Stratton, VT
A chill has descended on the northeast. The trees are flaunting their fall wardrobes, and the evocative smell of burning wood tickles the nose. It's something I miss living in perpetual summer, the change of seasons. This weekend, we've bolted full throttle into the descent of winter and the glory of a New England fall.
Our short drive from Mahwah, NJ, to Stratton, Vermont, wended through charming towns, sprawling farmland and rolling vistas, varied in height and color and texture in a way rarely seen from the water, a feast for a sailor's eyes.
I love the cool blues of warmer climes, but it's a welcome sensory blitz to visit the other end of the spectrum.
A chill has descended on the northeast. The trees are flaunting their fall wardrobes, and the evocative smell of burning wood tickles the nose. It's something I miss living in perpetual summer, the change of seasons. This weekend, we've bolted full throttle into the descent of winter and the glory of a New England fall.
Our short drive from Mahwah, NJ, to Stratton, Vermont, wended through charming towns, sprawling farmland and rolling vistas, varied in height and color and texture in a way rarely seen from the water, a feast for a sailor's eyes.
I love the cool blues of warmer climes, but it's a welcome sensory blitz to visit the other end of the spectrum.
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