As a result of the Weeks Act, the U.S. Forest Service changed the New England landscape from a devastated land to “unspoiled wilderness.” But the Weeks Act also changed the national political landscape for the U.S. Forest Service. Was that a positive change as well?

In this lively 1880 account from Appalachia, Mrs. Lucia D. Pychowska recounts an adventurous excursion by a small party—five women and their guide—to the remote lakes and rocky summits of Loon Pond Mountain in the Pemigewasset Valley. Battling swollen rivers, indistinct trails, and rough, burn-scarred terrain, the group presses on with determination, rewarded by crystalline mountain ponds, alpine flora, and sweeping views of Cannon, Lafayette, Liberty, and Flume rising beyond the East Branch. Blending careful natural observation with understated humor and grit, Pychowska’s narrative offers a vivid glimpse into early recreational exploration in the White Mountains—and into the often-overlooked role of women in nineteenth-century mountain travel.

Written at the height of Sherman Adams’s rise onto the national stage, Ralph “Deak” Morse’s affectionate profile of Rachel Adams—dubbed “The Pebble”—offers a lively and revealing portrait of a woman who remained unmistakably herself amid political prominence. With warmth, wit, and a keen eye for character, the article celebrates Rachel Adams’s humor, independence, and deep attachment to New Hampshire life, from Lincoln to Concord and beyond. More than a political spouse, she emerges as a steady, quick-witted presence whose love of the mountains, local traditions, and everyday people grounded one of the Granite State’s most influential families during a pivotal moment in American history.

In October 1981, The Christian Science Monitor explored a heated controversy brewing over the skies above the White Mountains, where two Air National Guard units proposed a Military Operating Area (MOA) for high-speed, low-altitude training flights—a plan that struck deep into the region’s identity as a place of quiet recreation and scenic beauty. What thrilled pilots as valuable preparation for possible combat scenarios alarmed hikers, campers, and local residents, who argued that sudden, engine-throbbing fighter sorties—sometimes as low as 100 feet above ground—could disrupt the natural experience and even threaten wildlife habitats. With voices from community advocates and public officials opposing the proposal and urging the Air Force to consider alternatives, the story captures a moment when local quality of life, tourism, and environmental stewardship clashed with military training needs over one of New Hampshire’s most cherished landscapes.

This gripping article recounts two of the most daring dog-sled ascents ever attempted on Mount Washington, beginning with Arthur T. Walden and the legendary lead dog Chinook’s perilous climb in 1926, and culminating in Florence Murray Clark’s extraordinary solo ascent in 1932. Set against hurricane-force winds, sheer ice slopes, and life-or-death decisions, the story captures both the physical danger of winter travel on New England’s highest peak and the remarkable resolve of those who dared to challenge it—especially Clark, who became the first woman to drive a dog team to the summit without assistance. Together, these intertwined accounts illuminate a little-known chapter of White Mountains history where endurance, courage, and human–animal partnership were tested at the very edge of possibility.

On January 14, 1942, just weeks after Pearl Harbor, a U.S. Army bomber vanished into the White Mountains of New Hampshire. This is the story of the flight, the crash on Mount Waternomee, and the community that climbed into the dark to bring seven men home—five surviving, two passed on—marking the moment when a distant war became painfully close.

In the early 1900s, a small factory in Lincoln, New Hampshire briefly transformed local forests into millions of wooden clothespins. This article explores the little-known history of the Dodge Clothespin Factory, its ties to J. E. Henry & Sons and the Dodge Clothespin Company of Coudersport, Pennsylvania, and how a short-lived industry left a lasting imprint on the landscape—where the Nordic Inn stands today.

For more than seven decades, Malvina Govoni Frank fed a valley, one bowl of spaghetti at a time. Beginning at the age of thirteen, working beside her mother, Clementina, in a North Woodstock kitchen, Malvina learned a craft that would become both her livelihood and legacy. What started as homemade spaghetti delivered by horse and wagon to mill girls and neighbors grew into a beloved family restaurant that served thousands each summer, drawing locals, hotel guests, and even governors to its tables. Through hard work, long nights, and generations of change, the family stitched Old World traditions into daily life, proving that food can be both sustenance and story — and that a simple recipe, faithfully kept, can bind a community together for nearly a century.

Arriving in Lincoln in 1920 by chance and staying by choice, Oran Wilfred Hudson became far more than the town barber—he became part of its daily rhythm. Trained in Boston and known for his skill with everything from Feather Cuts to Flattops, Oran cut hair for mill workers, ministers, summer visitors, and future political figures, all while presiding over a shop that doubled as Lincoln’s unofficial town hall. With prices measured in cents and stories traded freely, his chair was a place where paper was “made” as fast as at the mill, where no comic books were allowed, and where neighbors gathered to talk life, work, and the town they shared. “English Feathers, Please, No Clippers!” captures a vanished era of small-town craftsmanship, personality, and community—seen through the eyes of a man who liked people and never forgot their stories.

By Jim Hamilton (Spring 1992, The Resuscitator) NOTE: If you’d like to start at the beginning, head on over to Bearding the Old Man—Part One Collecting information about the 1955 bearding of the Old Man of the Mountains led us to David “Stretch” Hays, trailmaster of the AMC trail crew that summer who had mentioned […]