Home in Old New England
Though I look out my window to a beautiful, sparkly white blanket of snow, and Christmas is only days away, for the purpose of this post I am hearkening back to the warm, pumpkin filled days of October.
In the early days of October, when the deep, blazing colors of a New England fall were just beginning to consume the greens of summer, I visited Deerfield, Massachusetts with three friends. The historic district of Deerfield is one of those sweet, little gems you find in many, hidden corners of the New England countryside.
Old Deerfield centers on a 330 year old, tree lined street, dominated by stunning, revolutionary- era colonials. The western Massachusetts hills dominate the backdrop, rolling off into the horizon. Each time I am there the nostalgia of a time I never knew, yet feel a deep connection to, takes my breath away.
The beauty of New England architecture lies in its exquisite simplicity; the clean lines, the rigid adherence to symmetry, the use of simple, local materials, and the practice of good old Yankee pragmatism. For a California-born girl, who was formed in a world full of stucco subdivisions and in a society which snubbed traditional for modern and futuristic, finding myself living amongst classic, old American homes, that have survived centuries of housing trends, feels oddly comforting and familiar. This is the place my soul immediately recognized as home.
And don't even get me started on the doorways! There's little that sets my heart aflutter more than a old New England doorway.
Deerfield is one of those places, that when I take the time to visit and to soak in the centuries old atmosphere, an atmosphere laced in joy and tragedy, in superstition and mystery, I'm reminded once again why New England will always be home to me.