August was a slow time for me. I’d parted ways with Quiet Earp back in Boston; he took off for Nevada and Burning Man, while I continued eastward. But I’d been traveling fast, and I needed a break to stop and write about what I’d seen.

It was baking-hot in Beantown, but New Hampshire was halcyon and verdant. My friend Epona lived up there, and had a place I could stay for a few weeks. I hopped on the Downeaster, and soon found myself in Dover.

the Farmhaus, by Epona

Epona lived in an old farmhouse overlooking a wide field. She and her roommates Jamie and Chris had been out there for years, creating their own version of the American Gothic. Three fiercely independent and blazingly intelligent artist-types, they’d filled the Farmhaus with macabre sculptures, stark photographs, maquettes of bone and feather, hand-forged metal works and artfully-deceased flora. Cobwebs and dead things were considered art, and left to flourish in dark corners.

It was the kind of place that could give little children nightmares—which was precisely why I loved it. After months on the tourist circuit, my inner artist craved a dose of freak. In the Farmhaus, I found it.

The inside of the Farmhaus may have been a beautiful crypt, but the outside bustled with life. Jamie, Chris and Epona, in the true, self-reliant spirit of New Hampshire, were teaching themselves to farm.

They had a roost of chickens, raised from infancy and coaxed each evening from the tree branches to their homemade coop. A pair of guinea hens cackled and screamed their way around the yard, followed by a brood of twelve chicks (which, as we soon discovered, they would defend to the death from the likes of us). A white-eyed wolf-dog called Volka strutted, pranced and skulked about, occasionally killing something he shouldn’t. And in every corner of the yard was a garden patch.

I didn’t take many pictures at the Farmhaus. I was there to write, and write I did. I rarely looked up from the computer—but whenever I did, Chris, Jamie and Epona were there with food, beverages, entertainment, art, gardening advice… and we had FUN. It felt good to relax, and it wasn’t long before I felt renewed.

 

Random photos: a night out in Portsmouth, NH

I stayed out there for two weeks or so, and when Epona’s friend Hillary went out of town, I housesat for another week with her head-like-an-anvil bull mastiff, Oden. During that time, I took just a few photos—and so, for the next two days, I’ll be posting images from New Hampshire: the most idyllic August you can imagine in the semi-rugged semi-wilds of the Northeast.

See you tomorrow. In the meantime, here’s Oden.

© jessicareeder for Uprooted, an eco/travel blog, 2010. | Permalink | One comment | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: alternative, art, Dover, farm, featured posts, New Hampshire, photography, portsmouth, starving artists

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh