Yankee Magazine (Digital)

In 1993, when he was 5 years old, Ben Fisk took a field trip to a sugarhouse with his Temple, New Hampshire, preschool class. It’s not hard to imagine the excitement of these little kids, taking their first deep dive into the alchemy that winds up as a delicious puddle on pancakes. And it’s easy to conjure their delight in coming in from the cold and being enveloped in clouds of moist, fragrant steam. To picture the sticky fun of sampling different grades, from light to dark; the magic of sugar on snow; the sugar high that followed. Maybe they got to take samples home. Maybe they thought a little harder about what they were pouring onto their pancakes the next time. What’s less predictable is obsession. Passion. Because at…

As a lifelong Boston sports fan, I’ve sat in my share of unforgettable stadium Fenway Park’s Field Box 81, Row C, Seat 1—along the oddball juncture of the leftfield wall and thirdbase line—might be my favorite, since it makes me feel I could actually touch a fair ball. But I’ve never sat in the seat in Boston sports, which is distinguished among Fenway Park’s forest of green bleacher seats by its flash of Red Sox red. Located 502 feet from home plate, the “Ted Williams seat”—Section 42, Row 37, Seat 21—was painted red in 1984 to memorialize the mighty bomb that Williams launched on June 9, 1946, still the longest home run at Fenway We don’t h ave to g uess where that firstinning homer landed, because it thunked off…

When it comes to building houses, you don’t have to be a little pig or a big wolf to know that wood beats straw and brick beats wood. But for the lucky folks of Chester, Vermont, there’s something even better than brick: stone. The town is home to a unique collection of snecked ashlar buildings, whose aesthetic qualities elevate them beyond simply being well-built and strong and into the realm of folk art. Composing the Stone Village Historic District, 10 of them line Route 103, known locally as North Street, with another 40 or more scattered throughout the surrounding area of south-central Vermont. First, some definitions. “Ashlar” is cut and dressed stone, and it makes sense that the word comes down from the medieval Latin arsella, meaning a little board…

Blues like the deep sea, greens like the shallows. Dinner plates done in explosively imaginative designs you’d almost hate to hide with food. Vases prettier than the flowers they’re made for. The pottery at D. Lasser Ceramics in Londonderry, Vermont, ranges from functional to purely decorative, from a full line of tableware to outdoor sculptural ceramics and even glazed garden orbs that make glass glazing balls look staid and old-fashioned. And through it all, color with a generous dollop of whimsy reigns. “My personality is playful,” says founder Daniel Lasser, “and my personality is all over these things. You’re going to get a playful product.” Every piece sold at D. Lasser Ceramics is made on the premises. The showroom fronts a workspace dominated by two enormous kilns, one for firing…

Lucy Fagella | Greenfield, MA The bucolic surroundings of Fagella’s studio—a popular stop on the Asparagus Valley Pottery Trail, which she helped found—are reflected in her line of mugs, lidded urns, and vases decorated in flowers and leaves that seem to live on the surface of the clay. lucyfagella.com Salmon Falls Stoneware | Dover, NH For nearly 40 years, Salmon Falls has been turning out the kinds of classic salt-glazed pieces with hand-drawn patterns that have long been staples of the farmhouse kitchen. At the heart of the collection are ovenware and place settings, but you’ll also find lamps, vases, planters, and even birdbaths. salmonfalls.com Sheepscot River Pottery | Edgecomb, ME Sheepscot’s artisans create pottery that could come only from Maine. Lobsters, pine trees, loons, and coastal scenes adorn dinnerware,…

One summer day my car rolled down a winding road that followed the waves of the Atlantic in the town of Duxbury, on the South Shore of Massachusetts. Tossed stone walls rambled along windswept hills. Behind the walls stood solemn rows of wooden houses, their simple rectangular elevations backlit by the sun. Battered by salt air, weathered shingles had turned from the blond of fresh-cut cedar to a silvery gray, that way that locks of hair change color with time. The jumble of a construction site encroached upon one of the homes, a fine example of early American architecture. In front of it, leaning against a telephone pole, lay a stack of old windows. Beside them, scratched crudely on a torn piece of cardboard, bold black letters proclaimed “FREE.” The…

In early July, I was rowing a dory in Maine’s Belfast Harbor with Nicolle Littrell just as the bright disk of the sun began to penetrate the upper layers of fog. As we reached the outer harbor, Nicolle, a Registered Maine Guide who leads excursions through her company DoryWoman Rowing, pulled out a thermos of tea and fluffy biscuits seasoned with finely chopped seaweed. While we snacked, a harbor seal swam over to say hello. If mermaids or selkies were real, that would’ve been my cue to roll overboard and find my pod. Instead, we picked up our oars and made sure the camera crew in the chase boat had gotten enough good shots of the moment that everyone watching Weekends with Yankee, the public television show we produce with…

In his 1923 poem “Maple,” Robert Frost wrote of “when the maples / stood uniform in buckets, and the steam / of sap and snow rolled off the sugarhouse.” It takes you right there, doesn’t it? I like to think of the maples as uniformed in buckets, a thicket of worker trees in full production mode. Twenty years ago when I lived in New Hampshire, I drove around the bend of Highway 101 one late winter day and was confronted with a sugar shack in full boil, fresh clouds of steam roiling out of the cupola and into the bluebird sky. It still remains my reference point for a perfect March day. To celebrate the return of this glorious season, here are two recipes. The first is a sweet-savory all-in-one…

Did you know that the monkey wrench was born in Worcester, Massachusetts? The first Valentine’s Day card, too. The birth control pill, the space suit, the liquid-fuel rocket—yup, all invented in the Woo. Even modern-day emojis can be traced back to this city, with the creation of the smiley face in 1963 for an insurance company’s marketing campaign. ¶ Worcester rose to fame as a 19th-century manufacturing epicenter, which when paired with its diverse, modern identity may spark a “Wait, Worcester has that?” moment—especially if you’ve only driven through on your way somewhere else or parachuted in for a concert at the DCU Center. But Worcester’s legacy of invention brought with it a surprisingly contemporary joie de vivre that has endured as the city’s character evolved over the decades. Sitting…

EAT & DRINK Armsby Abbey: The place to go for a pint, weekend brunch, and the city’s best sharing and grazing menu. armsbyabbey.com Bocado Tapas Wine Bar: Spanish flamenco style rules here, with favorites like paella, grilled octopus, and sugar-dusted churros with chocolate sauce. bocadotapasbar.com Crust Bakeshop: Look no further for fresh breads, croissants, sandwiches, and the perfect latte to start your day. crustbakeshop.com Deadhorse Hill: Expect a delicious but ever-changing seasonal menu at chef Jared Forman’s hot spot. deadhorsehill.com Havana Nights: Treat yourself to some mouthwatering chicken mofongo and churrasco skirt steak at this Cuban home-cooking specialist (and look for its spinoff, Little Havana, in Worcester Public Market). havananightsrestaurantandlounge.com Worcester Public Market: The food and market stalls here take you from Tokyo to New Delhi, while shared tables create…

CONNECTICUT AUGUST & MARCH HOME, Putnam. Flying under the radar even among cities and towns off the main highways, Putnam is a hidden gem of casual eateries, antiques shops, and a museum devoted to Gertrude Chandler Warner, author of The Boxcar Children book series. Right on Main Street is a store that’s shabby-chic-meets-farmhouse: Think burlap, neutrals, antique china, and basically anything pretty. You might leave with a mirror … or a gourmet chocolate bar. Instagram G’S COUNTRY BARN, Norwich. Next time you visit the town nicknamed “The Rose of New England,” set your GPS to Yantic River Plaza. As the name of Alicia Gardner’s store implies, G’s Country Barn specializes in country, farmhouse, and primitive decor. In addition to selling things like signs, it offers patinated lanterns and Amish-made furniture for browsing.…

There was a time when I drove through the gates of a 434-acre Hudson River estate each weekday, down an allée of black locusts that heralded the arboretum’s grand specimens. In any moment of work stress, I could step outside my of ice into the finest example of Andrew Jackson Downing’s landscape ideals. Those vistas, formal grounds, and woodland paths were a cure-all. Ever since, I’ve sought out historic gardens here in New England with power beyond their plantings. These blooming worlds with old “bones” were conceived to amuse and surprise, as open-air art and a backdrop for socializing. My favorites are waiting for you, a tonic in these less leisurely times. A GARDEN WITH GRASSROOTS SUPPORT “No red plants,” Mary Harkness instructed Beatrix Farrand, a famed early 20th-century landscape…

“Russ Morash, 88, died after a brief illness on June 19, 2024.” I still can’t quite believe I’m writing that, having hung out with Russ and his wife, Marian, for this article only a few months before. That day, he’d been the same inimitable, avuncular, irascible, confident, brilliant guy I’d known since we’d met in 1980, when I was 19 and working as a busboy in the Nantucket restaurant Marian had co-created, and he was 44 and had just launched This Old House, the show that would cement his reputation as a television pioneer. A few years later, having graduated from college and working in Tokyo but wanting to live in Boston, I wrote to Marian to see if I could talk to Russ about a job. There was at…

IN DAVID HANNIGAN'S EARLIEST MEMORIES, HE IS CLIMBING THE STAIRS INSIDE THE BUNKER HILL MONUMENT WITH HIS FATHER, TOMMY. Up and up they go, following the 294 tightly twisting steps, big steps for a boy 4 or 5 years old. “Was that hard?” his father asked him. “Yes,” said David. “Imagine how hard it was for the men fighting here,” his father said. Years later, David realized how hard that climb was for his father, a veteran of World War II. “He served in the Navy and actually was badly wounded and wasn’t expected to survive, wasn’t expected to walk again. I didn’t recognize that as a child—that my father taking us up to the top of the monument was the closest thing to witnessing a miracle. His body was…

I first visited Stonington, Maine, in the summer of 2003 to write a story for Yankee about the community’s proudly held identity as a fishing town. Even then, Stonington was an anomaly. While other main streets and harbors along the Maine coast had become the shiny domain of tourist shops and pleasure boats, here, on the rocky outermost tip of remote Deer Isle, lived just over 1,000 people whose lives were still largely built around what they hauled from the sea. The challenges Stonington faced back then—tighter regulations, increasing costs, wild swings in the price of lobster—still confront the town more than two decades later. But now it’s increasingly feeling the threat of climate change, too. Early last year, two powerful storms slammed into the island, cutting off Stonington from…

Mount Washington stands only 6,288 feet high, yet it’s said to have claimed the lives of more people per vertical foot than any other peak in the world. Set in the heart of the White Mountains region of New Hampshire, Mount Washington sees often-violent shifts in temperature, precipitation, and wind, making it exceedingly perilous. Dawn might find the peak calmly welcoming the sun’s warmth; by noon, fierce wind might rush up its slope every minute, carrying ice-laden clouds so thick that visibility nears zero. Mount Washington’s notoriously changeable climate, however, makes the summit an ideal location for studying the wonders of our restless atmosphere. And in 1934, three men stationed there were doing just that when they experienced some of the most extreme conditions ever recorded. The country was still…

My mother was raised on a farm tucked into the south-east corner of Iowa, barely spitting distance from the Mississippi River to the east and the Missouri state line to the south. Her mother was one of 12, her father an only child, and she had two younger brothers with a proclivity for bolting engines onto homemade contraptions that seemed engineered to navigate directly to the nearest emergency room. We traveled to my grandparents’ farm frequently when I was a child. Often, we’d stay for weeks at a time. I’ve written before of how much I looked forward to these visits: There were my cousins, three girls, all vaguely mysterious to me in the way girls are to a boy with more fingers on his hands than years in his…