Rumney, NH


“It’s not every day you get to explore a quaint New England town,” Yvonne said.

With that rationale from my girlfriend, we wandered rather aimlessly around Rumney, NH. At one time an industrial center specializing in crutches — “the crutch capital of the world,” — a history brochure described it as, nowadays, the place caters to two very different kinds of tourists: adventurous rock climbing types and quiet people interested in quiliting and antiquing. All the while, it’s avoided really feeling like another Gatlinburg. It stays as sleepy and quiet as people imagine New England villages.

While I had been in the area plenty of times, Rumney had always been “That place we go after hikes” rather than a proper destination in its own right. And while it’s not the more developed of places, it has its charm and we still only scratched the surface. The place has at least two live music venues. We didn’t listen to any music at either.

If you want a diversity of souveneirs, the Rumney Village Store might be your preferred stop as it was there we picked up local maple syrup and a colorful grateful-dead-esque painting of a moose fishing.

Our wanderings also took us to The Common Cafe a place with a wide selection of coffee, some rather large brownies and adjoining it, the former site of a funeral parlor.

We stopped but did not buy anything at North Country Quilters Sew and Vac, because neither of us can sew.

The town is a place where people seem to take up plenty of other hobbies though, be it raising ducks and chickens or starting a pottery studio, as at Shanware, the one we visited.

But really the best — if buggiest — attraction for me in Rumney is Quincy Bog. More on that next post.

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Farragut, Tenn.


An bright orange T-Rex stands in Farragut at a miniature golf course. It’s not a jolly, Barney type dinosaur. Instead he has pained eyes on the edge of tears and a wincing frown as he leans on his bone cane, as though he know’s the asteroid’s going to hit and his time is up. I like him, oddly, even if I don’t recall ever playing miniature golf there.

He seems out of place. While it has two miniature golf courses and plenty of children’s activities, Farragut is not a town of silly tourist traps and roadside nonsense.

Rather, it’s suburbia with no apologies: the precise kind of affluent “respectable” houses no one my age wants because we want to spend what tiny money we have on technology instead. And yet there is resistance in Farragut to apartments or even retirement homes, as I was able to see. Little pretty not-pink houses are the rule in Farragut. In other words, to me it comes off as a dinosaur itself. It’s what our parents and grandparents wanted.

But before the people of Farragut get mad at me, I realize that’s wrong to consider the town a dinosaur. Farragut continues to draw in people. The Chamber of Commerce in Oak Ridge, my current town which I prefer, view it as a threat, pulling away potential residents.

There are two kinds of places a travel writer can write about. There’s the popular destinations: Disney World, New York City, Paris, The Grand Canyon. The stuff everybody knows to go see. You stand there and feel like you’re in a three dimensional postcard, only with real wind blowing around you. Everybody knows this is the place to stand, to sit, to walk, to live!

Then there’s the towns around the blue highways that the great and awesomely named William Least-Heat Moon wrote about. The out of way places, and especially, their unique scrumptious or bizarre food you can claim to have discovered at their diners and restaurants. Plant your flag. You can declare yourself the discoverer. No one else noticed this place before. Doesn’t it feel good?

But seriously, what about places like Farragut? Writers don’t go wild about those ones. Right off the interstate, some decent shopping and restaurants, but nothing anybody goes out of their way to see. And yet it haunts me. Because I had to cover that town often. I got some pretty mixed feelings about it. So I’m writing about this just to get my thoughts out there.

I was stuck covering Farragut for “FarragutPress” because it was my job at that local paper. My editor really wanted me to specialize in things entirely within the town boundaries.

But what are those town boundaries? No one really seemed to know them. Signs didn’t mark them. And the most interesting places in town, like Concord Park or the Pinnacle movie theater were actually outside of town. Many people who lived in Farragut worked elsewhere and people who worked in Farragut lived elsewhere. Knox County Sheriff’s Office provides law enforcement. Lenoir City Utilities Board provides some of the utilities. Knox County also provided the schools and library system. Even the town hall’s receptionist’s desk has pictures of downtown Knoxville behind it.

The town was inhabited in the 19th Century and has one pre-Civil War building,  Campbell Station Inn. But the town, as a town was founded in 1980, in an attempt to avoid paying property taxes to Knoxville. Most of what’s there is pretty recent. My editor there received a call once blaming a threat to that city’s high school on bused in outsiders, something which seems rich given how everyone there is an outsider.

The town desperately wants more of its own identity, the way that older ones have. I sat in on meetings in which its Planning Commission struggled to make a short strip mall with a Starbucks look like a historic downtown. Starbucks wasn’t interested in playing along. Because it’s Starbucks. The exhibitionist mermaid knows no boss. I left the paper before I could learn how that shopping center turned out.

At the time I stayed as an objective journalist, trying to please my adopted town. But now I laugh at their attempt at an old timey Starbucks and furthermore their attempt to trick the public they were older than 1980. At the same time, I understand that desire. A local identity is important. Seeing Farragut struggle to create one made me realize just how powerful a local identity and history can be. To be fair most attempts at a local identity tend to pretend to be older than they are, be they mock-Greek, mock-Roman, mock-Medieval or mock-Mayberry.

Indeed Farragut’s own identity is in some ways quite unique and fascinating, and not at all the history people from other parts of the country would expect. Its statue of Admiral Farragut is one of the few Civil War statues Knox County has, and he fought for the north. He was born near present-day Farragut, long before it was a town. Tennesseeans here in the East were quite divided during that war.

That Starbucks dispute was hardly the only one that I saw which would make outsiders giggle about as first world problems. During another meeting, the citizens who lived behind the famous Turkey Creek development piled in to complain about garbage trucks running too early in the morning. A public housing resident laughed when I told her that story.

Of course, avoiding more serious problems isn’t exactly a bad thing.  Except for us journalists, no one really looks forward to things going really wrong. Indeed, Farragut has at least one thing to admire: through it’s homeowners associations, citizens have a way of organizing outside of government and bringing any issue, no matter how small, to its attention. They have a strength for community organizing of which Barrack Obama could only dream. Every once in a while though, I wish these people would have been more grateful for what they had.

The town has many hidden strengths. West Bicycles remains among my favorite places for bike repairs. The town has a good number of parks, pedestrian and cycling routes, most hidden a bit off the beaten path, but some like Mayor Bob Leonard Park, below, close to main routes.

However much I might mock certain people in Farragut, I have found most of its people quite friendly, whether at Rotary or Optimist Club. I do at times miss those folks and look forward to seeing them again whenever I can.

Farragut is overall an excellent town for the people who live there. It’s just not for me. I prefer my 1940s-era apartment in Oak Ridge with a park nearby that I don’t need to mow. I don’t need a lawn. I have strange but seemingly significant history all around me: an identity that while controversial is an identity that doesn’t have to be manufactured by making a Starbucks look old.* Besides, I’m close to Frozen Head, the Haw Ridge Trails and the Obed Wild and Scenic River and some excellent local restaurants here that Farragut and its charms don’t really hold much sway on me. I don’t want a place to settle down. I want places to explore. And that’s why Farragut’s not for me.

*It’s the site of uranium enrichment for the Manhattan Project. I’ll probably get more into that later.