One way to beat the summer heat in New England is to rise above it. Yesterday I left the steamy, swampy lowlands of Boston for a chilly, misty mountaintop in New Hampshire. Cardigan, to be exact.
As if the dramatic weather wasn't enough of a reward, the summit was also rife with wild blueberries.
And mountain cranberries.
Now maybe you're not supposed to pick the berries in a National Park, but it's better for everyone if you eat the fruit growing at your feet rather than stuff trucked in from Mexico.
Just leave some for the bears, and for me.