I’m thinking pancakes. It’s not my normal breakfast  – most days I just scarf down some fruit and a cup of coffee. But pancakes have been calling to me lately. Perhaps it is a longing for simpler childhood days when Mom mixed up a batch of buttermilk batter and lured us out of bed with the delicious aroma of flapjacks sizzling on the griddle. Sometimes Mom threw in bananas or chocolate chips for variety. On occasion she got really creative and made pancakes with Mickey Mouse ears. Ah yes, my sisters and I were pancake gourmands. Or so I thought until I visited New England.

Quiet during the fall "leaf-peeping" season, the Sugar House roars to life every spring as the sap is boiled down to produce pure maple syrup

This boiler cooks off excess water, making a single gallon of syrup from every 40 gallons of sap

Last October I finally took a long anticipated “leaf-peeping” trip to see the fall colors. Wandering the back roads of Vermont near the town of Woodstock, I spied a sign for Sugarbush Farm that invited visitors to “learn about maple syrup making with our sugar house tour and walk our nature trail to see the sugar maple trees.” I suppose I’d always known that maple syrup came from trees; after all, there’s a reason those trees are named “maples.” But I’d never given it much thought.

Intrigued, I crossed the red covered bridge, wound to the top of the hill, and followed the signs for three miles. Like bread crumbs, they led me to the 550-acre working farm of Jeff and Ralph Luce. Since 1945, the Luce family has been making maple syrup the old fashioned way, tapping 6,000 trees and collecting the sap with a sled pulled by two Belgian horses. Following time-honored traditions, the crystal clear sap is boiled down in their on-site sugar house until it turns to gold, requiring 40 gallons of sap to produce a single gallon of Vermont pure maple syrup.

Sugarbush Farm also makes cheese, producing 14 varieties from the milk of their own cows. Smoked flavors spend three days and nights in their smoke house, which can accommodate 2100 pounds per batch. All cheeses are then aged at  38-40 degrees for 2-3 years in a cooler that holds 80,000 pounds of cheese. The Luces have definitely honed the art of sustainability. The cows are fed with hay grown on the farm and the sugar boiler is fired with wood from older trees that no longer produce sap and so must be culled from the grove.

One of the farm's few concession to modern technology are the miles of PVC lines that collect the sap, replacing traditional metal buckets

After visiting the sugar house, watching the video about maple sugar production, and taking the self-guiding hike up the hillside to see how the trees are tapped, I returned to the main farm house. Built in 1860, the homestead now serves as the farm’s gift house and cheese wrapping facility. At the urging of the staff, I tasted all 14 flavors of cheese and then began sampling the four different grades of maple syrup. The moment the golden liquid touched my lips, I knew I had been sorely misled. Why, that bottled stuff we poured over our pancakes as children was little more than sugar water! This stuff – well – this was nectar of the gods. No more Aunt Jemima for this gal.

In the cheese-wrapping room, visitors are encouraged to sample all 14 varieties of cheese and four grades of maple syrup

Although the farm is open year round, if you want to witness the actual collection and cooking of sap, plan to visit in March or April. There is no entrance fee, so a visit to Sugarbush Farm is a fun and economical activity for the whole family.

Now, about those pancakes………I think it’s time to dig that gallon jug of Vermont pure maple syrup from the cabinet and heat up the griddle……

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Fall foliage at Acadia National Park, Bar Harbor, Maine

More Wordless Wednesday

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For my final day in Maine I chose to wander south on US Rt. 1 along the coast, sampling the various towns from Penobscot Bay to the New Hampshire state line. I started in Camden, which one local resident described as “the jewel in Midcoast Maine’s crown.” It is a lovely village, with the requisite picturesque church steeples, sailboats, and a waterfall that cascades down a rock outcropping in the center of town before emptying into the harbor. Its streets are lined with perfectly manicured shops and brick-laid sidewalks lead to alleys and nooks with more shops and restaurants.

Lovely little harbor in Camden, Maine

Downtown Camden, Maine

Fall colors aroud the harbor

Waterfall cascades from the hillside aove downtown to the harbor

It was a scene I saw repeated numerous times throughout the day and, frankly, all the towns began to look and feel alike. Camden may be the crown jewel, but it simply cannot compete with the beauty I saw in Acadia National Park, and so the charming coastal towns of Maine were not as much of an attraction as might be expected.

Boats in the yard at Boothbay Harbor

Fall colors in West Boothbay Harbor

There were, however, a few standouts. On several occasions I swung off Rt. 1 and wandered into the backwaters, where tourism has has less of an impact. Here I found the smaller communities of the Boothbay Harbor region, all of which are still traditional fishing villages.

Headquarters of LL Bean in Rockport, Maine

The town of Rockport, located a short distance from the coast, is unique for its downtown of historic red-brick buildings, and Freeport is famous for its outlet stores, most especially LL Bean, which originated here.

Kennebunkport, Maine

Glitzy stores in Kennebunkport, Maine

Downtown Kennebunkport, Maine

My final stop was at Kennebunkport, perhaps best known as the town where President George Bush (the elder) has a summer home. I was told where to find his home and drove out to the ocean to see if I could spot it, but the oceanfront was crowded with one enormous mansion after another and I didn’t see one that has a sign proclaiming it as the home of a president. The town itself is ritzy and glitzy, as befits its reputation as a place of splendor and wealth, but again, it didn’t much interest me; I am much more drawn to natural beauty than artificial attractions like shopping.

Goodbye, for now Maine. I will definitely be back. You are too beautiful to leave forever.

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Remember the movie Funny Girl? The one starring Barbra Streisand as Fanny Brice? Remember the scene where Nicky Arnstein takes her to Maine and introduces her to lobster? And she eats herself stupid?

Since arriving in Maine I’ve had lobster in just about every way it can possibly be prepared. I’ve had lobster bisque, lobster stew, lobster pot pie, and a lobster sandwich. I’ve had lobster atop a Caesar salad. But until last night I hadn’t splurged on a whole lobster. Since I will soon be leaving Maine, I figured it was now or never. My server suggested a 1 1/4 pound lobster, which sounded just fine to me. A few minutes later, she plunked down a giant plate in front of me. On it was an entire lobster – claws, head, body, tail and all.

Now, I’m not a particularly squeamish person, so the antennae and the itsy bitsy feet didn’t really bother me. My problem was how to eat it. Whenever I have previously ordered lobster the tail has always been extracted from the shell.

The first thing I noted was that the server brought me an extra plate that held a large cotton dish towel, a wet nap, a tiny fork, and a set of claw-crackers. Oh boy, I thought, this is going to be messy. I have peeled crabs before, so I have a general idea of what it involves, but I was totally unsure of which parts of the lobster were edible and how to get into it to begin with. Trying to be inconspicuous, I caught the attention of my server and asked for directions. She explained the process and then left me to my own devices. I cracked, bent, pulled, dug, and generally decimated that lobster, sucking every last morsel of juicy flesh from the shell and then licking my fingers to boot.

“You did pretty good, what with it bein’ your first time and all,” my server later commented.

“Yep, I did,” I replied, proud of my skills. Now all I had to do was clean myself up.

I wiped my hands on the dish towel. I broke out the wet nap. I squeezed lemon juice into my palms and rubbed them together. I’ve since returned to my hotel, taken a bath and a subsequent shower, but I just can’t get the smell of lobster off my hands. I’ll bet Fanny Brice never had this problem.

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My car is headed south now, as I gradually make my way back home to Florida. However I am still traveling in an unstructured manner, so when I came around the long curve of Route 1 leading to Penobscot Bay and spied the Penobscot Narrows Bridge, I just knew I had to stop for a photo. I pulled off Rt. 1 and discovered that there was a visitors center for the bridge. To my surprise, the tallest upright of the bridge houses an observatory in the upper tip of “the needle.” Five dollars bought me the right not only to ride to the top of the tower, but also entry into the adjacent Fort Knox.

Penobscot Narrows Bridge

I started with the tower, which just opened in 2007. The fastest elevator in Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont carried me to the top of the Penobscot Narrows Observatory, the tallest public bridge-observatory in the U.S. At the conclusion of the one-minute ride the elevator door slid open at a height of 420 feet and I climbed an additional two stories for a dizzying view of the Penobscot Valley.

Observatory is in the tip of the needle on the Penobscot Narrows Bridge

View from the observatory

View from the Main Observation Deck

Back on the ground, I walked over to the Fort (shown on the peninsula of land at the bottom left in the above photo) and spent a brief time exploring its old gun batteries and cold, dark rooms. As I left the park, I stopped to tell the ticket lady how much I had enjoyed my diversion.

“I always thought Fort Knox was in Kentucky,” I said to the woman in the ticket both.

“Oh, it is, but this is also Fort Knox; named after the same fella – Major General Henry Knox,” she explained.

“It was great,” I smiled. “Fantastic views from the top today.”

“Ayeh. It’s a great day to visit the TAH-wah,” she agreed.

That’s when I knew for sure I was still in Maine.

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God was a careless artist when he created Maine. He did not dab with a paintbrush. He did not splash. He poured beauty over the State. Nowhere is this magnificence more evident than in Acadia National Park, which occupies nearly half of Mount Desert Island and a scattering of smaller islands off the coast of northeast Maine.

Fall colors in Acadia National Park

I could live here for years and still not sample everything that Acadia National Park has to offer, much less see it in its many moods and seasons. As it was, I spent the better part of two days viewing the spectacular fall foliage, which may have been the showiest display in years because of the abundant summer rains. On day one I began by driving the 27-mile loop road in the eastern section of the park, which is the easiest way to see spots like Sand Beach, a turquoise jewel of a cove tucked between two rocky arms that is a favorite of summer beach-goers, and the historic Jordan Pond House, known for their tea and popovers as much for the view from their floor-to-ceiling windows.

Sand Beach in Acadia National Park, Maine

Comprised of more than 47,000 acres, Acadia is different from other national parks in that, rather than being set aside in one large parcel, it has been scrabbled together over the years through the acquisition of private parcels. John D. Rockefeller, one of the first to build a large estate on Mount Desert Island and an active supporter of the development of the park, constructed a series of carriage roads to ensure he would be able to travel on motor-free byways via horse and carriage into the heart of the island. Today visitors can still hire a traditional carriage, cycle, or travel by horseback to see the 17 stone-faced bridges, streams, waterfalls, and cliffs that lie along the path of these historic crushed gravel roads.

One of the historic stone-faced bridges in Acadia National Park

Still other visitors take advantage of more than 120 miles of hiking trails that range from easy strolls along level paths to strenuous hikes to the top of Cadillac Mountain. With only a couple of days to see the park, I combined travel by car with hiking, choosing three trails with differing views and levels of difficulty. The first was a path long the high cliffs fronting the ocean between Sand Beach and Thunderhole, a crevice in the granite into which the seawater rushes, generating rumbles of thunder:

Thunderhole in Acadia National Park, Maine

The second was a 3 1/4 mile trail around Jordan Pond, with its views of “The Bubbles,” twin mounts that anchor one end of the pond. This trail has a little bit of everything; portions run along a well graded, level path, while other portions require scrambling over granite boulders or walking along a sometimes wobbly elevated rough plank boardwalk:

View of "The Bubbles" from Jordan Pond, Acadia National Park

Hiking path around Jordan Pond, Acadia National Park

Hiking path around Jordan Pond, Acadia National Park

View over Jordan Pond, Acadia National Park

Fall foliage, Acadia National Park, Maine

As I battled temperatures in the mid-30′s and wind gusts nearly strong enough to knock me over, I took my final hike of the day, a half-mile loop around the summit of Cadillac Mountain. The trail continues down the mountain, but because it crosses long expanses of smooth granite, the only way to stay on the path is to follow the cairns of rocks that are piled up every so often. The idea is to walk to the first cairn and then look for the second one, then walk to the second and look for the third, etc. If you look closely in the photo below, you can see three cairns, the third just barely visible in the distance (I stuck to the 1/2 mile summit loop):

View from the top of Cadillac Mountain, Acadia National Park

With the sun setting I made one final stop at Bubble Pond. The mountainside on the far shore was reflected into the mirror-smooth surface of the water in an other-worldly mosaic of greens – an awe-inspiring end to a perfect day.

Bubble Pond, Acadia National Park, Maine

Bubble Pond, Acadia National Park, Maine

The following morning I checked out of my hotel and headed for the western half of the park. Although in my opinion not as stunning as the eastern portion, still it has a certain charm. Here, protected park lands are interrupted by pleasant seaside villages with white clapboard houses and church spires lining the shores, downtown retail shops that feature Maine crafts, and sailboats moored in protected harbors:

Seal Harbor, Acadia National Park, Maine

Southwest Harbor, Acadia National Park, Maine

Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse, Acadia National Park

Also here is the Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse, perched atop a rocky promontory. Since its construction, the light has been automated but never darkened, and it continues to warn ships of the dangers in the rocky shoals off the coast of Maine.

Finally, I could delay my departure no longer and I pointed my car south. I am blown away by Maine. In fact, even though I am not a resident, I think I can claim absolutely to be a Mainiac.

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Oh the weather outside is frightful,
But the fire is so delightful,
And since we’ve no place to go,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

At the moment, the lyrics of this old song could not be more appropriate. I arrived in Bar Harbor, Maine at noon yesterday to skies so dark and gloomy that it was difficult to get a good photo. From the town pier I climbed the hill and strolled through Agamont Park where, despite the chilly weather, people sat on wooden benches enjoying the view of the harbor. I was surprised to find the town so full of tourists at this time of year but I soon learned why; two cruise ships had anchored off-shore for the day. Apparently the activity of “leaf-peeping” – traveling in search of colorful fall foliage – has been embraced by the cruise industry and Bar Harbor is one of their major ports of call.

Indeed, the fall foliage along the coast of Maine is quite showy; the broad, leafy trees overhanging the steeply inclined sidewalks of town still exhibit brilliant colors. I wandered in and out of shops, stopping here for espresso, there for a freshly baked scone. To my amazement, many people were sitting outside eating ice cream. Apparently, ice cream is a Bar Harbor tradition; one store proprietor told me his family has been making its own ice cream since 1896. Still, tradition can only go so far; all I wanted to do was put something hot in my belly.

Late in the afternoon the sun finally peeped out from the clouds long enough for me to snap a few photos that didn’t look dark and dreary:

Back at the town pier I happened upon three women laden down with purchases that they insisted were gifts for their grandchildren, but from their blushes and giggles, I suspected otherwise. They were good sports, laughing at my teasing.

When I simply couldn’t stand the cold anymore, I returned to the Bar Harbor Hotel via the waterfront path and soon afterward was enjoying a dinner of Lobster Pie, the specialty of the house at the Bar Harbor Inn’s Reading Room Restaurant.

This morning the weather had further deteriorated. The wind is so strong and bitingly cold that it brought tears to my eyes when I went out for a walk. After a leisurely lunch at the Thirsty Whale, I hurried back to the hotel where, as in the song, I have since been happily ensconced in front of a roaring fire in the lobby. Although I had planned to stay only two days, the weather has changed my plans. Since the forecast calls for brilliant sunshine and more moderate temperatures tomorrow, I will stay through Friday to hike a couple of the trails in Acadia National Park, which surrounds the town of Bar Harbor, before heading back down the coast. From what little I have seen of Maine so far, it is remarkably beautiful and it would be a crime to leave without exploring it a bit more. I only hope it doesn’t snow before I can get out!

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Give me a Mom and Pop motel over one of the ubiquitous chain motels any day! They are often dated to the point of being dilapidated and offer only the most basic amenities: a couple miniature bars of soap, two or three cellophane wrapped plastic cups, a few scratchy towels barely big enough to be called towels, and a roll of single-ply toilet paper slightly less rough than sandpaper. The better ones occasionally even provide shampoo, conditioner, and a coffee maker. So why am I so attracted to these small, locally-owned operations? Aside from the fact that they are affordable, the owners of these establishments almost always bend over backwards to make you comfortable.

When I rolled into Woodstock, New Hampshire for my recent visit to Franconia Notch State Park, I spotted The Carriage Motel high atop a hill overlooking a river. It had that kitschy look that screams Mom and Pop, including an old-fashioned game room in the courtyard. True to form, owners France and Dennis Demers welcomed me with broad smiles, checked me in, and then proceeded to fill me in on the best restaurants and attractions the area had to offer.

Tired from my long drive, I immediately went to my room. It was definitely basic – old furniture that looked like it had been assembled from scores of garage sales, dented electric baseboard heaters, and barely enough light to read – but the room was exceptionally clean and a bargain at $69 per night during the height of leaf peeping season. About that time I pulled down the bed covers and discovered a
rusty old metal box mounted on the wall, with wires leading to the bed. The logo was still visible; “Magic Fingers” it read. It was beyond kitsch; it was a blast from the past – I hadn’t seen one for years. Back in the day, many motels were equipped with Magic Fingers, devices that promised relaxation and relief from everyday stress by vibrating the mattress for 15 minutes when the patron placed 25 cents in the box.

Over the next two days I wondered whether the Magic Fingers still worked. I thought about trying it – I thought about it a lot. But I couldn’t bring myself to drop a quarter in the box. Perhaps I was worried that someone would know I used the Magic Fingers. But why would this be an issue? For some reason, in the back of my mind Magic Fingers has a vaguely sexual connotation. Even so, who would know if I used it in the privacy of my own room? Ah, but if it worked, it might make such a racket that the entire motel would know. On the other hand, it might not work at all. It might be so old that if I inserted a quarter it would short out the device and sparks would fly and catch the bed on fire, causing the fire department to respond, leaving me to guiltily explain how my depraved actions resulted in the loss of the motel and the ruination of the Demers.

Aaackkk! You see my problem? I am a truly sick individual. Since departing, I have been kicking myself for not popping a quarter in the slot. Would anyone who is planning to visit Woodstock, Vermont please do me the favor of staying at The Carriage Motel? Ask to stay in room #12, pop a quarter in the Magic Fingers, and report back to me. Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life wondering whether I could have enjoyed two nights being blissfully vibrated to la-la-land.

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The more I travel the more I appreciate the astonishing beauty in the United States. There are so many things I love: lighthouses, waterfalls, beaches, wildflowers, mountain trails, the list could go on forever. I find that most trips take on some sort of theme and this one is no different, as today I visited my third gorge in as many days. This one was The Flume in Franconia Notch State Park in north central New Hampshire.

The Flume at Franconia Notch State Park New Hampshire

Even though the fall foliage here is “past peak,” inside the protected gorge there were enough leaves remaining on the trees to add some color to the trails. The Flume is a natural 800-foot long gorge with perpendicular walls that rise to a height of 90 feet. It was formed nearly 200 million years ago when the underlying granite fractured vertically, leaving wide gaps. Later, the molten lava that was forced up through these cracks cooled to form basalt rock. As erosion lowered the earth’s surface, the dikes were exposed. The softer basalt eroded faster than the surrounding granite, creating the deep valley that is today the gorge. After the Ice Age, Flume Brook began to flow through the valley, and the swiftly moving water further eroded the gorge and became a series of spectacular waterfalls:

The Flume at Franconia Notch State Park New Hampshire

The Flume at Franconia Notch State Park New Hampshire

Another waterfall at The Flume

Miniature cascades everywhere

Covered bridge at Franconia Notch State Park, New Hampshire

Today the gorge has been made accessible from top to bottom through two miles of stairways, paths, bridges, and boardwalks that hug the sheer walls of the valley and hang out over dozens of waterfalls as they make their way down the steep granite flume. Although the gorge itself is a wonder of nature, it is the waterfalls that are the most spectacular feature in the park, ranging from gentle cascades that trip over low granite lips to raging torrents that roar and spew over precipitous cliffs.

Late in the afternoon I visited several other nearby sites in the park, including The Basin, a granite formation that resembles a giant bowl, was formed by a waterfall-generated whirlpool powerful enough to sculpt the resistant rock into a perfectly circular, smooth basin and Profile Lake, cupped on the valley floor beneath the former site of “The Old Man In The Mountain.” Sadly, the Old Man, a giant granite outcropping on the face of one of the surrounding mountains that looked like the profile of a grizzled old man, finally succumbed to weathering and gravity some years ago, tumbling to the valley floor. Today the placid surface of the lake that used to mirror the delicately balanced layers of granite that created the Old Man’s profile reflects only the surrounding mountains illuminated by the setting sun.

The Basin at Franconia Notch State Park, New Hampshire

Profile Lake at Franconia Notch State Park

I pressed on until I had seen all of the major sites in the Park because I want to leave in the morning. Last night the temperatures dropped below freezing and the daytime temps are in the 40′s and low 50′s; it is just too cold here for this Florida girl. Tomorrow I head for the southern coast of Maine. I know, I know – that makes absolutely no sense, since Maine is further north. But I will be on the coast rather than in the mountains, so it is still a bit warmer. Plus, I understand the fall colors are still at their peak in southern Maine, so I can justify it – at least in my mind. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

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Last night, the only thing I wanted to do was get in the car and drive back home to Florida. This happens to me occasionally when I travel long term. It may have been a touch of homesickness; more likely I just needed a rest, since I’ve been hitting the road pretty hard and staying up late to sort out photos and blog. So, I recognized my mood for what it was and slept on it.

Quechee Gorge Pond Vermont

Quechee Gorge Dam

This morning, following a good night’s sleep, I decided to hike to the bottom of the Quechee Gorge (Kwee-chee), billed as Vermont’s “Little Grand Canyon.” I started from the pond in the upper gorge, continued past the hydroelectric power plant and dam, and began the long trek down into the depths of the gorge.

Vermont Quechee Gorge

Along the way I smiled and greeted everyone that I encountered. On several occasions I struck up conversations with my trailmates and we trekked together part of the way down, enjoying the golden foliage framing the path. At one point I walked past a couple and their dog; the husband was taking a photo of his wife seated on the rocks with her arms around the dog. I stopped and asked if they would like me to take the photo, so that all three of them could be in the picture. They were surprised by my offer and thanked me effusively. Such a little thing, I thought, and it made them so happy.

Quechee Gorge Vermont

When I reached the bottom of the gorge I climbed down the river bank and picked my way over a field of jagged granite boulders to reach the river rapids. Everywhere, people were taking photos of their groups posed on the rocks, with the distant bridge over the gorge framing the shots. Again and again I offered my services so that everyone could be included. Again and again, people were surprised and delighted. Total strangers began talking to one another. I met people from India, Germany, Vermont, California, Minnesota, and New Jersey. A man from Lowell, Massachusetts, even invited me to stop by his coffee shop if I ever travel through Lowell.

One smile became two, then four, then dozens. Between the gorgeous scenery and the infectious smiles, my blues disappeared. I continued with my mission to bring a little ray of sunshine into people’s lives, snapping photos of a group of five young Indian men as I climbed out of the gorge and another of one last couple on the path to the parking lot.

It never fails that whenever I am depressed or unhappy, the very best thing I can do is get outside of myself by helping others. By the time I left Quechee Gorge I was re-energized, and instead of pointing my car toward Florida I headed north.

Vermont Leaf Peeping

An hour later I turned off the Interstate and crossed over into New Hampshire. Strangely, the trees here are nearly barren; it is hard to believe that 60 miles could make that much of a difference. One of the people I met earlier in the day, upon hearing that I was on my way to Franconia Notch State Park, said I MUST see Lost River Gorge and Caves. It must have been a “gorge” kind of day, because I discovered that the Lost River was located along my intended route and I arrived well before closing time.

New Hampshire Lost River Gorge

The Lost River is a different kind of gorge. Ten thousand years ago, a glacier covered this area. When it receded, the glacier blocked drainage through Lost River Valley, creating a chasm at least 50 feet deep. The melting water carried sand and small stones, acting like a giant sandblaster, carving and smoothing the sides of the gorge. Over the eons, the smooth rock walls lining the gorge fractured from the cycle of winter freezes and spring thaws. Huge chunks of the rock broke off along the joint lines and fell haphazardly into the gorge, creating a series of “caves.”

New Hampshire Lost River Gorge

New Hampshire Lost River Gorge

New Hampshire Lost River Gorge

As I descended into this stony labyrinth via a series of wooden staircases and boardwalks, I looked at the enormous chunks of granite that have slid onto the floor of the gorge. I found myself trying to figure out which pieces fit into which hole in the canyon wall, as if piecing together a giant jigsaw puzzle. Soon, I encountered my first “cave,” a series of boulders that have fallen in such a way that an enclosed area was created. Some of the caves could be entered by ducking under a boulder, while others required me to crawl on my hands and knees or slither on my belly. In between caves the boardwalk led past frigid waterfalls, giant whirlpools, and unique rock formations that resemble a guillotine, a wolf’s head, and a variety of ships.

By the time I reached the end of the boardwalk, it was just past 5 p.m. and I decided to call it a day. For six hours today, I hiked, climbed, crawled, and slithered through two gorges and ten caves, and I am tired! I doubt I will have any trouble sleeping tonight.

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It is rare that I cannot finds words to describe my travels, but my wanderings through Vermont today left me speechless. Each time I discovered a scene of spectacular beauty I believed nothing could top it; yet the landscape continued to offer up the most astonishing views throughout the day. I think it best to just show my photos from today, since no words can possibly do justice to Vermont in the fall:

Vermont Fall Foliage

Pumpkin farm prepares for Halloween

Vermont Fall Foliage

Vermont Fall Foliage

Vermont Fall Foliage

One of Vermont's many covered bridges

Fall foliage on a country road in rural Vermont

Vermont covered bridge near Taftsville

Vermont covered bridge

Waterfall amidst fall foliage

Fall foliage over a farm pond in Vermont

Multi-colored leaves

Covered bridge at Quechee Gorge

When I simply couldn’t absorb any more beauty, I stopped at the Sugarbush Farm, where I sampled cheese from the cows they raise and pure maple syrup from the trees they tap each winter:

Vermont maple syrup and cheese from Sugarbush Farm

Although I had intended to make it to New Hampshire this evening, there was just too much to see in Vermont and I simply was not ready to leave. I am really enjoying wandering with no plan or schedule; New Hampshire will still be there tomorrow.

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