I had a holin my heart. I could feel it. The world was getting back to normal, but on a personal level, I didn’t know what that meant for me. Was I suffering a form of PTS? I felt numb, aimless. I had great ideas for my blog, but after many attempts to write them down, nothing was working. After several drafts, I gave up.

During the pandemic, I dreamed of the trips I would take when the nightmare was over. I knew I would have to proceed cautiously, not going abroad until things were more certain. I planned to take road trips, not too far from home, at first. All I knew was that I desperately needed to explore again. I have always believed that every place in the world has a story, and every person I meet along the way offers me valuable insights. My curiosity is insatiable. The need to travel is in my nature, my soul’s longing. I felt an emptiness after a confining year and a half.

After attending to appointments and family obligations, I finally left for New England, giving myself enough time for a two-week vacation before the Fourth of July. I headed to Burlington, Vermont, and on the way, stopped at a flea market that I remembered enjoying before. I was free, no set destination, no goals, no deadline. Serendipity. The kind of adventure I love. I had no idea that this stop would set the theme for the trip. I had become interested in geology. I wondered about masonry. How did people with no high-powered machinery cut the rocks to make the old foundations in my area? I was curious about the long-abandoned iron and pyrite mines not far from my home. And I wanted to know if the majestic ledges in my backyard were granite or gneiss.

And as fate would have it, I found two old books to take with me on my journey. Little by little, I would learn.

I crossed into Vermont with excitement.

I spent two nights in the cosmopolitan city of Burlington and was constantly startled by life-sized cutouts of Bernie Sanders. I drove south to The Shelburne Museum to get a dose of history. I worked at it all day, making sure I saw everything.

I was blown away by the museum’s collection of automatons from the 1880s. They were amazing mechanical creations that could imitate human movements.

I made sure to travel back roads.

I always love finding bits of history and insights into lives in cemeteries. Behind all the plots at the very edge of a final resting place, I found this grave almost hidden by leaves.

I wondered if I would be able to find some really old tombstones. I came to the conclusion that many of the older markers were made of wood and were long gone. Slate seemed to have been the next oldest choice.

I was moved by the sight of three stones that might have marked the deaths of people who could not afford grander stones. Maybe they were something else but just in case I picked some flowers from a nearby wild rose bush and placed one near each stone.

And then there was this metaphor for the passage of time.

New England has a character of its own. I loved the numerous bookshops with volumes of used books, out-of-print, at reasonable prices. I went through stacks and acquired wonderful books on history, famous thinkers, and sociology. I had hoped that they would reveal the answers to the questions I had before the trip.

I loved the quaint coffee shops and had the best cinnamon roll I’ve ever tasted. It was made of flaky pastry dough. The cafes provided me with a quiet place to read and relax, as I spent a lot of time on the go.

I was thrilled to find the Kitty Cafe in Barre, Vermont. I had heard of such a thing but never dreamed I would actually be able to experience one. For $5, I was allowed to go into an adjacent room with my coffee and spend 30 minutes in feline heaven. All proceeds went to an animal shelter, and all cats involved were available for adoption.

I crossed over to northern New Hampshire, The Granite State.

In the White Mountains, I spent five days in a small cabin with a tiny screened-in porch, a place where I could read when I needed a break from sightseeing. The owner was born in India, and I told him about my travels to New Delhi and the impact The Ganges River had had on me. We had a nice chat about karma and the frivolity of worrying.

When I was a little girl, I had visited this area and appreciated it enough to mourn when I learned, decades later, that The Old Man in the Mountain had fallen to earth.

Every day I hiked and took in all the magnificent rock formations that had been sculpted by weather and time.

I kept up my wandering and was rewarded in Franconia, New Hampshire, with something very special to me. I had become fascinated with the iron industries of the 1800s since a historical tour in my area, where I was able to see an old smelting furnace. It motivated me to learn more about the history of my area and to engage in some local exploration. I was delighted to see this one, which had been built in 1805.

I’m a bit of a scavenger. I collect beach glass, so it was natural for me to walk along the Gale River and see if I could find any tangible remains of this historic place.

I found nothing along the river, but not willing to give up, I dug among the rocks and tree roots directly across the river from the tower. I found slag (waste materials of the smelting process) and an actual piece of finished iron in the spot where it had been left over a hundred years ago. I was thrilled.

My trip was almost done. I needed to get home before the holiday rush. During my two weeks away, I had witnessed the geological struggles of some of the earth’s most beautiful landscapes and had come to know the stories of long-ago souls. I was able to hold some pieces of it all in my hands. The connection was made. My heart was full.

“Knowledge was inherent in all things. The world was a library and its books were the stones, leaves, grass, and brooks.”

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