Saving the biggest old house in New England

By Suki Casanave '86G

See also: Destination New Hampshire

y son Gabe, 22 months, is jumping and spinning in the October sunlight, chortling at the wide-open space that is his alone. Watching his antics, my husband and I glance at each other, remembering another afternoon when we stood on this very spot, hands clasped. The south verandah of the Mount Washington Hotel is, after all, our verandah. It was here, on May 28, 1994, that we recited our wedding vows.

I close my eyes and conjure up the moment: three bridesmaids shivering in the spring breeze, my husband-to-be all proud and polished, the chorus of friends whose earnest voices brought tears to our eyes, the face of my father, who is gone now. Swallows swooped in and out among the white columns. Snow-dusted peaks rose about us on all sides. After the ceremony, we swept into the ballroom and twirled across the shining hardwood floor, waltzing beneath hundreds of tiny rosette lights. Just once during the evening, the two of us slipped outside. We stood in silence, imagining the other brides and grooms who had married here through the years, the lives that had come together, the promises made. Somehow, a grand old hotel, ringed with mountains, seemed a good place to begin.