I’m lucky to live in a state with hills and mountains, waterfalls and gorges. Just to my north lies a six million acre park, a mountain range that includes thousands of lakes, 46 high peaks, and stands of pine, spruce, and hemlock.
Of course, within the park, only 43% of the land is public land. The rest of the park contains private homes, summer camps, whole villages and towns. But the 1894 clause in the state constitution that pledged to keep these mountains “forever wild,” works to keep big tracts of the land from development.
Tourists flock to the mountains in the summer, appreciating the coolness that the high elevation brings. In September, the summer camps are mostly boarded up and the hiking trails are quiet. The brilliant colors of the hardwood trees shine against dark green conifers, and narrow mountains roads weave through an unbelievable tapestry of colour.
I try to get to the mountains as often as I can in early fall. I'm driving to the mountains this morning with my husband. I've got a reading this evening in a town far north, and we're using that as an excuse to get spend the weekend at an old inn on a lake surrounded by mountains.