Some New Hampshire Haiku II

The season's first snow
Studded tires howl on the road
Look out for frost heaves

Deadly New Hampshire, Part II: Turkeys

Legend has it that Ben Franklin, Founding Father and all around scientific genius -- while also being an active womanizer on the side in his spare time -- lamented that the bald eagle had been made our national bird, instead wishing the turkey had been chosen:

"I am on this account not displeased that the Figure is not known as a Bald Eagle, but looks more like a Turkey. For the Truth the Turkey is in Comparison a much more respectable Bird, and withal a true original Native of America . . . He is besides, though a little vain & silly, a Bird of Courage, and would not hesitate to attack a Grenadier of the British Guards who should presume to invade his Farm Yard with a red Coat on."

Clearly, Ben had never driven in New Hampshire. New Hampshire's roads are narrow canyons, with the tall tree line coming right up to the shoulders, limiting your vision up to the next twist in the road - and as one fellow non-native friend observed, there seems to have been a law in New Hampshire that no road could be straight for more than 2 miles. Now, this makes for some very scenic driving, but in the autumn -- when this place is about as scenic as scenic gets -- it also provokes kamikaze turkeys. It is extremely common to see these fat fowl beside the road, munching on fallen acorns, bunched together in smaller or larger flocks. The problem is that in the autumn for some reason -- irritable from hormones? -- they stand and stare at you while your car is approaching, only to panic at the very last possible moment and attempt to fly across the road, right in front of your car.

Now, if you've ever sat and looked at a turkey for any length of time -- and this includes the one you see in your Dutch oven each year at the end of November -- you can't help but notice that turkeys are not the most aerodynamic birds. In a pinch they can indeed fly, but only for short spurts, and with great struggles to achieve any altitude. This all adds up to a suicidal butterball alongside the single-lane road deciding to launch itself across the road just as you're driving by on a trajectory that places it at about grill (i.e., radiator) or at best, windshield height. If you drive in this beautiful state, particularly in the autumn, you will notice deep and dark skid marks all along the roads. Take heed; beware the ballistic butterballs. We've never had that kind of problem with bald eagles; something to consider, Ben.

Roads in New Hampshire, Part 1

New Hampshirites are a craggy, gnarly sort of people, which is why they built their road systems to resemble tectonic fault lines. There's the old expression, "as the crow flies" to describe a straight line between any two points, and this expression comes in very handy for New England roads. In the 1950s when the Eisenhower administration began building the Interstate Highway System, New Englanders decided they could save some time and money by simply designating some of their existing roads -- meaning paved old farmer's cattle paths -- as highways. Because the point of a highway was to get from point A to point B, New Englanders were faced with some quandaries, given that many of their roads sort of meander, but with some creative route designations, the problem was solved and everybody was happy. The result is that nowadays, you may be driving down a road designated, hypothetically, Route 25, when you innocently pass a turn-off or side road somewhere, which you ignore. It may be many miles before you discover that Route 25 turned on that side road, though the road which had been Route 25 continued on. Silly you.

Next time, we'll explore the phenomenon of 'Frost Heaves'. When I first encountered them, I expected to see Santa Claus throwing up on the side of the road. Turns out they're something different.