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Almost 40 years ago we took our four children, then ages 4,5,6,7 camping to Franconia Notch. We had a tent and had camped for years. The highlight of our trip east was walking on the bridge up Franconia Notch, seeing the "Ol Man of the Mountain" taking pictures of the kids with the mountain in the background.
What phenomenal memories, one of our biggest regrets is the fact that we cannot take our grandchildren on the same trip.
God Bless the people of New Hampshire, looking forward to seeing the memorial when it is completed.
Dick and Norma Peters - Auburn Hills, MI
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This is the poem I wrote about the Old Man of the Mountain before he returned to the valley below...
Stefan Majewski Jr.
December's Promise
I had seen him in the mountains one winter; that morning was bitterly cold and gray
He seemed to be so frail and trembling, I asked what he was doing here on such a day
He whispered something about a promise to be kept on the winter solstice one December
Smiling he beckoned me closer; to ask me if the air was still as sweet as he remembers
Saying there was a time when he would climb the ravine himself, but now he was too old
I asked to whom was such a hold given, to be here today; he only said how he loved the cold
So I sat with him and he talked all day
Of a love for whom he would not say
He spoke of an angel whose beauty and unquenched passion is why he comes here each year
I thought I saw him crying; it was only the snow melting on his face that looked like a tear
We should leave I said; No he answered, I hear her as he pointed; he asked me if I could see
Laughing that how after all these years of painting, his eyes were not what they used to be
That is only the wind I told him; we should go it's getting colder and the sun is starting to set
Saying I should see how the stars fill the night's sky before we go; so let's not leave just yet
I couldn't bring myself to tell him no
Staying with him as it began to snow
Storms come and go quickly on these mountains they say; sure enough once again it was clear
We talked as the day turned to night of this angelic beauty of his; whom his heart held so dear
One by one the stars came out and he told me their names, pausing only at the most beautiful one
Whose loveliness dwarfed all others close by, there she is he said aloud, I told you she'd come
When I looked again a tear ran down his cheek, sensing my sadness he told me not to worry
That they were shed of love, not sorrow, but there was no time to explain, that he had to hurry
No longer could he stay, he must now return
Without saying why, only one day I'd learn
Some years later I returned on the first day of summer and came across the most fairest of maidens
As she walked through the fertile alpine gardens of the valley below, by her seductiveness was I taken
I asked for her name, she laughed, saying how I already knew, but had I seen this most handsome man
She was to meet him on a winter's day long ago, but fears she has missed him, would I help if I can
I told her of how we met that day and how he named the stars; seems like he has done that forever
Hearing her cry, I looked; in her place was a solitary white orchid; this mountain's loveliest treasure
It was then I first saw his face frozen in stone
Smiling as he gazed to where she has grown
Each year I repeat his journey to the mountains, to name the stars and retell a mythical story of how
From his perpetually entombed gaze he stands guard over her, on this most sacred of all places now
Of how on the first day of summer the fairest of all the valley's maidens dances for only his eyes
Warmed by her beauty, he smiles and when the last of the winter's snows melt, you'd swear he cries
And lest you were to think that it was from sadness he wept, he would say, you need not worry
That these tears cried were only of love, never of sorrow, and of how he no longer has to hurry
So long as winters end and summers arrive
So shall these endless tears of love be cried
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My father was a Native New Englander. He brought me to see the Old Man when I was very young. I have made the state of Montana home for over twenty years but return to New Hampshire very frequently. I was saddened to drive up the notch and not see the Old Man looking over his domain. I also fondly remember my doxie Maedy splashing around in Profile Lake under his watchful spell. I have many photographs of this American symbol. I mourn his passing and my eyes will forever be drawn to where he used to rein.
Meriam S. Nagel, Great Falls, Montana
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