The Boston Bombings

Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

- Robert Frost

Massachusetts and New Hampshire do not always get along. To those in Massachusetts, New Hampshirites are hicks and anything north of the Massachusetts-New Hampshire border is considered exactly like deepest, darkest Africa. Nice maple syrup, beautiful fall foliage, but utterly lacking anything in the way of civilization. In response, New Hampshirites have invented a term to describe their southern New England neighbors: Massh*les. Massachusetts had its Puritans but New Hampshire was historically a great mixture of religions, and some fleeing persecution by Puritan extremists made their way to the great New Hampshire wilderness. Add in New Hampshire's 0% sales tax, which means that a lot of Massachusetts people do their shopping just across the border, and, well, let me tell you what it's like getting a parking space in southern NH. Feeling the love?

In truth, however, the two states are joined at the hip. Many New Hampshirites work in Massachusetts, particularly in Boston. I myself was in Copley Square in Boston with some New Hampshire-based colleagues on business just a week before the Marathon - a not uncommon circumstance. Indeed, Boston is really the unofficial capital of New England, and the entire region - New Hampshire included - looks to Boston's news, economy and sports teams for inspiration. As I've noted once before on this blog, dissing the Red Sox in a bar anywhere in New Hampshire will earn you a fat lip as surely as if you were in Boston. Ask just about any New Hampshirite to meet you in Boston, and they'll show up at any street corner, park, bar or subway stop in the city without checking a map.

In turn, New Hampshire has traditionally served as vacation central for Mass*les, so that many Massachusetts citizens have childhood memories filled with summer camps in New Hampshire's Lakes region. In the summer, New Hampshire's slim coastline is chock full of Massachusetts people who seek the sandy (and cheaper) beaches, while during the autumn northern New Hampshire is just as filled with Massachusetts tourists and their cameras, soaking in the explosion of colors in scenic small New Hampshire towns. People like Aerosmith's Steven Tyler and the late comedian George Carlin all grew up spending summers in New Hampshire, so that while they may not admit it, most Massachusetts people have fond memories of this state.

This close relationship between these two New England sibling states became apparent when the bombs went off in Boston during the Boston Marathon last week. The news rippled across both states quickly and on both sides of the border, people were making frantic calls to find relatives known to be in or watching the race. Emergency personnel from both states also quickly responded, and New Hampshire police and fire people were present in Watertown when the second suspect was finally apprehended. Here in New Hampshire this week, you can't poke your head out the window without seeing some sort of fund raiser for the bombing victims, and "Boston Strong" shirts, signs and bumper stickers are everywhere.

This doesn't mean that we still won't shake our fists at deranged Massh*le drivers - and all drivers from Massachusetts are mentally deranged, which no doubt has been proven in countless scientific studies - but in the end, when the chips are down, we're like the family you can't choose and we do the right thing.

Spring in New Hampshire

My father has this annoying little ditty that he feels compelled to repeat each spring:

"Spring has sprung, the grass is rise, I wonder where all the flowers is?"

This, apparently, encapsulates the total wisdom my family has accumulated over the ages, to be passed down from generation to generation. So as my grandfather annoyed my father with this, so too, in the timeless way of generational baton passing, must my father regale me with this gem - accompanied, of course, by a few uncontrollable chuckles and snarfs. We live hundreds of miles apart nowadays, but the wonders of modern technology make it very easy for my father to nevertheless carry on this tradition. The phone rings, I see the number on the caller ID, and it's roughly April, so I know it's coming. Alas, who am I stand in the way of family heirlooms? I answer, and grimace.

But it is indeed spring, and things are indeed springing, including the crocuses in my front garden. These little guys are pretty hearty, having poked up a bit early only to endure a thick frost for the effort. I also note the irises are coming up as well, though they haven't flowered yet. (I'm completely sympathetic. I myself am a wake-up-at-the-crack-of-noon type of guy.) All of this is to say that with spring and new beginnings, I want to take this long-neglected blog in a new direction. I am going to take some of Robert Frost's poetry on a regular basis and use it as inspiration to talk about some aspect of life in these New Hampshires. Now, I am not an English major so don't expect some deep analysis about how Frost used mackerel as a symbol for his sexual frustration or anything like that; I'll just use it as a starting point to wander off and talk about some interesting tidbit about New Hampshire that I've noticed. Frost is ideal for this kind of thing because, well, I just plain enjoy his poetry, but also because Frost himself was really an urbanized southern New Englander who tried hard to become a rural New Hampshirite. His quest to fit in to the unique culture of this state included, according to the guides at the museum in his former farm in Derry, NH, secretly listening in to his neighbors' party phone line conversations for hours to try to nail down the New Hampshire accent. So I sympathize with Frost; I love this state and call it home, but will never be a true "native." (Frost, BTW, eventually moved to Vermont. Quitter.)

So that's the plan. I'll give it a whirl, and see if I end up having my home fire bombed by horrified English teachers or if I'll be sued by Frost's surviving relatives.