Issue 03 | Autumn 2013
The Essence of Living Locally
T h e t ime of th e fa l l i n g l e av e s ha s c o m e aga i n . O nce mor e in ou r m o r n i n g wa l k we t r e a d up o n car pet s of g ol d a n d c r i m s o n , o f b r o wn a n d br onz e w ov en b y t he wi n d s o r t he r a i n s o ut of th es e delic at e t e x t ur e s whi l e we s l e p t. John Burroughs, Under the Maples
River & Stream
Peaks Island Homecoming
Decorating With Nature
A Crisp Autumn
Cranberry Almond Bark
The Apple Connoisseur
Gaining Back Autumn Traditions
It's our favorite time of year. Balmy autumn. summer days are transformed into cool afternoons and
brisk evenings. The smell of wood burning in living room stoves lingers in the air. Leaves fall gracefully, blanketing the sidewalks with a carpet of yellows, reds and burnt oranges. Apple picking and pumpkin patches. Seasonal spiced lattes and treats that are devoured from our plates just as quickly as the season barreled in. There are so many things to love about autumn in New England. This issue is an ode to our autumn. To the changing season and the beautiful foliage. To the pumpkin...everything, the apple orchard adventures, and our final wanderings before snow falls. Here's to another beautiful season in New England! - Ashley & Jenn -
river & stream Story & Photographs by Ashley Herrin
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something to be said about the
mesmerizing back-and-forth gestures. The tick-tock, tick-tock motion the arm mimics as force gradually builds, pushing the f ly further through the air with every pass. The line arcs and dances over the water. The f ly touching the surface only slightly, teasing its prey. With ease, the f ly is cast towards the eastern banks of the river, urging its bait to latch on. I've sat and watched this time and time again, and still, I am amazed by it's grace and beauty. Watching my father fish on this early autumn morning, I am reminded how much this is an art form, and I am completely in awe with it. You're immersed in your surroundings, in the literal sense you're knee-high in a river trying to fish nature's bounty out of its natural habitat. You're also connected >>>
on a higher level. Fly-fishing forces you to master insects, fish habitats and their life cycles. Your dependence on catching a fish is fueled by your understanding of their habits. It has been romanticized by some of the greatest authors of nature, from Muir to Leopold to Thoreau. It's a beautiful escape. And leaving empty handed doesn't mean it was all for nothing. After all, you've spent a few peaceful hours in the outdoors. To me, there's no greater reward.
More than half the intense enjoyment of fly fishing is derived from the beautiful surroundings, the satisfaction felt from being in the open air, the new lease of life secured thereby, and the many, many pleasant recollections of all one has seen, heard and done.
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looking up Story & Photographs by sam nute
AS a native New Englander, I have to say we’re rather spoiled. Within the boundary of our six states, we’re given four beautiful seasons, sports fans that other teams can only dream of, and raw, natural beauty everywhere we look. But in a generation where the majority of society is always thinking three steps ahead, constantly rushing, and spending more time online than off, it seems as though they forget to value the everyday sights, sounds, and experiences that New England has to offer. Hurrying through the day may save a little time, but one will find that they’re missing out on a lot more than meets the narrowed eye. My daily commute takes roughly two hours. Sure, I could get home a few minutes earlier by primarily taking the highway — which I have been guilty of on occasion. But to me, New England merits much more than that — dirt roads that wind through the back
country, roadside brooks brought to life by freshly melting snow, and the smell of a distant fireplace on a cold, brisk day are all waiting to be admired. If we just slow down, break away from our laptops and smart phones, and at the very least look outside for a while, we can begin to appreciate everything the northeast has to offer. On any given day, I’ll stop half a dozen times while I’m driving to and from work. You can find me on “the road less traveled”; eager to take my mind off the mundane commute to explore along the roadside, breathe in the fresh air, and take in everything around me. Coffee in hand, I’ll chase shadows from the trees and attempt to photograph some morning fog. In the evening, I’ll hop out of the car ready to catch a glimpse of the setting sun and capture the last moments of sunlight. >>>
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I’ve come to find that my happiness is derived from the experiences had towards my destination, not from rushing to the end of it. A lot of people may think their commute is just a blur — a waste of time in their day, only concentrating on getting home as quickly as possible. To me, it’s time to myself. Free time to explore, get away from it all, and admire the beauty of New England. Whether your explorations lead you to a newly discovered place, a different look at a familiar path, or a dead end, each has their own unique elements waiting to be discovered. I urge you to take a different route, slow down, and just take a look at what’s around you. You’ll be amazed at what will appear. In the words of Ferris Bueller:
Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop & look around once and a while, you could miss it.
peaks island homecoming Story & Photographs by gigi thibodeau
walked this island on spring mornings, when the fog was dotted yellow by forsythia and daffodils; in summer, when the roads were thick with day trippers on bicycles and summer renters in golf carts; and after a winter snowfall with only the gulls to keep me company on the long curve around the Back Shore. But always my favorite season to return to Peaks Island is autumn. This is the time when chimneys curl with wood smoke, fallen leaves crunch beneath my sneakers, and beside porch railings pumpkins grin next to lobster buoys. This is the time when it feels like coming home. It’s a simple journey back. I layer on an extra sweater and a thick scarf for the fifteen minute ferry ride from Portland, buy my ticket at the terminal, and climb up to the top deck to take in the views of Casco Bay lighthouses and forts. I settle onto a bench and watch the tourists taking pictures as we leave the dock. We are not five minutes out when a little girl spots a seal. As the wind picks up I forget the mainland. The island lies just ahead. Between trees in shades of red and gold, classic Victorian cottages f leck the shoreline. I shiver, but not from the cold. I’ve lived places where fall isn’t like this. I know how lucky I am. >>>
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Soon we are pulling up to the landing, with its large, red-lettered “Peaks Island” sign. I feel the familiar tug at my heart. I stayed here on the island one fall for four too-short months, and years later it still calls to me. I don’t come to Peaks to escape from my life. I come to reconnect with what is most essential. Each time I return it’s as familiar as a promise kept. I head up the gangplank into the center of Down Front, the island’s village, complete with cafe, inns, a handful of gift shops, post office, a grocery store straight out of 1975, bike rental, library, and even its very own umbrella-cover museum. All the necessities. At the intersection beside the public bulletin board, there’s a choice to be made. Days when I want a short walk with a big payoff, I head right. Within ten minutes l’ll hit stunning views of open ocean, my nose full of salt air and beach roses. Today, though, I go left. I want delayed gratification, a long, leisurely trek around the roads that ring the island, about three and half miles of easy walking. If I factor in time for bird watching, dream-house shopping, bench loafing, and sea glass hunting, it will take me a couple of hours. As I pass the mix of summer cottages and year-round homes along Island Avenue, a man drives past me in a beat-up truck, the license plate marked “Island Car.” He nods and waves, and I wave back. During the fall when I stayed on Peaks, I quickly learned a basic fact about the island: whether driving, biking, or walking, most locals wave — not just to each other, but to visitors, too. While friendly and welcoming, this is not a quaint gesture. It’s as necessary to island life as good storm windows. You never know when you’ll need each other. This side of the island faces the mainland. Portland’s skyline appears in glimpses between houses and tea-stained hydrangeas. Out near Little Diamond Island a ferry blasts its horn. This neighborhood is comforting and homey, the epitome of village life. It is not until the turn up Skillings Avenue to cross over to the other side that things begin to change. In a few yards Skillings meets Seashore Avenue, yet there is no seashore in sight. Instead, the trees grow thicker here, the houses sparser. The island feels a bit less civilized. Ferns, now yellowed by cold nights, line the road in lush abundance. Overhead a blue jay f lashes against the bark of a birch tree. The woods are storybook dark and green as the road begins to descend. I smell the Back Shore before I see it: the salt air scouring the rattling leaves. Seashore Avenue curves now into Spar Cove, and the drama begins. >>>
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Here the island faces open ocean. The road ribbons between salt marshes backed by woods and ledges on one side, and granite rocks leading down to the waves on the other. Cormorants spread their wings to dry in the sun along the shoreline, as they have for thousands of years. Beach roses and wild asters bloom in abandon amid the drying stalks of goldenrod and Queen Anne’s lace. Even on a chilly day the sun is warm. As my feet follow the familiar dips and swells of the Back Shore, the tug in my heart becomes full-blown longing. I reach into my pocket for the ferry schedule. If I can’t stay here forever, maybe I can at least catch a later ferry. Maybe there’s time for wandering through the paths around Battery Steele, the graffiti-covered World War II bunker just off the road. Maybe there’s time to add my own cairn to the ever-changing collection built by other walkers, each one’s silhouette an echo of nearby Ram Island Light. And I will definitely make time to find a few pieces of sea glass on Hadlock Point. It is during my wandering, tower building, and treasure hunting that the hardest part comes. I must pass by the tiny cottage where I stayed, and which is now being renovated to be a much bigger house. The owners will have better views of the crashing waves during storms, and they will no longer hit their heads on the sloping ceiling when they wake up each morning, but gone is what I loved about the place. Much like Peaks itself, its bare-boned beauty was as homelike as anywhere I’ve ever been. The road soon curves back up into the village, past more sweet cottages with names like West O’ the Moon and Chanticleer. At one house, a brood of chickens comes to greet me. At another, an orange cat lies nearly camouf laged in a pile of leaves. I turn and head down Welch Street towards the landing just as the ferry arrives. I’ve come full circle, yet I can’t stop thinking about the little cottage that will soon be a house. I’m okay with change, I tell myself as I follow the other passengers on board and climb back up to the top deck. Yes, change can be good, like leaves falling from the trees. The captain blasts the horn, then pulls away from the dock. The island recedes from view, but that’s all right, because I know it by heart. Besides, I remind myself, someday I will find another tiny cottage, and I then I will come home for good.
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october a poem by robert frost Photographs by Ashley Herrin
O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; To-morrow's wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; To-morrow they may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow, Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts not averse to being beguiled, Beguile us in the way you know; Release one leaf at break of day; At noon release another leaf; One from our trees, one far away; Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with amethyst. Slow, slow! For the grapes' sake, if they were all, Whose leaves already are burnt with frost Whose clustered fruit must else be lost â€” For the grapes' sake along the wall.
stop for a while. enjoy your surroundings. breathe in nature. marvel in its beauty. trail grub on page 84 >>>
Apple Harvest Story & Photographs by Michelle Martin
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Connecticut River is New England’s longest river THE and it runs its course through four states. Growing up in Connecticut I spent my childhood in a small town just west of the river in the center of the state. My childhood was filled with activities that, I assume, most other suburban New England childhoods are. I stayed relatively unaware of the areas surrounding my hometown and just assumed that most of the rest of the center of the state was similar to it. Malls, shopping plazas, chain restaurants; suburbia. Little did I know that just across the river — separated only by a short ferry ride — was a whole different type of place. South Glastonbury is a fertile area full of orchards and farms. Follow any winding road and you will pass farm after farm as well as many quaint farmhouses. Finally feeling free of suburban Connecticut I moved to Boston for college. As it happened, my freshman year roommate, Erica, grew up just across the river from me in South Glastonbury. As we became close friends I realized that though only a few miles had separated us growing up, her childhood had been quite different from mine. Her family owns Woodland Farm, a 15-acre fruit farm that has been family owned and operated since the 1960’s. Though people in the area know them best for their apples they also grow cherries, raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, plums, peaches, donut peaches, nectarines, apricots, and pears. >>>
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Her father now owns the farm and she works there alongside her brother, cousin and a host of other seasonal employees. We spent a late fall afternoon wandering the orchard as the sun was setting picking apples. She shared some memories of growing up on the farm:
how this machine sorts our apples by size and joke that due to having to pack so many apples neatly in boxes that we are masters at the game of Tetris. Though all of these memories are unique, the unifying theme is that I got to spend an extraordinary amount of time with my family, learning how to take pride in my work.
I have many fond memories of growing up on the farm, and honestly, each new crop throughout the season reminds me of specific moments in my personal history. We used to rent an additional blueberry patch from a neighbor of ours which produced a crazy amount of blueberries, and blueberry season reminds me of great conversation with my cousins, many games of “truth or dare”, and a lot of sunburn. Peaches remind me of my father, during peach season he is very rarely seen without a peach pit in his mouth. When my brother and I were younger we would be his “basket girl” and “basket boy” carrying his full basket of peaches to the truck only to bring him an empty one. We were astounded at the rate at which he fills baskets. To this day he still out-picks me 2-1. Apple season reminds me of “back to school” as well as packing apples for wholesale in my grandparent’s garage. We have an apple-sorting machine that visitors to the farm see as magic. When people come to the farm we explain
And as we moved from row to row of different varieties of apples she shared some of her favorite types of apples: I love so many for so many different reasons, so I will start from the beginning. Lodi is the first apple we harvest (in July) and I love this apple for its thin skin and tart f lesh. The extraordinary thing about Lodi’s is the fact that their skin is SO thin, you don’t have to peel them to bake with them. Ginger Golds, Red Free, and Zestar are some of my favorite summer eating apples. These varieties are often overlooked because most people don’t think that apples are around until September, which is just not the case! In terms of fall eating apples I really enjoy Jonagolds, Braeburns, Empires, and Melrose. All of those varieties have a sweet f lesh with just a hint of tartness behind them. Macouns and Honeycrisp are both great, and speak for themselves.
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cranberry canvas Photographs by Ashley herrin
New England's cranberries
create a beautiful tapestry against the terrain. With peak harvest occurring in September and October, this provides us with a second spectacular color display. Oft overlooked, vibrant patterns, colors and textures are created down in the bog. Greens and reds contrast perfectly against the yellows and oranges of the surrounding woodlands. Cranberry bogs are a canvas, on which New Englanders have painted a beautiful scene.
Decorating with nature photographs by jenn bakos & ashley herrin
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A crisp autumn Recipe & Photographs by Michelle Martin
filling 3 Medium Comice Pears (or pears of your choosing) 3 Large Mutsu Apples ½ cup brown sugar ½ tsp. cinnamon fresh ground nutmeg 1 tbsp. cornstarch
Topping 1 cup salted butter 1 cup sugar
½ cup oats 1 ½ cups f lour
method Preheat oven to 375. Peel and slice apples and pears. Add sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cornstarch, and mix to combine. Place in oven for about 10-15 minutes. Meanwhile, melt butter in a large bowl in the microwave. To the melted butter, first add the sugar and stir well. Next add oats, stirring to combine. Finally add the f lour. Mix until crumbs are formed. Depending on how you like your crisp topping, add more or less f lour to reach your desired consistency. Take warm apple and pear mixture out of the oven and add crisp topping. Bake for an additional 30 minutes until the apple and pear mixture appears to be bubbling slightly on the sides.
sugared cranberries Recipe & Photographs by ashley herrin
ingredients 3 Â˝ cups granulated sugar 2 cups water 2 cups fresh cranberries
method In a sauce pan over low heat, combine two cups of water and two cups of sugar. Stir until sugar is dissolved, creating a simple syrup. Make sure not to bring to a boil. In a medium bowl, combine cranberries and simple syrup. Cover with seran wrap and refrigerate for twenty-four hours. Strain cranberries. On a cookie sheet, evenly spread 1 Â˝ cups of granulated sugar. Roll cranberries into sugar to coat evenly. Spread cranberries in a single layer on the cookie sheet and let stand at room temperature for 1 hour or until dry. The tart and sweet f lavors pop in your mouth and are a great addition to your holiday table.
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autumnal warmth Recipes & Photographs by jenn bakos
mornings decorated by dewdrops and drapes of fog. Vibrant yellows, reds and oranges that warm your afternoon. Woodstoves hurrying to bring heat to homes before the sun sets behind October clouds. Embrace the changing season with savory, hearty, and amazingly simple recipes that will add warmth to your autumn table.
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hearty beef stew ingredients 1 cup f lour 2 tbsp. margarine ½ tsp. salt ½ tsp. pepper 1 - 1 ½ pounds beef stew meat 1 14-oz. can stewed or chopped tomatoes 4 large potatoes, cubed 1 butternut squash, cubed 1 beef bouillon cube 1 tsp. pumpkin pie spice
Method Heat 2 tablespoons of margarine in a large sauté pan over medium-high heat. On a separate plate, combine 1 cup of f lour and ½ teaspoon each of salt and pepper. Dredge the beef cubes in the f lour mixture. Place beef cubes in the sauté pan, and fry just until browned on each side, making sure to not cook through. In a large saucepan or Dutch oven over medium heat, combine remaining ingredients, beef and 1 cup of water. Salt and pepper to taste. Reduce heat and simmer on low for 2 hours or until potatoes and squash are cooked through.
apple spice tea
ingredients ½ cup diced apple (variety of choice) ½ tsp. honey ½ tsp. cinnamon ½ tsp. pumpkin pie spice Pinch of nutmeg 1 cup of boiling water
method Dice Â˝ cup of apple, approximately 4 slices. Mash the apple lightly with a fork in the bottom of a mug. Add the remaining ingredients to the mug. Pour 1 cup of boiling water over the apples and spices and stir. Allow to simmer in the boiling water for about five minutes. Top with whipped cream and enjoy.
boston baked beans
ingredients 1 pound dry white beans 3 ½ cups water ½ cup brown sugar ¼ cup molasses ¼ tsp. ground cloves 4 tbsp. Dijon mustard ½ pound bacon, cut into ½-inch pieces 1 medium onion, chopped
method Bring a pot with 1 pound of beans to a boil. Remove from heat and let soak for an hour. Drain and set aside. In a bowl, mix the molasses, brown sugar, mustard, and cloves with 3 cups of hot water and set aside. Line the bottom of a slow cooker with half of the bacon and layer with half of the beans. Next add the chopped onion. Add the remaining salt pork, then beans, then top with the molasses mixture. Cover and cook on low for 8 hours or until beans are tender. If water level is low during cooking, add additional water as needed.
caramel apples recipe & Photographs by jenn bakos
exactly who invented these tasty treats is something that still stands to be debated. Some recipes date back to the 1700s, while dipping these tart fruits into the caramel is something that may (or may not) have originated in the late 1800s. Regardless of who invented what and when, New Englanders love these chewy treats. Try your own variations on this recipe to create a unique twist on a New England classic.
caramel dip 2 cups granulated sugar ½ cup light colored corn syrup ½ cup water 2 cups half-and-half 2 tsp. vanilla extract ¼ tsp. salt
toppings Slivered Almonds Popcorn Shaved Dark Chocolate Shaved White Chocolate Sea Salt
Coconut Crushed Cashews Dried Cranberry Bits White Chocolate Drizzle Honey Roasted Granola
method In a large saucepan, combine sugar, corn syrup and water. Bring to a boil, stirring frequently until dissolved. Continue boiling without stirring until golden brown, about ten minutes. Slowly stir in half-and-half, vanilla and salt. Boil until candy thermometer reads 235°, stirring frequently. Approximately 45 minutes.
Choosing the perfect apple is just as important as deciding what to top it with. The tartness of a Granny Smith apple helps to balance the sweetness of the caramel...however, too tart can be too overwhelming. Alternatively, avoid apples that are too sweet or the texture is mealy and provides a bland f lavor. Red Delicious apples fall into this category. The best apples compliment the rich caramel f lavor and are easy to bite into.
CRANBERRY ALMOND BARK Recipe & Photographs by ashley herrin
ingredients 1 lb. dark chocolate 1 cup whole, raw, unsalted almonds ¾ cup dried cranberries
method Melt the chocolate using a double boiler. If you don't have a double boiler, you can easily mimic one by placing an empty saucepan over a pot filled with lightly boiling water. The steam will cook the chocolate above. Cover a cookie sheet with wax paper and set aside. Chop ½ cup of almonds and ½ cup of dried cranberries. Once melted, add the above and fold into the chocolate. Spread the mixture across the cookie sheet. Top with the remaining almonds and cranberries. Refrigerate until set.
tips Bark makes great trail food and can be easily packed for any adventure. Try experimenting with different ingredients like alternative dried fruits and complimentary f lavors (strawberry granola, white chocolate and coconut blueberry, etc). Get creative!
the apple connoisseur A Q&A with Nick Devine, cider maker Photographs by Jenn Bakos & Ashley herrin
October, t.e.l.l. met with Nick Devine, a local cider maker and apple connoisseur to discuss his trade and the ins-and-outs of cider making. Nick’s love and passion for apples is unmatched…he even has the tattoo to prove it! Nick was kind enough to give us an in-depth tour of the process and the neighboring wild orchards to discuss what it’s like to make cider in New England.
You are incredibly passionate about apples, and you’re wealth of knowledge on the topic is amazing. When did you become so passionate about them? What provoked your interest in the topic?
My passion really began when I started working on a farm four years ago. The farm was primarily an apple and peach orchard that grew over 50 different varieties of apples. My first fall working on the farm I needed to know the different varieties by look and taste in order to help people at the farmer’s market find the perfect apple. Being an artist I started obsessing over the color and textures of the different apples. The smallest differences between each variety consumed my thoughts. I wanted to learn more. I asked the farm owner questions about apples almost every day. I started learning more about the act of growing apple trees and how to care for them. I was blown away by how tough apple trees are. I then started to buy books and do random internet searches about apples and the history behind the magical fruit. As soon as I dove into the history of apples and apples trees, I was hooked. They helped form the colonies and kept the founding fathers going. That’s when I found out about hard cider. I decided to do my senior thesis in art school on hard cider and really try to wrap my head around the topic in an artistic and intellectual way. And the rest was history.
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When did you start making hard cider? Did you begin with traditional apple cider and it just evolved from there, or did you just jump right in?
I made my first batch of hard cider in 2010, so I’m technically still a “greenhorn” in the subject. I do pride myself in my traditional method of brewing and keeping my cider as close as it can be to what the founding fathers would have drank back in the day. I’ve done countless hours of research and have an entire bookshelf dedicated to apple related reading material. I never was really interested in making regular cider due to the fact that it didn’t really exist before prohibition. Before prohibition, if you heard someone say “cider,” they were referring to the hard stuff. I still have a bottle of the first cider I ever made and I keep a bottle from every batch for my own collection. That batch I really just decided to “wing it.” I took some cider, maple syrup, a cinnamon stick or two, and some brown sugar, and threw them all into a bucket and crossed my fingers. It came out surprisingly great! Making hard cider is pretty straight forward and probably one of the reasons I became so hooked.
What are the best varieties to use when making hard and traditional cider?
I know a few old bucks that swear a Macintosh and Red Delicious mix will produce the best cider (non alcoholic). I make my hard cider with as many different varieties as I can. I feel as though the range of f lavor you can get from it is unmatchable. It is also the more ‘traditional’ way of making cider when you think about it. When Johnny Appleseed ran around planting his trees, each was a different variety. When the colonists made cider, they grabbed whatever apples they could find and threw them all into the press.
Do you like to experiment with your cider f lavors beyond apple?
For these first few years, my hard cider has been strictly apples. However, I am getting more knowledgeable of the subject so I’m starting to get a little crazy with my f lavors. I try to stick to what the colonists would have had access to, and to what grows locally in New England. I have made Honey Cider, Peach, Rhubarb, Blueberry, Strawberry, Raspberry and Blackberry, and Squash ciders.
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It seems that patience is a virtue when it comes to making hard cider. After bottling, how long does the cider need to age?
The older the cider the better the taste. It’s like a fine wine; the f lavors will co-mingle and become more sophisticated with age. I let my cider sit in the fermentation carboys for at least three months prior to bottling. Once bottled, I will let them age an additional 2 weeks to 6 months — depending on the type. As I said earlier, I have a bottle from every batch I have made — saving each one for a special day. Those days? I don’t know. But I feel like I will know when the time is right.
Devine Farms is the brand you’re currently building. In ten years, where do you see Devine Farms?
Nick In 10 years I see my family farm producing Heirloom apples and wild apple varieties for cider production. I would love to have a farm stand to sell my apples and other produce to local families. I would like to have my own apple nursery where I can grow old varieties of apples to keep the history and heritage of them alive. I want to be making hard cider for my family and friends. Who knows if I will ever get to the point of making cider for the general populous. t.e.l.l.
What is your favorite aspect of making hard cider?
My favorite aspect of making hard cider is how I am keeping a tradition that has been around for generations alive. I love how I drink my cider. I close my eyes and I can instantly be transported to a different time for just that moment. I am history when I sip on some cider. It could be the worst tasting cider I have ever made and I would still be enjoying myself because I know the founding fathers didn’t make it right the first time, but they also didn’t let it go to waist.
What is your favorite apple variety?
My favorite apple of all time…nothing is better than a Northern Spy right off the tree. But the f lavor changes in storage, so I would have to go with the Esopus Spitzenburg as my all-time favorite.
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Autumn in Hope, Maine Photograph by Laurie Wheeler
AUTUMN MORNINGS a collaboration with mornings like these
mornings in New England are beautiful, a sight to see year round. However, there's a certain time of year when they truly stand out. Autumn mornings are quiet and peaceful. They blanket the landscape with a thick fog and fresh dewdrops. Changing colors paint the rolling hills and wooded forests. All else seems to stand still as nature takes the main stage.
Mornings Like These is an Instagram project by Joy Jaynes that is dedicated to showcasing the beauty of mornings across the globe and building a community of those who cherish their morning moments. The project is a humble celebration of the sometimes-forgotten rituals of the early hours in our day. It was without question that we wanted to partner with Joy on creating a project that both captures mornings in New England and autumn. We aptly titled the project 'New England Mornings Like These' and had close to two hundred submissions using the tag "#NEmorningslikethese," of which four amazing moments were chosen to accompany the feature. Additionally, we had writers from each New England state submit their perfect autumn morning to help bring to life the beauty of our region and this perfect time of day. We are excited to share with you 'Autumn Mornings,' a collection of mornings in New England during our favorite season.
No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.
are designed entirely to remind you that you are loved. Cared for. Nurtured and sustained. In the evening when darkness takes to the skies, we are given another day when the light reappears; A whole new day just for us. The light arrives to nurture our plants, guide our travels, warm our skin; to sustain us. There is a whole season each year that is devoted to the love and opportunity each morning holds. Our dear Autumn. Autumn mornings creep in a little slower, warm up a little later, and provide a beautiful scene just outside of your doorstep to behold each day. The chilliest point of the day is oft the early morning hours; where we can take to our loved ones for extra warmth. The sun peaks out a little later; to allow us those few extra moments before the day begins. The leaves turn a little brighter; to draw attention to this great, big, wide, delicious, humble, giving earth. This morning, Autumn is waiting for you. Inhale the crisp pines. Play in the vibrant leaves. Wake to see the golden sunrise. Walk the trails, hike, reach the tops of mountains. Love this luscious earth as it loves you each and every Autumn morning.
joy elizabeth jaynes, mornings like these
appleton, Maine Photograph by Laurie Wheeler
a morning in vermont 'memories of the orchard' by heather Caulfield mills
Photograph by @joyarose
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farmhouse smells like apple pie when we wake. My sisters and I share a room near the kitchen, and we can hear our mother washing pans and corralling the boys. Dad is in the livingroom listening to the weekend news. We get up and pull on corduroys, wool sweaters, and our favorite f lannel shirts. Back in the kitchen, mom is calling to us. Hannah and Laura help her start a batch of donuts and I head out to the farm stand. It’s cold there in our gambrel-roofed barn with the black and white cow-patterned f loors. I slap the cash register awake and switch on the small lamp that brings a warm light to this paradise of homemade baked goods, apples, and syrup. I climb to the loft, full of dust and sweet hay, and swing open the upper door that overlooks the valley. Through the mist, our nearest neighbor’s house appears ghostly white behind a stand of maples in vibrant autumn plumage. Beyond the neighbor’s, the hillside drops away to the Connecticut River and then rises to more hills beyond. When I think of those mornings, I remember rain — dismal grey days that highlighted the brilliant palette of foliage. The smell of autumn rises from the ground and rushes from the woods around the barn: the bittersweet odor of fallen leaves becoming soil. When it isn’t raining, the fall sky is impossibly blue, as if burning the last summer rays before it wavers and goes blank with snow. Downstairs in the farm stand, my sisters deliver a batch of donuts, savory and grease-slicked, fresh from the pan. There is bread my mother makes, and Hannah’s
apple crisp. The walls are lined with gifts and books — small tracts on Vermont history and instructions on how to cook like the old-timers. My two brothers, the youngest siblings, run around the yard, excited to entertain any visitors who might arrive: the neighbors and tourists who stop to pick apples, pet the sheep, or just chat. Mom hops on the tractor and rumbles away with a load of empty apple boxes. We take an assortment of bags and head for the orchard, marching through the wet field with our wellie boots slapping smartly against our shins. Elijah the cat follows us, concerned we might get lost without his supervision. The laying hens cluck at us from their house at the edge of the woods, and the turkeys poke around for unsuspecting insects in the long grass. When it snowed later that fall, we had to shovel a patch of field for the turkeys every day until Thanksgiving time. It’s wonderfully satisfying to pick a ripe apple after spending all spring and summer mowing, weeding, thinning, and pruning. Hold the fruit; gently turn your wrist, and the stem snaps free. We pick a few bushels and return to the stand. My turn at the till, I get out my writing notebook and sit by the register, leaning towards the small lamp for warmth. The rain patters lazily outside the open doors and I put down my pen and gaze across the valley. The hillsides are a patchwork of dark firs and bright foliage, cut with neat squares of distant pastures where I imagine I can almost see the cows. My belly is already full of apples. The boys whoop and run into the yard, announcing our first visitors of the day.
a morning in rhode island ' autumn wanderings ' by lindsey thompson
Photograph by @empogo
- 106 t.e.l.l. New En gl and
as I awake from an evening of peaceful slumber, I am met with the autumn chill that I’ve begrudgingly begun to accept as the seasons change. The air is frigid. I bury my nose in my pillow for extra warmth, fighting the cool morning temps from reaching the rest of my body. I sink back into my cocoon with content. As I rub the eve’s slumber from my eyes, the aroma of fresh ground coffee slowly tiptoes into the bedroom. I ignore the urge to get up and go and roll back over into my cave of blankets. After all, it is the weekend, and this morning is mine to savor. After much convincing, I finally pry myself from my comfy bed. I’m the type who doesn’t like to waste daylight, and my mile-long list of to-dos keeps coming to mind, making sure I don’t forget. I emerge from the bedroom, wrapping myself in my favorite sweatshirt and slipping on my cozy slippers. A fresh cup of coffee is waiting for me. I sit down at our farm table and do what I do just about every weekend morning…I face the sliding door so I can watch what’s going on in the outside world and enjoy my morning cup. Outside there is a dusting of fog rolling across the field. This grey blanket mutes the green grass. Even the vibrant yellows of the trees across the way look tired - ready to be shaken from their surroundings. A fresh coat of dew decorates the ankle-high grass. I shudder and wrap my hands tightly around the warm mug, pulling it in closer so I can feel the warmth under my chin. Beyond the barricade of trees you’re met with the ocean. That’s what I love most about Rhode Island. It’s unique. Farms and rolling countryside meet the Atlantic Ocean
for stretches of rocky and sandy beaches for us to enjoy. For such a small state, the beauty of the landscape is unrivaled. Autumn in Rhode Island is when the state shines. The magnificent colors give way to the ocean — something you don’t typically find in the other New England states. As I finish my coffee, I run through the mental checklist I have formed — my first task is one tradition I do every autumn, and I am immediately jolted awake with excitement as I brood over it. Every Autumn I venture down the road to South Shore Beach. The trip doesn’t end there as I continue through South Shore to Goosewing Beach Preserve. Goosewing is unspoiled beauty protected by the Nature Conservancy. Cars cannot enter the preserve, in fact it typically requires wading through a small stretch of tidal water to get there. Its hard-to-get-to personality typically turns people off from the journey, leaving the beautiful stretch of preserve for your wanderings. The solitary appeal is what I love most about this annual pilgrimage. And fall is no time to overlook the adventure – the deciduous trees pop with color in the nearby woods while autumn breezes tousle the dune grass, gently molding the dune structure as sand is rearranged by nature’s hand. I typically wrap myself in layers, bring a blanket, a book and of course my camera, and wander the preserve, soaking myself in its beauty. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my morning. This morning is the going to be the perfect autumn morning.
- 107 t.e.l.l. New En gl and
a morning in Maine story by crickett cote
Photograph by @emaritraffie
- 108 t.e.l.l. New En gl and
a Maine resident since birth I have come to realize how much I’ve been spoiled. When I was nine years old my parents moved our little family from the city to the country. It was at this point I began to fully understand what having a yard meant. We had a huge backyard where we’d play horseshoes, and sit around smoky campfires at night. My younger sister and I had the space to kick around a soccer ball on the front lawn. These simple luxuries were something we were not accustomed to having grown up surrounded by the frustrated groans and fast paced blurs of the city. There’s something about growing up in a small, country town that made rushing seem foolish. I was surrounded by fragrant green fields for miles with streetlamps few and far between. The most prevalent colors were the soft green beneath my feet and the dreamy waves of blue above my head, which collided seamlessly all around me. My favorite place to look was the sky. When I looked up I was swallowed by the perfect blue ocean above me. From the sky came the breeze. When the autumn breeze caught in my sweater it would kick start an internal explosion of firing synapses that spread like wildfire. Standing still, breathing, alone and young, I let it wash over me. I felt connected to a larger cycle of nature that I’ve come to better understand with age. This is when I am happiest. When things get tough I close my eyes and remember those fields, and how carefree I felt by just looking up. Autumn in Maine is when looking up is most beautiful. It’s not just a season — it is a movement. Melodramatic reds, sleepy greens and screaming yellows swaying together in perfect rhythmic patterns. Those extra back roads on long walks, that second cup
of hot tea, that next chapter in an already engrossing novel. All those extra minutes are autumn. Even the mornings move slower. Stillness permeates. Time cannot touch you here. Walking outside in the morning makes you feel like you are viewing something that others are missing. The calm, comfortable crispness is celebrated by the senses. The brisk air doesn’t stick; it curves, and bends, and rolls freely through everything it touches. It is like the whole world is on spin cycle. The trees murmur like birds. Leaves fall like rain. Every sound seems purposeful and more beautiful than it did yesterday. Maine has this fantastic way of tricking you into thinking it’s the first time you’ve ever seen it. Autumn is nature’s reset button. We shed our summer skin. We bundle and press our bodies closer. In the invincible wake of clear autumn mornings we are all safe and blithe newborns. Maine’s rolling country scenery has renewing, healing qualities. The hills, f lowers, clouds, and lakes all breathe oxygen into our senses and allow us to be reborn. Each day contains a series of WOW moments strung together like telephone wires with each one connecting us to each other. Beauty is infinite. Anyone could get lost in this sweet abandon. But there comes a point when the day has to start, and morning seems a distant harbor. The world begins to spin. People dot and dash the landscape. And you realize that completely safe cocoon the crisp autumn morning captured you in has cracked. Not in a malevolent way but so you can understand its importance when it is there. The sunshine settles on your skin as a reminder to take a few extra minutes to explore. Let it rinse you down. In our daily haste we so often forget to slow down and enjoy the breathtaking simplicity in front of us. But autumn is simply hard to ignore.
a morning in new hampshire ' this beautiful morning ' by meghan cochran
Photograph by @aherrin
- 110 t.e.l.l. New En gl and
autumn morning is too sweet. The smell of freshly ground coffee f loats through the house to greet me, still tucked in bed. My husband is grinding coffee per his morning tradition. My daughter is nestled beside me, breathing softly as the gentle morning light kisses us. A few hours ago, the small sound of her mewing in the room next to ours pierced the early morning air, stealing me from sleep. The cold, dark hours of the early morning in her big girl crib worry her, so I still sometimes bring her into the warm, loving embrace of our bed. I am not bothered — she won’t be calling out in the dark for mama much longer. I sigh a little morning sigh and burrow deeper under the down blanket, warming the tip of my nose. My dreamy princess stirs beside me, and I remain still. She nestles closer and puts her tiny hand on my chest to make sure I’m still there to protect her. In a minute I hear her slow, deep breathing return as she slips back into sleep’s warm embrace. I can’t help but revel in the glorious laziness that is my life in this moment. The luxury of quiet Sunday morning cuddles in bed seems almost too good to be true. I
hear the padded footsteps of my husband in the kitchen, clinking around with his fancy coffee contraptions to get that perfect crema. I am so grateful that he found me, all those years ago, and wrapped me in his safe warmth. I know that I will never again have to wander by my lonesome. Perfect cup of coffee in hand, he comes to stand in the bedroom doorway and look at his two girls. Hearing the f loor creak, my daughter wakes and looks up at me. After a moment, she announces, “Dada!” with a big, toothy smile. “No, I’m Mama!” I croak. “That’s Dada!” I say, pointing to my husband. “That’s MY girl!” He says with a giant smile. Setting his coffee down on the bedside table, he hops back into bed to tickle and wrestle with his girls. The beauty of this simple autumn morning will not go unnoticed. As I revel in my family’s presence, I think of what this magical new day will bring. There is a bittersweet feeling in my chest, for I know these precious moments will not last. My blessings are endless, and my heart is full.
- 111 t.e.l.l. New En gl and
a morning in connecticut story by jennie smith
Photograph by @themarginalian
- 112 t.e.l.l. New En gl and
had always been a time of fresh starts and new beginnings, much like a second spring, because time was measured in school years. Fresh supplies, the smell of new books, catching up with peers about the summer, and starting a new school year with classes; those days, the mornings were more rushed and hazy. These days, I have time to slowly wake up and enjoy what the early part of the day has to offer. Especially in the fall, when things start to slow down and cool down, I make a point to watch the progression of the season out my bedroom window. There is a large maple tree that was planted before I was born, that now towers over our home. Every fall it blushes red as a last effort to hold onto a short and beautiful summer. I watch every morning as those leaves become a gradient of green to red and until the last one hangs onto bare branches. Now autumn is a time for ref lection. The year is coming to an end
and I like to take time during the morning to look back and think about all that has happened during the year. Autumn mornings are good for tea making and indulging in a warming breakfast. Maybe apple pancakes or gooey cinnamon buns right from the oven. These hours are perfect for a brisk walk or run to clear your head before beginning the rest of your day. There is still enough summer in the sun to keep you going but winter is surely present in the shade. At least once this time of year, I try to get up before the sun and drive to a favorite dirt road that leads to an overlook of a few rolling hills and farms. The quiet and twilight before the sun is unlike any other; you watch as the sun begins to touch the dewy grass and then the leaves, as if to paint them little by little; greens, reds, oranges and yellows. The mist lifts off of the hills and the world wakes up, ready to embrace the day.
- 113 t.e.l.l. New En gl and
a morning in massachusetts ' perfect autumn morning ' by B. Taylor sands
Photograph by B. taylor sands
may have learned sooner what a perfect autumn morning in Massachusetts could be like, had I not been so reluctant to let myself experience one. I moved to the Metrowest area outside of Boston after graduating from college in 2011. The challenges of starting a new job, familiarizing myself with new surroundings, and adjusting to an entirely new lifestyle overwhelmed me. My boyfriend Matthew and I prepared to move into a new apartment together, and to take on the transitions of our impending adulthood. We anticipated at least some degree of separation anxiety from our
rural home in Southern New Hampshire, but I felt confident that we would eventually settle in comfortably with our new routines. As autumn approached, however, I realized that there was one aspect of this move that I remained concerned about. How could I ever come to appreciate autumn in the city? To enjoy an autumn morning in Boston after falling in love with the changing of the seasons in New Hampshire? I assumed I never would. My change of heart, albeit recent, has been profound, and it happened on a cool and sunny Saturday morning in early October.
This particular morning was characterized by the clean, brisk air that all New Englanders know so well, and I woke slowly to the sound and the feeling of that familiar breeze filtering in softly through the blinds of our bedroom window. Matthew, with his brown, tousled hair askew, was turned away from me: still fast asleep. I found the warm, concave indentation between his shoulders, which happens to be a perfect fit for my face — and nuzzled into it. It was early enough, but later than we had hoped to rise and shine that morning. Fresh, cool air paired with the warm protection of a voluminous comforter made for optimal conditions for hitting the snooze button. Still, we had errands to run, and I managed to pry myself, and then Matthew, out of bed. A shower, an outfit, and a granola bar for each of us, and we were ready to venture downtown. The colder air was physical and emotional relief to our faces as we stepped out of our front door. I inhaled a comforting earthy scent. "It smells so good out here!" I exclaimed. Matthew smiled and heartily agreed: "It does." We started down our quiet, tree-lined street, and I made a point of shuff ling my feet through the lofty piles of pale yellow leaves in front of our neighbors’ houses. The satisfying sound of dry rustling faded in my wake. In fifteen minutes we were at the Davis Square subway station. Although it had become routine for me, the one aspect of taking the "T" downtown that never lost its novelty was going over the Charles River. On that morning, as I turned to look out of the subway car's window, I was pleased to not only see the familiar view of the water and the mid-morning sun gleaming off of the Prudential Center, but also the reddish-orange tinge of the leaves along the river that had just begun to turn. Their tops displayed a tantalizing array of reds, pale oranges, and dark golden yellows, while their bottom leaves held on stubbornly to the remnants of summertime green. The river itself was playing host to a f lurry of little white sailboats criss-crossing atop the water's surface. "Probably a sailing class," I mused to Matthew. Near the left bank, I spotted an eight-man rowing shell. On most clear mornings in Boston, you can spot a few eights rowing swiftly by all along the Charles, their oars moving in perfect synchrony. I closed my eyes, allowing that vision to summon memories of when I had held a similar oar in my own hands. I imagined the sound of eight oars turning, feathering, sliding, squaring, and pulling in time: click, galunk, slide, splash, repeat. The soothing repetition of the oars making their graceful f light over and through the water again, and again, occupied my thoughts as we sunk back underground, and up until we pulled into Park Street. As we exited Park Street station, we were greeted by a brilliant burst of mid-morning sunlight: bright and unfiltered as it washed over Boston Common and the surrounding buildings. The beautiful autumn morning had lured Bostonians out of their homes and apartments early. The entire city was vibrant, awake, and seemingly invigorated by the clean autumn air. I pulled Matthew into the nearest Dunkin Donuts to grab a hot cup of coffee — cream, no sugar — and we hurried back out to cross Park Street and enter the Common. We strolled through the Common and the Public Gardens in silence, enjoying the warmth of that bright autumn sunshine on our faces and the accompanying playful breeze at our backs. Here, too, the trees' autumn dress had just begun to show: the same top-to-bottom “stoplight” display that was featured along the Charles. It was there in the Public Gardens that I was struck with a sudden twinge of appreciation for everything I had experienced that morning: the sights, smells, and sounds of autumn in Boston. Sipping my hot coffee and meandering through the bright, bustling city with Matthew was a small experience that had a big impact on my perspective. My one-dimensional view of autumn evolved into a new appreciation for the countless facets of the season that New England has to offer. One perfect autumn morning in a beautiful city was all I needed.
conjuring autumn Story by gigi thibodeau photographs by jenn bakos
of my earliest memories is of sitting on the f loor in my mother’s kitchen with newspaper pages spread beneath me. I can’t be more than four years old. Cradled between my knees is the prize I picked myself earlier that day from the hundreds of choices at the farm: a pumpkin of my very own. My mother has cut a hole in the top and popped off the little stemmed cap. Now I am up to my elbows in pumpkin seeds and stringy pumpkin f lesh. I scoop at the inside walls with the big spoon we usually use to serve mashed potatoes. The seeds slip between my fingers, which are stained orange and smell like my father’s garden and fallen leaves. It takes ages and ages to scrape the inside clean, but I don’t mind. Somehow even at four years old, I get it. This is autumn. Decades later, as I lean into the giant cardboard box marked “fantasy pumpkins” at the grocery store, that memory returns. Other customers, too, gather around the box in search of just the right shape, the perfect stem, that prize that makes fall feel like fall. Yes, nature is an alchemist, dropping the temperature, turning the leaves to gold. But we are magicians, too. Each one of us conjures autumn from memories that f licker as brightly as jack-o-lanterns. Whether it be a tiny slip of a ghostly white gourd or a f laming-orange county fair monster fit for a giant’s feast; whether as knobbled as a troll’s warty nose or as smooth as a fairy godmother’s cheek, every humble pumpkin we place on our front stoop is the stuff of legends and fairy tales, taking us back to a time and place where a pumpkin could be head for a horseman, coach for a princess, house for a pumpkin eater’s wife. And each one we bake inside a buttery crust gathers those we love from near and far to taste the rich, sweet depth of an autumn day. Magic. This is the fall I remember, the one I dream up each time I say “pumpkin spice latte,” an incantation summoning frost and bonfires and rattling bare branches. As the cold descends, I scoop my prize again this year, saving the seeds to roast with salt and oil, carving my lantern to burn on a dark night when there’s magic in the air and in my own fingertips that lift the match to strike.
- 120 t.e.l.l. New En gl and
Gaining Back autumn traditions Story by Nicole Zais photographs by jenn bakos
is my favorite holiday. So much halloween so that I usually find myself in great denial when it ends and the rest of the world moves on into November. It’s not over, I always say to myself. It can’t be. As someone with an overactive imagination and a great love for all things macabre, it makes sense that the modern celebrations of All Hallows’ Evening would speak deeply to me as a person. I always wish I can do all the fall activities at once, leaving nothing out. This year, having recently moved to Allston, I found that city life caused my autumn to slip away from me before I could participate in any of my October traditions. I knew I had to remedy this situation and I retreated to the only place I knew would guarantee the safety of my Halloween and October experience: home. Leaving work early on Thursday the 31st, my dad picked me up and together we drove to my parents’ house in the suburbs. My mom was waiting for us with a big box of Halloween decorations, which we all hurriedly dug through to decorate the house as quickly as we could before the trick or treaters came. The night was so warm we left our door open with just the screen shut, allowing the sounds of a light rain and the excited shouts of children running from house to house to filter in with the comfortable night air. I ate too many Rolo’s and lost about $10 in change donating to UNICEF. While I wasn’t dressing up like some of my friends in the city and drinking beer at a bar, I found myself completely satisfied. >>>
- 128 t.e.l.l. New En gl and
Work the next day passed in a blur. I was planning on going to a Halloween party with some friends that evening and while I was excited about wearing my costume, something else was bugging me. Around four that afternoon, I decided not to go to the party but to go back home instead. My dad and I arrived home after the hectic Friday evening traffic to find a dark house in the gathering dusk. As we exited the car, my mom called out to us from the backyard where she had started up our fire-pit. She had found the pumpkin spice f lavored chocolate that I loved when I was a kid and we roasted s’mores around the cheery fire. It was the first of November but you couldn’t tell me that. I woke up that Saturday to the light of the blue sky streaming in through my window. The weather was warm again for the fall, low-60s, and the air was dry and full of the yellow sun. This is what I needed; this is what I came home for. Downstairs at breakfast I turned to my mom and asked her how she would feel about doing all of October in one day. She gave me a growing smile. “You mean do all of our traditions? I think we’re up for the challenge.” It took us twenty minutes to drive to Honey Pot Hill Orchards in Stow and I could almost feel all the pieces of this perfect fall day click into place. I stood in the middle of the pumpkin patch for a picture after carefully selecting three of the round, orange gourds. We walked to the farm stand and bought apple cider
and caramel apples and apple cider donuts which we all packed into the car before grabbing our picking bags and heading out into the trees to fill them up with end of the season apples. We ended up hiking around the orchards for three hours, wandering in and out of the trees, enjoying the warm sunlight, and picking apples at an idle pace, munching on one for a snack when we got hungry. Back at the house my mom and I cut open the pumpkins and got messy up to our elbows scooping out the vegetable guts to gather the seeds and allow us to carve jack o’ lanterns. We dried the seeds outside on the porch as we went to rake some leaves down on the lawn that had been blown back onto the grass from the surrounding woods. The afternoon ended with us lighting the pumpkins and eating the roasted, salted seeds by the candlelight of the jack o’ lanterns. Autumn, like spring, can be seen as a transitional season, a sort of bridge between summer and winter, but I think it’s more than just that. Instead, I prefer to view autumn as a time of ref lection and gathering. I realized only last week, and at twenty-four years old, that any family traditions don’t have to be limited to the holiday on which they are founded. As long as the spirit of the customs is kept alive and family and love surrounds you, anything is possible. You may even be able to fit all of October into one crisp, November day.
- 131 t.e.l.l. New En gl and
â€œFall has always been myfavorite season. The time when everything bursts with its last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for thegrand finale.â€? -Lauren DeStefano
friendsgiving Photographs by jenn bakos styling by ashley herrin & jenn bakos
Thanksgiving fast approaches, it is important to ref lect on all the things you are thankful for. We gathered friends and family to give 'thanks' in October for our first annual 'Friendsgiving.' It was an evening of smiling faces and new memories. Delicious food and delectable beverages. A traditional New England fall day evolved into a crisp, drizzly evening. A fire was lit and conversation surrounded the campfire. We gathered around a table of pine boards pulled from the barn, and kept dry in the shed where the tractor is typically parked. Simple decorations pulled from nature accented our table setting and surroundings perfectly. A rosemary and basil dressed turkey was the main dish, paired with local vegetables, pumpkin raviolis, and a slew of other delightful dishes brought by guests. We enjoyed Porter Square Porters from Somerville Brewing and a new seasonal cocktail packed with rosemary and cranberries and aptly named The Old Cranny (recipe on page 141). Dessert was amazing apple & pumpkin whoopie pies from 'Cuz It's Good' and a caramel apple bar. We over-indulged and left rubbing our bellies in happy content. The evening was the perfect way to give thanks.
We over - indulged and left rubbing our bellies in happy content. The evening was the perfect way to give thanks.
today, we give thanks for new friends and old. for the sharing of warm-hearted laughs and smiles, and hugs to comfort our tears.
today, we give thanks for our happiness and our health. For every day shared with others and amongst others, is a blessed day
today, let us give than ks for our growing families. and the memories we make with them today, and the rest of our tomorrows.
today, we give thanks for our sense of smell, touch, taste and sight for there would be no seasons of change without them
and so let us give thanks for here and now. for today, and everyday.
the old cranny
ingredients 1 ½ cups granulated sugar 2 cups water 1 cup fresh cranberries, muddled 6 cups natural & unsweetened cranberry juice 4 sprigs fresh rosemary rosemary (for garnish) lemon-lime soda water vodka
method In a saucepan over medium-low heat, combine 2 cups of water, 1 ½ cups of sugar and 4 rosemary sprigs. Stir until sugar is dissolved, and bring to a low boil, creating a rosemary simple syrup. In a large mason jar, combine cranberry juice, rosemary simple and muddled cranberries. Refrigerate until chilled. To serve, fill glass with ice. Top with ⅓ cranberry mix and ⅓ vodka. Top with soda water. Garnish with a sprig of rosemary and enjoy!
- 141 t.e.l.l. New En gl and
- 16 Looking Up Sam Nute Photographer, Writer
- 20 peaks island homecoming Gigi Thibodeau Photographer, Writer
- 34 apple harvest Michelle Martin Photographer, Writer
- 62 a crisp autumn Michelle Martin Photographer, Recipe
- 88 the apple connoisseur Nick Devine Interview
- 100 autumn mornings Joy Elizabeth Jaynes Mornings Like These Foreword
- 100 autumn mornings continued... Laurie Wheeler Photographer Heather Caulfield Mills Writer Lindsey Thompson Writer Crickett Cote Writer Meghan Cochran Writer Jennie Smith Writer B. Taylor Sands Writer @joyarose @empogo @emaritraffie @themarginalian Instagram Winners
- 116 conjuring autumn Gigi Thibodeau Writer
- 128 gaining back autumn traditions Nicole Zais Writer
Social Media www.tellnewengland.com www.facebook.com/tellnewengland @tellnewengland
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Issue 03 | Autumn 2013
An ode to autumn in New England