That day was chosen simply because it fit our schedule, but how auspicious that our civil anniversary would forever be 1/23. Because otherwise, we’d forget it.
In celebration, we treated ourselves to a day of XC skiing at one of our favorite ski areas just across the New Hampshire border. To spoil ourselves a little more and maximize our time on the trails, we stayed at a Bed & Breakfast near the ski area on Friday night. We picked the Birchwood Inn because we dug the British motif that the ex-pat Anglo proprietors carefully cultivated: the Union Jack hanging on the porch, the rooms named for quintessential English towns, the beer-themed knickknacks, the authentic dart board, and the tiny beds with the dense mattresses — so very, very British.
Birchwood Inn
I liked that the building dated back to precisely 1775, as if the Inn was an alternate universe where the American Revolution never happened and an enclave of Brits carried on calling each other “love” and cooking bangers and mash, bubbles and squeak, and, of course, spotted dick.
Birchwood Inn Porch
Inns that are 200+ years old aren’t necessarily spacious, luxurious, or even comfortable, but they are historic. Thoreau reportedly stayed at the Birchwood Inn for a stretch, and one of the dining rooms featured a mural painted in the mid-1800s by Rufus Porter. Proof, in my opinion, that not all old art is necessarily good art.
Rufus Porter Mural
On Saturday morning, after a breakfast that was thankfully devoid of baked beans, we headed out to XC ski. Supreme conditions, with a luminous bare blue sky, nary a hint of wind, and a mid-20s temperature that felt much warmer thanks to the trusty blazing sun. A soft one-foot cushion of snow provided an excellent surface for skating. The only flaw was that it was perhaps too perfect of a ski day, as it attracted legions of people.
Perfect Ski Day
Mr P. inspiring widespread awe and fear with his pure finesse on skis.
Descending the open slope like it was alpine
Ascending hills like it was cake
After skiing for about 5 hours, we drove home and had a meat fondue. No, that’s not a dirty euphemism, we had an actual meat fondue.
Meat Fondue
Two years of civil marriage, and we can still spend a day together, enthralled with each other’s company, and enjoy a night filled with meat fondue. That’s a successful marriage!
