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Spring 2013 | Issue 01


CONTACT US

CO - FOUNDER Jennifer Bakos Jenn@tellnewengland.com

CO - FOUNDER Ashley Herrin Ashley@tellnewengland.com

CONTACT info@tellnewengland.com

SUBMISSIONS submit@tellnewengland.com

PRESS press@tellnewengland.com

GET CONNECTED www.tellnewengland.com facebook.com/tellnewengland twitter.com/tellnewengland instagram.com/tellnewengland

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ISSUE CONTRIBUTORS

JENNIFER BAKOS Photographer & Editor

ASHLEY HERRIN Photographer & Editor

HEATHER CAULFIELD MILLS Photographer & Editor

KEVIN LYNCH Food Blogger

SARAH COLEMAN Floral Stylist

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IN THIS ISSUE

WELCOME |7| An introduction to t.e.l.l. New England

SPRING FEVER |8| Leaving the grips of winter

NEW ENGLAND MAPLE HOT TODDY | 24 | A new twist on classic New England

MAPLE HARVEST | 30 | From tree to table

BOSTON BLOSSOMS | 50 | Boston’s fresh floral arrangements

URBAN GARDENING | 76 | Gardening for small spaces

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IN THIS ISSUE

SPRING TRADITION | 86 | An afternoon at the ocean

WELCOME HILL | 96 | Indulging in a spring-time tradition

HARVESTED: FIDDLEHEADS | 110 | Enjoying Spring’s harvest

AN ODE TO NEW ENGLAND | 118 | The best of New England in Instagrams

CREDITS | 126 |

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WELCOME t.e.l.l. was started with the notion of serving one simple purpose: tell the story of living locally in New England. For both of us, New England has been and always will be, home. It’s where the bitter Atlantic Ocean meets the unadorned beauty of the Whites. Where the Berkshires, popping with color in the fall, bleed into rural Vermont, sprinkled with aging farms and leaning barns. It’s where each season’s character writes a different story. But, New England’s story is not singularly written by its vibrant seasons or natural splendor, each individual has molded the region, shaping his or her own story. The farmers. The artisans. The adventurers and the makers. All have written a page in this narrative. As you sift through the pages of t.e.l.l., it is our hope that you find a reflection of your own story filling the pages. We hope you discover a place to reconnect with New England and find solace. Most importantly, we hope that you find home. - Ashley & Jenn

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SPRING FEVER

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Spring is an indispensable time in New England. Just as the callousness of winter wears us down, we are greeted with the glimmering hope of warming temperatures and additional hours to spend with the sun. Our spirits are lifted by signs of a new season as we begin to awaken from an eternal slumber. Spring takes its time. Some mornings we are greeted with a glowing sunlight while a cool air lingers and stings our lungs. As we begin to wonder if we will ever escape the depths of winter, we are shown little signs of hope. Icicles melt from frozen rooftops. Snow banks recede revealing fall’s yellowed grass. Birds take flight, greeting you with their spring song. You are alive with excitement, ready to embrace what is to come.

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“WHEN SPRING CAME, EVEN THE FALSE SPRING, THERE WERE NO PROBLEMS EXCEPT WHERE TO BE HAPPIEST. THE ONLY THING THAT COULD SPOIL A DAY WAS PEOPLE...PEOPLE WERE ALWAYS THE LIMITERS OF HAPPINESS EXCEPT FOR THE VERY FEW THAT WERE AS GOOD AS SPRING ITSELF.” ERNEST HEMINGWAY

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... Greeted by the sun on a warm March day, we set out to take pleasure in a day marked by spring’s promise. Temperatures rose to above 50 degrees and the snow quickly melted under foot. A fire was built and friends gathered. We shared stories and sipped on warm Maple Hot Toddys and hot chocolate. The fire died down and friends returned to the warmth of their homes. The sun set behind the trees, bringing with it the chill of an early-spring evening. Smiles were present knowing that tomorrow, the sun will rise from behind those trees, bringing with it another beautiful day. Spring fever was in full swing.

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NEW ENGLAND MAPLE HOT TODDY INGREDIENTS: 2 ounces New England Maple Syrup 4 ounces Bourbon Whiskey 6 cups of boiling water 1 lemon, sliced Cinnamon sticks (for garnish) Anise (for garnish) TO MAKE: Bring 6 cups of water to a boil. While boiling, set out four mason jars. Pour 1 ounce of bourbon and 1/2 an ounce of New England maple syrup into each jar. Top with boiling water. Garnish with a lemon slice, cinnamon stick and anise. Serves four. Best enjoyed fireside with friends.

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MAPLE HARVEST “Before the reward there must be labor. You plant before you harvest. You sow in tears before you reap joy.” Ralph Ransom

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We’ve learned that life can be

of sap down at the Sugar Bush.

sweet, but what comes from the

As the days grow warmer, that

Sugar Maple trees of New England

is when the sugar harvest be-

is even sweeter. It’s that light

gins. Sap flows unhurriedly into

amber glaze that coats your pan-

the buckets…drop…drop...drop...

cakes. French toast saturated

as it resounds against the worn

with a tree’s fresh syrup. It’s what

tin bucket. Back at the sugar

makes breakfast “breakfast,” in

shack, the fire is stoked, ready

New England.

to bring the freshly collected sap to a roaring boil.

But the story from tree to table is much more complex than what

Patience is a virtue when it comes

spills out of the bottle. To some,

to sugaring. Producing maple

the maple harvest is an imperative

syrup reads more like the story

time in the region. It’s a time

of Goldilocks; it’s a gentle balance

when nighttime prayers echo a

between boiling for too long or for

bid for warm days, cool nights and

too short. It’s the art of finding out

hopes for overflowing buckets

what’s just right.

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EVENING IN A SUGAR ORCHARD POEM by Robert Frost From where I lingered in a lull in March outside the sugar-house one night for choice, I called the fireman with a careful voice And bade him leave the pan and stoke the arch: ‘O fireman, give the fire another stoke, And send more sparks up chimney with the smoke.’ I thought a few might tangle, as they did, Among bare maple boughs, and in the rare Hill atmosphere not cease to glow, And so be added to the moon up there. The moon, though slight, was moon enough to show On every tree a bucket with a lid, And on black ground a bear-skin rug of snow. The sparks made no attempt to be the moon. They were content to figure in the trees As Leo, Orion, and the Pleiades. And that was what the boughs were full of soon.


GRADE A LIGHT AMBER

GRADE A MEDIUM AMBER

Made earlier in the sugaring season when temperatures are still cold. A delicate, light syrup. Ideal for maple cream and maple candies.

Syrup produced later in the season when temperatures start to warm. It bears a richer, maple flavor. Most often used for table syrup.

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GRADE A DARK AMBER

GRADE B

A full-bodied maple syrup. Rich in flavor and darker in color. Popular as a table syrup but also as a sweetener. Can also be used for cooking.

A robust and exceptionally dark syrup produced at the end of the season. Popular amongst local chefs and food manufacturers. Primarily used in cooking.

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BOSTON BLOSSOMS Spring in Boston means an explosion of vibrant colors. The soft pinks and bright whites of the magnolias and cherry blossoms are complimented by amazing yellows from the forsythia and daffodils. Boston comes alive as these flowers paint the city.

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YOSHINO CHERRY

Prunus × yedoensis

SAUCER MAGNOL

Magnolia × soulangean

SARGENT’S CHERRY Prunus sargentii


P.J.M. RHODODENDRON Rhododendron P.J.M.

LIA

na

DAFFODIL

Narcissus

BORDER FORSYTHIA

Forsythia × intermedia

JAPANESE ANDROMEDA Pieris japonica


SARGENT’S CHERRY Prunus sargentii Also referred to as North Japanese Hill Cherry. Native to Japan, Korea and Russia, it was introduced to the United States in 1908. The Sargent Cherry tree is named after Charles Sprague Sargent, a botanist who was appointed the first director of Harvard University’s Arnold Arboretum in Boston, MA.

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BORDER FORSYTHIA Forsythia Ă— intermedia A hybrid cross between Forsythia viridissima and F. suspensa var. fortunei. Forsythia is a genus of flowering plants in the Oleaceae family (Olive family). Border Forsythia was introduced in the United States to the Arnold Arboretum in 1889. The Arnold Arboretum is located in Boston, MA.

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DAFFODIL Narcissus The daffodils found in New England are a cultivated variety of the wild daffodil, commonly referred to as Lent Lily and native to Western Europe. The wild daffodil can be found growing in wooded areas, grasslands, rocky terrain and gardens. Daffodils, like all narcissus species, contain lycorine, an alkaloid poison, and should not be consumed.

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P.J.M. RHODODENDRON Rhododendron P.J.M. P.J.M. is a group of hybrid species, derived from a cross between R. carolinianum and R. dauricum var. sempervirens Some common P.J.M. cultivars are Elite, Regal, Northern Starburst and Victor. The P.J.M. hybrids are amongst the hardiest evergreen Rhododendrons.

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FRESH PICKED Saucer Magnolia Yoshino Cherry


FRESH PICKED Border Forsythia Japanese Andromeda

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FRESH PICKED Border Forsythia Saucer Magnolias Yoshino Cherry Blossoms Sargent’s Cherry Japanese Andromeda Daffodil

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“The artist is the confidant of nature, flowers carry on dialogues with him through the graceful bending of their stems and the harmoniously tinted nuances of their blossoms. Every flower has a cordial word which nature directs towards him.� Auguste Rodin

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In our garden...

spinach kale

basil mint green beans

lettuce


URBAN GARDENING Exploring a garden alternative for city dwellers.

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For some of us, living within the confines of small spaces is the norm. Preference, job opportunities or other variables drive us to inhabit a city-dweller’s life. Although restricted by the size of our dwelling, we seek alternative and creative means of making what some may view as a squalid imprisonment, into something brimming with life and opportunity. For me, Boston is home. I have always been drawn to the city by employment opportunities, but am constantly longing for green spaces. It is a rarity to find a city dweller with a front or back yard and often times, even a small porch to call his or her own. This year, I was blessed with just that: a humble porch to call my own, and I was determined to transform this small, open space into a sustainable urban garden. I found that the greatest asset of my porch were the two railings that ran along the length of the space, with one sitting about 3 feet below the other. With this in mind, it was decided that a “gutter garden� would be the best use of the space while still allowing regular use of the porch. A gutter garden is ideal for small-space gardening. By simply drilling holes 3 inches apart into the bottom of the gutters, and then vertically aligning these three to four feet apart, you are creating a self-sufficient watering and draining system.

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THE TOOLS: Two gutters, cut to desirable length Four gutter end caps Four gutter mounting brackets Screwdriver and screws Rope, bungee cords, or similar Potting soil Seeds

THE METHOD: Step 1: Measure length of railings. Cut gutter to fit if needed. Step 2: Drill holes into the bottom of the gutters, about 3 inches apart. Step 3: Hang gutters using the mounting brackets. Drill into railings for additional support and/or tie down. Secure end caps. Step 4: Fill gutters with soil. Step 5: Sprinkle seeds along the length of the gutters. Step 6: Watch your harvest grow!

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SPRING TRADITION Every year, as spring draws closer, I head to the coast to feel the water. The bitter cold is a rude awakening that winter has only just left, but I am comforted knowing that warmer days are just around the corner.


Every year, as spring draws closer, I head to the coast to feel the water. The bitter cold is a rude awakening that winter has only just left, but I am comforted knowing that warmer days are just around the corner. Armed with a book and a blanket, I make my way to the beach, each year finding a new destination to carry out my spring tradition. The sand is cold beneath my feet, unlike during the summer when jumping from shade-spot to shade-spot is usually the game played. A cool breeze sweeps the sand, I press my body closer to the ground in an attempt to burrow myself beneath the elements. After a few hours of watching the waves crash onto shore, I make my way down to the water line, careful not to complete my spring tradition before the timing is “just right.�

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It usually takes a few minutes - each crashing wave sending the same message...bitter cold. A wave breaks just a few inches from my toes - it’s now or never. I eagerly step in. Numbing cold begins to make it’s way from my toes, to my heels, to my ankles. No turning back now. The cold of the Atlantic quickly numbs my legs as I wade a bit further into the ocean. I am instantly awake. As quickly as I went in I come out. The familiar feeling of sand beneath my toes gradually comes back as I retreat to my blanket. With a smile on my face I return to my car - happy that I have once again completed my spring tradition but also because my feet will soon be basking in the heat once my car is on.

It usually takes a few minutes - each crashing wave sending the same message...bitter cold.

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WELCOME HILL “This place has always been a labor of love - the work of an elderly gentleman, Mr. Hadlock, who turned a cow pasture into gardens after returning from World War II. For decades, he and his family have nurtured this plot and welcomed the community into their backyard.� WORDS by Heather Caulfield Mills

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There are some places from childhood so exquisite they seem more legend than locale. In springtime when the snow banks began to dwindle and we found crocuses at the edge of the woods, we’d ask our mother, “When can we go to Welcome Hill?” “Not yet, girls, but soon.” Iris bulbs sprouted and we’d count robins in the yard. Like her mother before her, mom seemed in possession of an ancient magic for timing our annual picnic – too soon and the flowers would be just buds, too late and the riot of colors might have turned to summer green. On the right day, mom telephoned Grandma Alice and packed sandwiches. It was time. If you’d asked me as a child where to find Welcome Hill, I couldn’t have told you. I only knew it was a bit of a drive, off a dirt road past an ancient graveyard. The gardens at Welcome Hill are situated in a steep valley, with a dirt path leading down to the hoards of daffodils. A hand-painted sign leans against a tree: “If you with litter do disgrace, and spoil the beauty of this place, may indigestion rock your chest and ants invade your pants and vest.”

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The entrance, at the top of the

close to the ground in marshier

hill, is marked by a wooden fence

corners by crumbling stonewalls.

and the palest pink magnolia tree

It’s a quiet spot, as if spring-

that drops silken petals onto a

time stands still. My sisters and

well-worn bench. A guest book

I brought along easels and paint

rests unattended nearby for trav-

brushes (we were quite serious

elers to record their pilgrimage.

about our art) and tried hard to

Getting down the hill sometimes

capture the complex curves of a

seems like an adventure in itself,

daffodil’s stem, sepal, and petals.

as the path is lined with lush azalea bushes hung with pollen-drunk

When I learned to drive, we visited

bumblebees.

on our own, taking pictures of each other in our summer dresses and

There is a sense of serenity after

lying carefully on the grass talking

crossing the makeshift board-

about boyfriends who might bask

bridge over the stream. Hundreds

with us in the warm, still air.

of yellow, white, and striped daffodils crowd about your feet,

This place has always been a

leaving just enough room for a

labor of love - the work of an

well-placed picnic blanket. At the

elderly gentleman, Mr. Hadlock,

edge of the tree line, dogwood and

who turned a cow pasture into

forsythia shrubs run wild, while

gardens after returning from

trillium and bloodroot grow

WorldWar II.

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AT THE EDGE OF THE TREE LINE, DOGWOOD AND FORSYTHIA SHRUBS RUN WILD, WHILE TRILLIUM AND BLOODROOT GROW CLOSE TO THE GROUND IN MARSHIER CORNERS BY CRUMBLING STONEWALLS. IT’S A QUIET SPOT, AS IF SPRINGTIME STANDS STILL.

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For decades, he and his family

Mr. Hadlock passed away a few

have nurtured this plot and wel-

years ago, and the gardens aren’t

comed the community into their

the same without him: autumn

backyard. The guest book is brim-

leaves cover the grass and there’s

ming with names, memorializing

a feeling of solitude. I don’t live

generations of visitors.

nearby anymore, so making it to Welcome Hill seems more like a

A few years ago I brought my

pilgrimage than ever.

boyfriend Dan to Welcome Hill, and later my mom snapped our

I look through photos from recent

engagement photos among the

years and see I’ve gone on cloudy

daffodils. Like mom and grandma,

days late in the season when the

I hope to bring children of my

gardens look a bit faded.

own here someday. They’ll eat sandwiches and draw and get

I’m hoping for better luck this

pollen on their noses, and while

year: for flowers at their peak and

they’re at it, perhaps begin to

swarms of happy bees. I’m still

create legends of their own.

learning to time my visits.

Welcome Hill is located on Welcome Hill Road off Route 9 in Chesterfield, NH and best visited in the spring.

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HARVESTED: FIDDLEHEADS


SPRING FIDDLEHEAD & GRUYERE TART RECIPE by Kevin Lynch

INGREDIENTS: 1 tablespoon olive oil (plus additional for brushing) 1 leek, rinsed, trimmed and thinly sliced 1/2 pound fiddleheads, well cleaned and blanched for 3 minutes 1 clove garlic, chopped 1/2 lemon, juiced 3 sheets phyllo dough, thawed, cut in half lengthwise 1 cup Gruyere cheese, grated salt and pepper to taste TO MAKE: Preheat oven to 375F. Heat olive oil in a pan over medium heat. Add the leek and cook until tender, about 3-5 minutes. Add garlic and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute. Remove pan from heat. Add the lemon juice and season with salt and pepper. Set aside. Place a sheet of phyllo dough on a greased baking sheet and brush with oil. Repeat with the remaining sheets, layering each on top of the previous. Sprinkle top layer with leeks. Layer with Gruyere and fiddleheads. Bake until golden brown, about 20-30 minutes.

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NEW ENGLAND POEM by Albert Laighton What though they boast of fairer lands, Give me New England’s hallowed soil, The fearless hearts, the swarthy hands Stamped with the heraldry of toil. I love her valleys broad and fair, The pathless wood, the gleaming lake, The bold and rocky bastions, where The billows of the ocean break;

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The grandeur of each mountain peak That rears to Heaven its granite form, The craggy cliffs where eagles shriek, Amid the thunder and the storm. And dear to me each noble deed Wrought by the iron wills of yore-The Pilgrim hands that sowed the seed Of Freedom on her sterile shore.

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ISSUE 01 – CREDITS & SPECIAL THANKS

SPRING FEVER Models Maria Cassina, Adrian Cassina, Shane Cochran, Meghan Cochran, Eva Cochran, Brendan Joseph, Hunter Joseph, Brad Miscowski

MAPLE HARVEST Location Heritage Maple Farm Sanbornton, NH

BOSTON BLOSSOMS Floral Stylist Sarah Coleman

WELCOME HILL Model Bre Paquette

Location Welcome Hill Road, Chesterfield, NH

HARVESTED: FIDDLEHEADS Recipe Kevin Lynch www.closetcooking.com

ODE TO NEW ENGLAND Instagram Community @allci @amiefedora @ammccready @_ericc @ellesbells23 @fromaway @jdgoodyear @justinherrin @ksschro @littleskullphotography @michellekmartin @vicmejias

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t.e.l.l. was born out of a desire to capture the essence of living locally in New England. We are a design and photography team with a passion for local culture and the ambition to tell the story of growing up and living in the Northeast. This publication is our tribute to and support for New England’s communities, small businesses, people and their stories.

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Spring 2013 | Issue 01

issue 01 | spring  

A glimpse of Spring in New England.