NH Troubadour April, 1943

I think I am so fond of New Hampshire because in addition to first having seen the mountains there, I have so many firsts to remember. It was there I first stayed on a farm and picked blueberries on a hill, with the warm sun on my back and the clean wind blowing from the mountains. I had never before heard the sound of a mowing machine or the ring of a whetstone on the blade of a scythe. It was in the woods around Lake Sunapee I first heard the song of the hermit thrush in the evening. Later we sat on the porch of a cottage at the edge of the water and watched the fireflies. They looked like stars twinkling close at hand in the dusk.

- Miss Grace Warden

(NH Troubadour, April 1943)

SUNSET AT NEWFOUND LAKE
by Alden Paul Gurney
U.S.N.R. s.2/c

NH Troubadour April, 1945

Evening was drawing near, and the sun began to settle behind Sugar Loaf Mountain. The lake looked like a giant mirror reflecting the colors of the sky and the blue of the mountain. Bright red shaded gently and smoothly into a light orange, and finally into the gray of evening.
The mountain, capped with blue haze, stood in bold relief against the sunset glow. Off the lake drifted a large silvery cloud which wound its way through the valley and seemed to make a path to the heavens.
As the sun sank lower the mountain became gray in color, light at the top and gradually deepening into darkness at the base.
A soft wind blew through the pine trees, making a low, eerie whispering sound that seemed to be the voice of the forest. An eagle circling the lake turned towards its nest on a barren tree high on a lofty crag. All the earth seemed to become peaceful as God gently pulled the blanket of evening over the world and tucked it to sleep for the night.

(NH Troubadour, April 1945)