FactCheck.org is the home of the FactChecker, a non-partisan initiative of the University of Pennsylvania’s Annenberg Public Policy Center. In examining John McCain’s statements about Barack Obama’s tax policies, they determined the following:

I live on the watershed of the Merrimack and Connecticut river valleys. Out for a country stroll at the crest of the Old Stoddard Road, the processed early morning coffee may, with proper aim, be directed to both the Atlantic Ocean north of Boston, and to Long Island Sound, between New London and Mystic. This is not a daily ritual to be sure, but I must note that the rural isolation that accommodates such roadside relief is changing, and I am increasingly cautious about listening for the sound of a car coming up the dusty road, or worse – a jogger!

Nelson once housed over 1,500 citizens. After declining to just a couple hundred in the early part of this century, the population is now about 650. City Hill, which graces my view to the south, is said to have had , in the 1840’s, over 50 farms and homes, as well as at least one small “factory” (a clothespin mill), and a school. Sheep farming and the need for fuel had created mostly open fields – this was the case throughout southern New Hampshire. Population declined to under 200 in the early part of this century.

When I first moved here in the early 1980’s I expect I was cited as an example of a population explosion that was threatening the rural values of the community. Like most newcomers, it didn’t take me long to want to shut the door behind me. I helped to shape the town’s Master Plan (1984), and did a term on the Planning Board. In 2001 I was asked to come back onto the Planning Board, with a very specific agenda: folks felt that there should be a growth control ordinance, and having an updated Master Plan was a prerequisite to that. For several years I pursued this, reading, going to workshops, conducted a community survey, and started drafting the new Master Plan (which remains a work in progress).

Quarrel with Thunder 

     Thunder rumbled like a deep-throated grumbling growl in the dog’s throat.  His ears pinned listening for the distant echo as he stands, braced on all fours, motionless in the bay window.  The maples trees and pines wrestle with the wind.  Vibrations precede, give way to a roar, while the old cottage walls beckon and windowpanes rattle.  The dog launches into an echoing symphonic tempo straining vocal cords to match; the duel begins.  A protective defense against Mother Nature’s fury.  Soon the other dog joins in the dispute; one rumbling lion like bark followed by the other.