You were right, Reverend, to suggest I travel to the White Mountains to relieve my terrible hay fever.
The air here is pure and clean: fresh mountain air that is supposed to have great healing power.
I’m staying at the Sinclair Hotel which is quite nice, but oh so boring. Most days people just sit around on the big porch, the men with their newspapers and the women with their embroidery They call it “taking in the air”.
Like me, most have arrived with swollen red eyes and constant sneezing, but they say after a week or so, symptoms will subside.
That hasn’t happened for me. I feel punk. I’m discouraged. And even though I’m surrounded by others, I feel lonesome.
But at least I did learn an interesting tidbit the other day.
This town was named Bethlehem on Christmas day, way back in 1799. Perhaps I should view that as a good omen for my healing.
Bethlehem in the White Mountains. Seems a fitting place to experience a healing miracle. If that happens then perhaps I too will say “I can’t bear to leave”.
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