"It's a big world out there; why keep going back to the same place?," asked a friend late last summer upon learning that we would once again be taking our family vacation in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. We'd also visited there the year before, and the year before that, and the year before that... well, you get the idea. Actually, our love affair with this wonderful New England getaway started back in 1988, at least for me it did. My wife (then girlfriend) had vacationed there many times as a youngster, as it was just a short hop up the interstate from Boston, where most of her extended family resides. In fact, we were in Boston on our first trip together since we'd begun dating when she suggested we go to New Hampshire for a couple of days. The notion stuck me as ludicrous. "New Hampshire?!," I repeated. "What in the world for? There's nothing in New Hampshire―except maybe a primary every four years." "Trust me," she promised. "You'll really like it." She was wrong. I absolutely loved it. I couldn't get enough of the place. Five days later, she had to drag me home. I wouldn't leave. I wanted to quit my job, forget my family and friends, and spend the rest of my life in this mountain paradise.
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