Life in Beautiful Places
A few weeks ago I was running late to a meeting with another possible apprenticeship for the winter in Vermont (fully my fault). It was mid-October and I was cruising through the White Mountains, which on Tuesday morning around 10 am, were more crowded than I had seen all summer long. Cars lined both sides of the road, people meandered through like I was driving through a city park, some cars just stopped in the middle of the road to take pictures. Like I said I was late, and I was irritated by all of these tourists getting in the way of me trying to get to another job interview.
I got to where I was going and my soon to be bosses asked how the drive was. It was fine I mentioned, but vented a bit about the crowds. That’s when one of them asked, “But it was gorgeous, wasn’t it?”
It’s weird to live in a place so beautiful, and how fast you kind of forget that while doing day to day tasks. Most times Im half asleep stumbling across the street to the farm store, and look up to see the fog rolling through the valley, the orchard still before the crowds come in, the sun rising over the hills.
And of course the foliage! In! The! White! Mountains! It was stunning. It was red and on fire and alive and ya, worth a few pictures. And at that moment I felt stupid for complaining.