Three Good Days in New Hampshire

Mica discovered they had Yahtzee at Zealand Falls Hut, where we stopped in the early afternoon the day after completing the Presidential Range. I had made a snap decision that I was done hiking for the day and not interested in leaving what looked like a very cozy hut, so I bought us bunks since it was too early to ask for a work-for-stay. This was the day before Zealand and Garfield Ridge, and it was similarly cold and wet, although less so on both counts. I didn’t know that at the time, of course, I was just tired. But with a whole afternoon to kill, we had an epic Yahtzee battle. For two complete rounds, neither of us marked zero in any of the scoring boxes. When we finished the third round after dinner and added up all the scores, I had won. This was my first good New Hampshire experience. 

So far I’ve given you the impression that New Hampshire was nothing but traumatic, because it mostly was. But with the benefit of some distance—139 miles, to be exact—and nearly two weeks of psychological recovery in The Shire, I can admit that I did have some good New Hampshire experiences, which this newsletter’s animating spirit of honesty and transparency compels me to share. 

Beating Mica in a game might seem like a small thing, but I cannot stress enough how much “Mica always beats me in games” is a fundamental part of our relationship, ever since he was a little kid. At an age where most parents were letting their kids win to encourage self-confidence, I was wondering what happened when Mica demolished me at some board game that we had just taken the plastic wrap off but that he was somehow already playing at a grand master level. I’ve mostly learned to decline to play games with any of my three kids, all of whom share this same freakish talent, because at heart I’m too competitive to enjoy a game I know from the start I will surely lose. If you think this makes me a bad parent, all I can say is that it’s important to know your weaknesses. 

The next good New Hampshire experience came the day after Garfield Ridge. We climbed Mt. Garfield in the same relentless cloud bank that had followed us throughout the Whites so far. But about a half mile below tree line as we headed up Mt. Lafayette the sky suddenly cleared, and for the first time in a week we saw the sun. We immediately stopped and I spread out my sodden jackets on some bushes to dry, and then just stood in the sun with my eyes closed and my arms spread out for a solid fifteen minutes. I know this isn’t a profound revelation or anything, but direct sunlight is low-key goated when restoring a sense of safety and emotional well-being is the vibe.

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