A Lady Escapes: Florida's Flagler Museum

Two months ago I took a bit of a joy trip to southern Florida, where my family very conveniently has a vacation home. Though I have been visiting Palm Beach County since before I could walk, I somehow never made it to the Flagler Museum.  Once home to industrialist Henry Flagler, "Whitehall" was built as a grand estate for a true, Gilded Age tycoon.  Constructed in 1902 as a wedding present for his wife, Whitehall ranks as of the greatest representations of American wealth and luxury and is now today a National Landmark. Boasting as many as seventy-five rooms, it took a friend and me two and a half hours to see it all. Unfortunately, Henry Flagler's legacy has been somewhat lost amidst the histories of other great industrialists, of men like Carnegie and Vanderbilt and Rockefeller. However, the Flagler Museum gave me two opportunities: one to address my own ignorance regarding his influence and one to admire the absolutely beautiful (and sometimes strange) interiors in which he resided. 

Nearby: World's End

A few weeks ago, I sought World's End to embrace the final days of autumn, when the trees were still alit with color and when sunlight was not as precious as it's now become. World's End, which can be found in the south shore town of Hingham, boasts enchanting carriage trails that run beside sprawling meadows and spectacular shores. According to the Trustees of Reservations, it has an intriguing history of nearly becoming something else, whether it was the site of a housing division designed by Frederick Law Olmstead, the UN headquarters, or a nuclear plant. As I wandered for many hours through World's End, I was quite grateful that it remained as it always was, a remarkable landscape touched only by the feet of mesmerized visitors . 

Nearby: The Treasures of Essex

Essex is small, Essex is quaint. Essex is the perfect picture of New England calm, a place in happy union with its natural surroundings, covered by salt marshes and saltboxes. And inside many of those remaining saltboxes are thousands of antiques, some painstakingly curated and others forcibly thrown to exist together. Essex is a quiet place with loud interiors, home to dozens upon dozens of antique shops, each bursting with its own character and the history of its showcased objects. A visitor can spend endless hours strolling from one shop to the next, entering maze upon maze of treasures and tschotskes. It is but an hour's drive-if that-from Boston, and comfortably situated between Ipswich to its north, Hamilton to the west and Gloucester to the southeast. Slowly the picture of the North Shore is becoming clearer to me, as I explore each town on its own basis, appreciating its particular offering one by one. Essex is a place I will eagerly return to, with the knowledge that each time I visit, I will find something new, in the comforting landscape that has not changed much since its beginning. 

A Lady Escapes: Atop Cadillac Mountain in September

In early September I visited my mother in downeast Maine and returned briefly to Mount Desert Island. Here are pictures from atop Cadillac Mountain, the highest peak on the island and a favorite spot in the hearts of many Mainers. On this day I could have touched the sky for the clouds felt so near. I've delayed in sharing these photographs, but better late than never. Hope you enjoy!

The Thinking Cup

As humans, we form habits. As cafe dwellers, we build attachments. My own particular attachment in Boston is to The Thinking Cup. Two locations-one on Tremont Street and another on Hanover in the North End-make it all too easy for me to maintain this attachment and further my regard. But beyond the convenience of their two locations (Hanover street is pictured above), is an appreciation for the drinks they serve and the space provided to enjoy them. The combination of exposed brick and comfortable, tufted seating, along with tables adorned with newspapers of the past, do collectively inspire a beautiful union between my thoughts and the cup I drink from. So the name Thinking Cup is satisfyingly appropriate, almost as satisfying as what they serve so well. 

Nearby: Historic Salem

Salem is a place of many histories. The witch hysteria of 1692 is undoubtedly the most significant in our collective memory, but Salem was much more than Puritanical paranoia. At one point, Salem was the 6th largest city in the country, something of a shock when you actually visit the area today. As a once crucial center for the maritime trade, the city was like a younger sibling of Boston. That part of Salem history is preserved through the efforts of the Salem Maritime National Historic Site along with the Friendship, a replica of an East India trading ship which is available to tour. 

Naturally we also know Salem through Nathaniel Hawthorne's writings, and a visit to the the House of Seven Gables (pictured above) was a highlight of my excursion, so much so, that I have begun re-reading Hawthorne's novels with a newfound appreciation. To commune with the writings of Hawthorne is to grasp an indelible mood of our American past. 

But there is also Historic New England's Phillips House to visit and Pioneer Village, along with perhaps an over excessive amount of witch-related sites, not to mention the Peabody Essex Museum. 

There's comfort in Salem's expected gothic tone and even more pleasure by the surprise of colorful homes that you believe would be gray; and the visitor is reassured to find not only the reflected beginnings of New England in its streets, but also reminders of her subsequent development through the ages. 

Nearby: The Houses of Salem

 I was not fully prepared for the beauty of Salem. 

 When I left for Salem this past Saturday from North Station, I anticipated a typical exhibition of New England charm combined with an exceptional amount of paranormal kitsch. Without a doubt, there was quite a display of the latter (it is October, after all), but to my delight, I found such elegance in the streets that promised only a predictable quaintness. I found a wide range of early American architecture scattered throughout Salem's well-kept avenues, enough to keep any student of architecture satisfied. Perhaps my love for early America has me biased, but I left smitten with Salem, a place that felt even more impressive than nearby Concord or Lexington in terms of reflecting the early days of our country.  Even beyond Chestnut Street, affectionately described as "New England's Prettiest Street," I found style and significance.

 

A Lady Escapes: White Mountain Wonder

In early October, I take to the mountains. It is there, amidst a wilderness of peaks, that I can best appreciate nature's grand display of autumn color. Thus last weekend I drove north to the White Mountains yet again, where near 80% of the trees had turned.  The simple and relatively quick route to the White Mountains encourages my regular returns, but I am repeatedly struck by the beauty I continuously find, safeguarded in the old places and bursting in the new. The Kancamangus Highway was as glorious as ever, but stumbling upon the Silver Cascade waterfall and hiking to Ripley Falls (both in Crawford Notch) afforded such excitement and exhilaration that made me eager for more trips. Is it odd that one of my favorite parts about being a Bostonian is how easy it is to get away? 

Fall in the Fens

Fall has arrived in earnest. The mornings are colder and the evenings darker; scarves and sweaters are donned as the leaves begin to fall in the crisp autumn air, and Bostonians stop where they did not stop before, to take note of the colorful world around them. Here are weekend photographs of the Fens, as I made my way to a coffeehouse this past Sunday morning. The weather was appropriately overcast, so that no clouds could compete with the splendor of the trees. The Back Bay Fens are a perfect place to pause and observe the magic of New England's favorite season.