So Many Dishes

In June, 1982, in what turned out to be our last pre-kids summer, and well before digital cameras and I developed my love of photography, Ken and I took an amazing road trip through New England. I’m sharing my memories, but I’m afraid I can’t take credit for any of the photos.

We flew north from Florida to visit our families in eastern Pennsylvania for a few days, then rented a car and headed north. We had reservations in New Hampshire, at a place that was included in Country Inns and Back Roads, which, at the time, was the guide to small inns and B&Bs. But we had some time before that reservation, and the better part of a week afterwards before our flight home. We had a general idea of where we would go, but no definite plans.

I have to admit, I may be mixing up trips for the first part. I know we visited Mystic Seaport in Connecticut, and I think we went from there to Old Sturbridge Village, but that could have been on a different trip. Our next stop, for sure, was a visit to Salem, Massachusetts.

Salem was a fascinating place to visit, but the day was gray and cool. By the time we finished our tour of the house of the seven gables, the rain was pouring down. Without a reservation, we drove into nearby Rockport, where we had our first B&B experience. It was an old house built in 1791, and I remember dragging our suitcases up two narrow flights of stairs to the third floor. But the view of the harbor from the small room more than made up for the climb.

The innkeepers had some guides to New England bed and breakfasts in the common area, and those gave us some great ideas for the rest of our trip. For the rest of our journey, we stayed at B&Bs, and fell in love with the experience.

From Rockport, we went up the Massachusetts coast to Newburyport, where we stayed in an old ship captain’s house built in 1794. From there, we went to the inn in New Hampshire, an old fashioned resort in the White Mountains. Our room came with three meals a day, and “our” table in the dining room. We learned that it was the kind of place where, early in the 20th century, people would come from New York City for the summer. Quite a different lifestyle!

Then it was on to Maine. We spent a night along the coast in Camden, where the innkeeper encouraged us to visit their beach. I’d never seen a beach of rocks before. We sat on the rocks, skipped stones out into the surf, and watched fog roll in. It was a magical hour. Whenever I hear Barry Manilow’s Weekend in New England—“long rocky beaches and you by the bay”— I’m transported back there.

Bar Harbor was such fun. The innkeeper was a native, and knew where to send us for lobster, which we ate at the harbor, on a picnic table with cokes from a machine and a cat just waiting for us to drop something, anything. We sat on the beach at Acadia National Park and got sunburned in Maine.

We’ve had some great road trips since, but that was memorable.