Portsmouth, NH, October 2013

A city of many incarnations, Portsmouth. From Indian village and wild bank of strawberries, to simple tudor dwellings, brick colonial dwellings, and a bustling 19th century seaport with a colorful red light district. Over the centuries a home to all manners of business, from the noble endeavor to that of the pirate or worse. Rich layers of history lie here, hidden in the built-upon earth or preserved for all to see. The Piscataqua river embraces its shore, with its watery, undulating depths. Portsmouth is the city of the epicurean, the artist, the entrepreneur, and the antiquarian. It is quaint, colonial cosmopolitan mingled with the residential, the industrial, and the wharf. Quaint shops, the odd church and new polished buildings have reign of its landscape, its salt air potent and decidedly marine. An old church bell clangs sweetly among the myriad sounds of traffic and distant machinery, the clicks of peoples heels upon the sidewalks and laughter. Portsmouth’s message is that of its expression: it is a place where the vibrant and industrious thrive! A small city that (almost) never sleeps on the coast of New Hampshire, ideal for lovers and tourists.

Portsmouth, NH

Portsmouth, NH

 

Hamilton House, South Berwick, Maine

9-25-13 Franciscan monks would be jealous of the peacefulness here. It is a place, once a bustling waterfront in recent centuries, now in recuperation. A place folding back into itself quietly, the Salmon Falls river reflective below, between the dark forest that lines its banks. The historic house rises stately upon a hill overlooking its domain. Despite the richness springing from the earth here, there is an impervious quality that I find masking the depths of the grassy hillock I’m seated upon. One that keeps me from feeling too deep. The message I am getting from the surrounds is to honor and uphold our remaining beautiful, pristine places. They are manna for the Soul. Yet there is the unmistakable quality of strength here too in this soil–the unyielding fortitude of early settlers and the underlying deep love and respect of the Natives who were here before. As the sun comes out I feel an opening, a softening, and I sit a short distance away in another spot. Here I feel a soothing peacefulness, a welcoming. The first spot had some hard usage at some point in its history I fear. Overlooking the sleepier banks of the back river, just past the house, this new one lets me feel in. The earth a soft cradle of kindness and sweetness, the comfort of an old friend. A place to rejuvenate one’s spirit and catch the palpable romance of all here that has come before.

By Lenaye Marsten

Hamilton House, South Berwick, Maine

Hamilton House, South Berwick, Maine

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Vermont, September 21st, 2013– In honor of Laura and Franklin Reeve

Sweet breezes caress here atop this green field where the sky begins, as Franklin writes. The distant sunlit fields, trees, and mountains a breathtaking view. There is a cold stone heart underlying Vermont; one of wisdom, of peacefulness, and of gentleness. It beats the slow rhythm of the ages, very stable, very grounding. It calls for those hardy souls here to open their hearts to their greater rhythm, to feel deeply down into their depths. There is peace here– a peace that is singular and timeless– one that is reflected in many of the villages. The kind of peace that anchors one to aspire to homestead and grow one’s own food. Vermont’s gift to its inhabitants is this profound grounded peacefulness, magnetically drawing, healing, and soothing, where time can stand still and one can find what matters most.

By Lenaye Marsten

photo- Vermont