Rhode to Riches

The I-95 takes us out of NYC via New Jersey on a drive that crosses 5 States in one day. New Jersey, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts and New Hampshire. A drive through heavy industry; old manufacturing towns reformed, shaking old images, creating new economies, right through to quaint oceanside Newport. Where the history of commerce and trading runs deep, from slaves, to cargo and in later years gladiatorial yacht racing trophies.

Richness runs wide in Newport Rhode Island. A town where opportunity and beauty have intertwined for decades. Where money and stature shaped landscape. Of proletarian and posh. Where a marina tells stories of hardship and victory. Ships of pain, progress, posture and profit have docked here.

‘The Guilded Age: A Tale of Today’, satirizing greed and political corruption penned by Mark Twain and Charles Dudley Warner: couldn’t have referenced the yet to be built mega mansions of the Elms, Breakers  or other palatial dwellings. Built atop cliffs with vast ocean views along the streets of Bellevue and Ochre Point Avenue, abodes of summer play for illustrious industrial barons. Edward Julius Berwind, the Vanderbuilts, Rockefellers and Carnegies. In an era of abject poverty and inequality were the ‘Robber Barons’ or ‘Captains of Industry’ commanding the helm of Newport history? Patriarchs of wealth, industry and influence. Legacies laid in foundations of fine marble, manicured gardens and opulent design. Vistas of vision or venerable vices.

The docks are decked for festivity, commerce and celebration of all things nautical in downtown Newport. Musto, Harken, Helly Hansen and Henry Lloyd are all here. Mist and salt mix. A familiar remedy for relaxation, discovery, joy and inspiration. Newport knows its past and its present. Tides running high with stories of rich endeavour. ‘The Cup’ truly runneth over here.

The Rhode of influence and profound plenty continues as we leave Newport towards New Hampshire, an American colony early to declare independence from England. Entering the White Mountains prestige is still prominent at the Mount Washington resort where once  President Roosevelt gathered 44 world leaders in post WWII meetings, intentioned to grow and secure global capitalism, spawning the World Bank and IMF establishments. The White Mountains, 780,000 acres of National Forest. Flume Gorge, Franconia Notch, Appalachian Trail all to be walked. The Kancamagus scenic byway, touting the name of the once fearless Indian leader to be driven, and on a ‘Road not often taken’ Frost Place, a poetical priority. A location rich with natural beauty as mountains turn crimson, waterfalls track time and squirrels stockpile. Rich is this creation. Rich is this experience.

As our time on this continent concludes and we farewell a family member, we give thanks for experiences shared, for sights seen, memories created, smiles captured and bonds strengthened. Our footsteps have taught us to walk bolder, engage stronger, explore excitedly, question deeper, learn lavishly and laugh lots. It’s been an almanac of adventure; sharing small hotel suites, smelly socks, sugary foods, sixties songs, maps and mis-turns, searching and shopping. This road has been rich together. We have been enriched.

“Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end,
Of a love or a season. Reluctance- Robert Frost