This fall, after 50 years, Russ and I will say goodbye to the Mount Washington Valley. We are moving at the end of summer to the coast of Maine to be closer to family.

I arrived in July 1976 with two dogs, a boyfriend who would soon be a husband, and everything we owned packed into one car. We rented an A-frame on Dundee Road that flooded every spring. We had jobs that barely paid the rent. We didn’t care. We had somehow landed in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, the most beautiful place either of us had ever lived.

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