The Broad Appeal: The sappy ‘n syrupy truth about love and romance in New Hampshire

February 4, 2009 by Lani Voivod, Chief Scribbler.

Although as concepts they’re universal, love and romance are anything but.

In Paris, for example, they’re marked by matching berets, the Eiffel Tower and lots of women named “Cherie.”

In Hollywood, they’re passionate and glamorous, involve Kabbalah or Scientology and last between six months and five years.

Spaniards serenade. Japanese court honorably under beautiful, blooming cherry blossoms. Smooching Siberians enjoy an enviable, vodka-soaked glasnost in front of roaring fires upon their bear skin rugs.

But what about love and romance for those of us living and loving in New Hampshire? How might we distinguish a pair of smitten Granite Staters from, say, a Liechtensteinian couple out for a castle-hopping joyride on their toboggan built for two?

Lo! Let me count the ways. (There are three.)

1. Our foreplay eventually involves a rake, shovel, wheelbarrow or some other yard-care device.
Nothing says “Meet you in the boudoir later this evening” like a day out in the fresh air, tending to our homesteads like a pair of blistered oxen. From impromptu snowball fights to suggestive wrestling matches in the leaf piles, we New Hampshire couples find ways to keep the flames of passion burning while tending to our seasonal chores. Weaving passion and pragmatism is second nature to us.

2. All of our big, special-occasion dates require travel on I-93, 293, 101 or a combination thereof.
Boston? The White Mountains? Hampton Beach Casino? Yup. A cruise to the Isles of Shoals? A tour of the Anheuser-Busch Brewery? A flight out to Deluth? You betcha. Like dogs with tongues flapping in the 65 mph wind, we enjoy the familiar, tree-lined routes that bring us to our myriad romantic destinations.

3. Our heart booty has a distinct NH flair.
We gift our strapping stallions with Sox tickets, power saws and fishing licenses. They lavish us with encouragement – and free babysitting! – to wine, dine, shop and play with our girlfriends. It’s a nice deal. (Our men know our relationships fare much better when we get to gripe about men behind their backs with our gal pals.)

When you think about it, love’s “best case scenario” (one true love, 50 to 60-plus years) isn’t exactly romantic no matter where you do your wooing. Eventually, foot rubs and hot tubs become bunion disorders and sitz baths. The most we can hope for is to share our golden years with a person whose loving, gummy grin makes us flash our dentures right back.

That’s why it’s such a blessing to live and love in New Hampshire. We may not have fancy-schmancy steel towers or knicker-bedecked mariachi bands, but we sure do know how to turn sap into syrup.

Screwing up and making up. Passing the peas and passing gas. Strolling hand-in-hand to dinners with bosses, visits with in-laws and conferences with PTAs, preachers, principals and Providence.

We – the Love Patriots of NH – work the system by treating the seasonal rituals and trivial tidbits of everyday as the love-drenched, romance-ridden wonders they are.

Ironically, you just can’t get more universal than that.

Care to chime in? E-mail Lani@TheBroadAppeal.com.

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