Photographs from the wintery coasts of New Hampshire and Maine.
Sun lovers may run and hide if a New England winter invite were to fall into their laps. I’d call myself one but, since moving to the North, I like to think that I’ve thickened my blood to outwit even the coldest depths of Earth. If it means trekking about a new territory, I’ll go anywhere.
I’d never been north of Boston until this past weekend. Usually my drives on I-95 take me about as far as exit 13 in Jersey, aka the “I’m going to Brooklyn” exit. Just shy of 5 hours past that is Portsmouth, New Hampshire, a sea town full of history and charm. We’ll call that home base on this trip, but it’s hard to not find yourself knocking on the door of its neighbor. Maine is just a stones-throw away, literally. You can see it across the harbor, the Piscataqua river hiding the border. In 2 days we drove all over Portsmouth, explored Rye Beach, then up to York, Maine and back down along the coast into Kittery. New England reminds me of those picturesque calendars you buy from a kiosk in the mall, and I mean that in the best way possible. This area of the United States is as beautiful as you’ve ever heard it to be. I’m not sure if it’s the color-blocked colonial houses that run along the coast, or the lighthouse topped rocks that float in the open sea that won over my heart.
I’ll be back.