I drove right past my office this morning. I couldn’t help myself. The sun highlighting the mountain tops. A blanket of clouds draped over Mt. Osceola. I just had to go mountain gazing.
I stopped my car at Corcoran Pond and pulled out my camera to snap a couple of shots of the cloud of man-made snow blanketing the top of Mt. Tecumseh. After I took a some quick pictures and was waiting to cross the road and return to my car, Leslie Rosewarne stopped her car and rolled down her window. She nodded to the camera in my hand and said, “I know how you feel. No matter how many times I’ve looked at our mountains, I still have to stop and take pictures of them.”
As Leslie drove off I realized something. The mountains surrounding Waterville Valley are like my children. Even though I see them every single day, I still marvel at how beautiful and special they are. I have boxes and files full of pictures of my children. And I have file folders chuck-a-block full of pictures of my mountains, too.
“At the end of a drive of twelve miles in a mountain wagon, away from the dust and noise of railroad and town, is the little hamlet of Waterville, a remote nook in the White Hills of New Hampshire. This ‘Happy Village’ is an amphitheatre among the clouds…” from a Night in a Mountain Camp: Story of the Ascent of Osceola in 1885, by Alice B. Nichols and Charles W. Bacon.
So, like an annoying proud parent, I’d like to share just a couple more photos of my mountains.