We took the bikes out along the Nashua River Rail Trail, in Massachusetts, and happened upon a scene right out of Giverny.
We also saw a really cool yellow bird fly by. He didn’t stop for a picture, so you’ll just have to imagine this: “Yellow . . . Bird”, Ahhhh.
We’ve been busy lately so here’s the illustrated and abridged version of our week . . .
A day in Cambridge started with the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow House. This is one of the better preserved author houses I’ve seen, and I’ve seen a bunch (matrimonial hazard). If you dig that kind of stuff, you should check out Shannon’s other blog over at NovelDestinations.com.
This is the squirrel that pelted me with a half-eaten crab apple in Longfellow’s garden. Jerk.
Cambridge, MA, looks nothing like Cambridge, England. I’m not sure why anyone would have imagined them similarly; not me of course. We had lunch in Harvard Yard and strolled around the shops downtown. By far the largest number of tourists we’ve seen on our travels so far was on the Harvard University campus. Hordes of them.
We made friends at the Globe Corner Bookstore. This dog has the life. She lays by the front door and rolls over to be petted by the near-constant stream of visitors. We didn’t see a single person pass up the opportunity. I wonder if it’s possible for a dog to tire of affection? This dog probably knows, but she wasn’t telling.
Harvard’s Museum of Natural History is filled with either animals we exterminated or animals we tried to exterminate and had stuffed. Shannon didn’t care much for the rooms upon rooms of dead critters. We don’t usually visit natural history museums, and now I know why. We decided to do this one instead of the art museum to change things up. I think we’ll probably change back.
But the museum’s glass flower exhibit was worth a visit. I was dubious about a glass flower display, at first, but it turned out to be pretty interesting. The flowers look surprisingly real, and the detail is incredible. It’s impossible to believe someone hand blew them from glass . . . so I’m choosing not to believe it. But that’s Harvard’s story, anyway.
On to Concord, and the Old Manse. This is another author house. I skipped the tour, but Shannon will probably be commenting on it over at NovelDestinations.
While she was doing that I strolled over to the Old North Bridge, where the first battle of the Revolutionary War took place. And then took a short hike through Minute Man National Park.
Sometimes the beach is simply too much effort, with the sand, and the surf, and the fact that it is waaaay over there. On those days, the pool is especially nice.
Minuteman Campground, Massachusetts
. . . for strawberries. And so we set off to our first ever strawberry festival, because, well, why not? It provided as good an excuse as any to get outside on a near-perfect summer day. To be sure, the festival was missing some things. I don’t recall, for example, seeing a strawberry daiquiri stand or girls with trays of strawberry Jello shots. They had some ponies. But I don’t think they were strawberry flavored, so I’m not sure exactly how they fit in. What they did have, though, were the essentials you’d expect from any strawberry festival: berry picking and strawberry shortcake. Throw in some blue-grass music under crystal clear skies and you have the makings of an afternoon well-spent.
Strawberries
How is it that my trip to Boston didn’t include a visit to the Harpoon brewery? It’s somewhat due to bad planning on my part, but mostly due to ridiculous hours on Harpoon’s part. The day we were there they only held tastings at 4:00 PM? Really? You can’t be open any other time? Just 4:00 PM?
Fortunately the local liquor store doesn’t adhere to Harpoon’s tyrannical hours so we were able to schedule a tasting of our own. Screw you Harpoon!
Everywhere Once 