages are a testament to her skill and aesthetic.
Byron works three days a week, mid-week, operating a nearby chair lift at an area mountain attraction. With his incredibly pleasant personality (not unusual for New Hampshire residents, geared to the service industry) he's a natural at meeting-and-greeting. These enterprising people - like farmers who require a second income to survive at their vital occupation, never fully appreciated by the consuming public - work overtime to pay their bills, raising four school-age children and his elderly father who maintains permanent residence at the cottage closest to the main house.
They're both, one or the other, always available to respond to the needs of their clientel. Their ongoing efforts in relation to the upkeep of their property is evident much to their credit, in the cleanliness and order of their premises. On Sundays complimentary coffe and doughnuts are provided for any who are interested. They have several elderly couples who stay for the entire season, cloistered from the transient rabble, and anxiously awaiting their Sunday treats, ambling down to the main house recreation area to secure them, then speedily making off with their goodies.
There's a well-kept pond just outside the rental office, surrounded with a floral display, attractive to butterflies, bees, birds. Hanging floral baskets adorn the fronts of cottages. Half-barrels of plants and flowers sit before the parking area. Their swimming pool is partnered with ornamental evergreens and hostas, book-ending the pool at either end. Nicely manicured hedges of hemlock grow in front of the cottages, and there's a rockery with hostas and lilies of the valley.
For us, early to bed the night before, early to rise the following morning. It was cold overnight and when we awake, we see light fog enveloping the area, and hoarfrost covering the building rooftops and the tops of the cars. The sun soon warms things up, the conflict between frost and heat sending plumes of steam rising, before warmth finally triumphs and the fog is burned off, the frost dissolved.
Riley's not happy with this mountain-level cool atmosphere and he shivers miserably, so we put a little sweater on him, although the cottage is more than sufficiently warm, thanks to the propane heater. He looks, in fact, rather unwell. This time Button relishes her breakfast and Riley sniffs his, then settles miserably into his little bed, ignoring breakfast, even when I scatter tiny bits of bacon over it. Another reversal. We're soon relieved to see him recover, as he decides after a few minutes of rest-and-ignore to eat after all, since if he were ill it would be a set-back to our climbing plans.
We have large, juicy oranges and bananas each; orange juice cut with cranberry juice for him, and bacon and eggs. Toast, coffee and tea complete the picture, and we're ready, just about ready to set off for the day. But we're in no great big hurry, it's going to be a long day. While I clear away the kitchen, he sits outside at the picnic table with Button and Riley, everyone enjoying the sun warming things up.
I soon join them and do a little scribbling, in preparation for expanding a few tales for my blog on our return.
posted by Pieface @ Wednesday, September 20, 2006
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