Granite, some say, is New Hampshire’s most abundant crop, with the hard rock visible nearly everywhere. The farmer’s curse, however, is the sightseer’s blessing, giving form to the state’s imposing cliffs and peaks—a ruggedness that is offset by the gentle grace of mixed forests and rushing streams.
“It is … a small college, and yet there are those who love it,” proclaimed Daniel Webster, one of Dartmouth College’s most famous graduates. The same could be said of the school’s home, Hanover, where town and gown seem intimately bound. Coffeehouses, bookstores, and other shops are signs of the school’s influence. The College Green, the grassy heart of the campus, is flanked on one side by Dartmouth Row, a quartet of white Georgian-style buildings. Other notable sites include the Hood Museum of Art and the Baker Library, whose belfry rises even higher than the institution’s towering elms and maples.
Leaving college life behind, Rte. 10 leads northward to Lyme—one of those pretty towns that everyone associates with New England. Here the drive mirrors the meandering curves of the Connecticut River, the natural causeway that brought commerce and culture to the area. Settlers blazed trails beside its banks, drawn by the fertile land of its floodplain and the virgin forests on the surrounding hills.
Even the rushing water was a resource to early settlers, a force able to set massive machinery in motion. Mills were erected at intervals all along the river. Today many of these brick structures have been renovated into inviting shops and restaurants, and the houses that the factory owners built still grace the towns.
One such community is Orford, where early mansions—some date back to the late 1700s—crown a ridge above the Connecticut River. Impressive too are the views, which take in 600-foot cliffs—the Palisades—that protrude along the Vermont side of the river in Fairlee, just a bridge crossing away.
The drive continues to parallel the Connecticut River as far north as Woodsville, where it veers northeastward on Rte. 302. A much smaller waterway, the Ammonoosuc River, now tumbles merrily beside the road, which soon enters Bath, also the site of an early mill. In town you can rattle across a covered bridge that is more than 370 feet long and was built in 1832. (In the days before iron and steel were used in bridge construction, wooden spans such as this one were roofed and sided with wood in order to protect their planked roadbeds and supporting timbers from the elements.)
Farther on, Rte. 302 ripples past hayfields and rolling pasturelands. Here you’ll find that the Ammonoosuc River deepens into swimming and fishing holes. One of the largest of these pools, Salmon Hole, lies a few miles to the north in the town of Lisbon, where Rtes. 302 and 117 intersect.
Though you won’t see any skyscrapers, Littleton has been this region’s “big city” since the early 1800s. Back then the factories kept people warm by producing buckskin mittens and gloves and woolen cloth—absolute necessities during a New Hampshire winter. An early settler could also purchase an axe, then get on with the never-ending chore of chopping firewood. Today the mills are gone, but Littleton’s historical society (located at 2 Cottage Street) and several examples of early architecture help recall the bygone era.
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My cat just walked up to the paper shredder and said, “Teach me everything you know.”
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Q: What do you call an Amish guy with his hand in a horse’s mouth?
A: A mechanic.