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Shedding Light on the Working Forest

We did a Google image search of the phrase “Vermont art,” and our computer monitor filled up with paintings of barns, cows, and church steeples. Most were lovely – clearly…

High-Hanging Fruit: Boom and Bust Seed Crops of Conifers

For portions of two days, I watched a red squirrel clipping and caching cones from the crown of a towering white spruce. It was a bumper crop that season, and thousands of cones hung in…

The Power of Microbursts

In the early morning of October 8, 2014, an autumn thunderstorm unleashed winds of more than 100 miles per hour as it crossed the western slopes of Mount Tom, a familiar landmark in the…

Where is Don Quixote?

Elizabeth had been the one person whose opinion, other than Patchett’s own, Patchett had the slightest regard for. On those occasions when Kinneson needed to get his hired man into gear,…

The Diminishing Woodpile

Fall should be a placid time. From my porch I can see ample firewood for this year and next, but it must be natural when you reach a certain age, with most of the adult responsibilities behind…

ATVs: Recreation and Conservation

ATV Users and Conservationists Find Common Ground The jagged spit of New Hampshire’s Coos County reaches north to Canada, with Vermont at its western border, Maine to the east, and the…

On Space Probes and Oak Seedlings

In November 12, 2014, an unmanned European spacecraft by the name of “Philae” landed on a comet named Churyumov-Gerasimenko (67P/C-G) as it was hurtling across the galaxy at a…

The Hatch

The evening was warm, even for August, and the pitcher for the home team Lowell Spinners was having trouble finding the plate. Millions of white mayflies, disoriented by the bright lights of…

Yankee Tarheels: Remembering the Pitch Pine Industry of Colonial America

Gone are the days when many in the Northeast relied on pitch pine, and in many cases, gone are the trees themselves. But you can still find this historic tree with the alligator-scale-like…

A Solo Traverse of the White Mountains

My walking up here is a form of yoga practice, I suppose – call it the practice of being perfectly content. I’m descending today, down a steeply sloping ridge on the eastern-most…