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Live Free or Drive Flat

This blog is starting to look suspiciously like a love letter to New Hampshire—with a few passive-aggressive footnotes about the weather. It’s a far cry from other places I’ve lived: Houston, Phoenix, Santa Monica, San Francisco, London, Boston… and Anchorage (which, to be fair, is the closest match—minus the volcanic ash, wandering moose, salmon runs, and the deeply questionable concept of a midnight-sun tee time at 2:00 a.m.).

March in New Hampshire means one thing: Town Meeting. For the uninitiated, this is a centuries-old New England tradition where residents gather to govern themselves directly. Yes, really. No filters, no middlemen—just your neighbors, a microphone, and a strong opinion.

I used to think Texas politics had a flair for the dramatic. Then I attended Town Meeting.

Picture a room full of people, with seriously opposing viewpoints, debating municipal budgets and whether the town should build much-needed infrastructure (tax funding required). Now add just enough unpredictability that you suspect the Selectboard and Town Administrator are quietly bracing for impact while maintaining cheerful expressions. It’s democracy in its purest—and occasionally most theatrical—form. 

The venue? The local ski lodge. Naturally. And in what may be the most New Hampshire detail of all, the evening included a ham, beans-and-cornbread dinner organized by the Newbury Beautification Committee. Delicious, comforting, and served beforehand—possibly the only thing standing between order and chaos.

We had about twenty items on the docket this year. Most were refreshingly mundane. There was a bit of spirited discussion over a “slush fund” (which, in this context, sadly does not involve margaritas). With no local schools, Newbury pays neighboring towns to educate its students—a line item that tends to raise eyebrows and blood pressure in equal measure. Still, the overall tone was civil, neighborly, and—dare I say—efficient. We haven’t had a meeting like that in a long while.

Meanwhile, in nearby Hopkinton, democracy took a slightly more…tail-wagging turn.  On voting day (the prequel to Town Meeting), children ages 0–17 were invited to cast ballots for Dog of the Year. Yes, this is a real election, and frankly, voter turnout put the adults to shame. This year, 145 young citizens showed up to vote, and Wilson—the Soccer Dog—claimed victory. Registration –– and I assume campaigning—begins eleven months in advance, which is more strategic planning than most human candidates manage. Fourth and fifth graders designed official “I Voted” stickers, and I can only assume Wilson is now on a modest but dignified victory tour. I would very much like to meet him.

Back to the cottage renovation

Progress continues… in the way that construction progress often does: forward, sideways, and occasionally underwater.

Quite literally.

Recent rain and snowmelt found their way through the not-yet-shingled roof, resulting in a charming installation of buckets throughout the house and some thoroughly soaked sub-floors. Happily, things have since dried out, though with more snow, rain, and sleet arriving today, we are once again placing cautious bets against gravity.

We’re down to three builders now. Siding is going up on the addition, the electrician is mid–rough-in, and the plumber is expected soon. All promising signs—except for one small detail: we still don’t have a slab.

Why not, you ask? A bit of plumbing logistics, and a bit of mud season. 

During this magical time of year, local roads impose a six-ton weight limit. This means no concrete trucks. It also means that when our appliances arrived, the delivery truck took one look at the road, laughed (politely, I assume), and turned around.

And just when we thought we’d experienced every possible construction-related indignity, we parked in front of our own house—our own construction site—and managed to get one of our own floorboard nails embedded in the tire. Not just a little flat. The flattest tire I’ve ever seen. Impressively, decisively flat. A real overachiever. Dan the Man & Co. came to the rescue.

So here we are: ready to build, ready to install, ready to make progress… and gently held hostage by physics, weather, municipal regulations, and apparently, our own building materials.

We’re also deep into the phase of writing large checks, which always adds a certain thrill to the process. Nothing sharpens your appreciation for a home quite like pressing confirm purchase and then sitting very still for a moment.

Still, despite the buckets, the mud, the nail, and the occasional logistical comedy, we are moving forward.

Slowly, damply—but forward.

Until next time.

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Location: Newbury, NH, USA

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