We weren’t exactly “lost” – I knew we were still in Vermont since we hadn’t crossed Lake Champlain into New York, the Connecticut River into New Hampshire, or run into any border guards that might wonder why we were trying to get into Canada.
But for the third (fourth?) time that day, while I was quite sure I knew where I was and where I was headed, a quick check of the map on my phone before driving off again showed that I had missed a turn and passed my destination by about ten miles. As lovely as Canada is, it was time for a course correction.
But before I pulled that quick U-turn (and wound up on that one-lane dirt road for about eight miles, wondering if we would ever see pavement again but enjoying the absolutely stunning scenery) I took in this view:
We were way north of Cabot and a long way west of the Connecticut River, but I still wonder if those big, tall mountains waaaaaaaay off on the horizon might be in New Hampshire. Probably not. Maybe on a more clear day, but then we wouldn’t have this wonderful interplay of white clouds and green mountains, sunlight and shadow, and the threat of rain in the distance.