New Hampshire
Opinion: NH means memory – Concord Monitor
When people think of New Hampshire, they usually think of granite, mountains, old white
churches, town greens and long winters. When I think of New Hampshire, I think of our people. I think of the feeling of growing up somewhere where history is not locked away behind museum glass. I think about the feeling of growing up somewhere that teaches you who you are before you are old enough to realize it.
I spent almost my entire childhood in Concord. Every important version of myself exists somewhere in this city. The awkward middle schooler wandering Main Street after school beneath strings of glowing lights. The nervous freshman trying to figure out who he wanted to become. The kid at the Concord Community Music School performing at recitals, hands shaking before walking onstage, discovering that playing guitar could make life feel bigger, brighter and more meaningful.
I think about early mornings rowing on the Merrimack with Concord Crew, the river covered in fog while the oars cut clean lines through the water. Some mornings the river felt silver and still; other mornings the current churned dark beneath us after rain. Watching the seasons change from the water taught me how slowly life transforms without you noticing. Green summer banks fading into fiery October trees, then bare branches outlined against cold winter skies.
The older I get, the more I realize how lucky I was to grow up in a place like Concord. It is not loud about what it offers you. Instead, it gives you something more lasting: community. A kind of closeness that settles into you over time until it becomes part of the way you move through the world.
Some of my strongest memories are simple ones. Walking downtown at sunset when the brick buildings glowed orange in the summer light. The smell of old wood, clay and paint inside Kimball Jenkins after shaping it into a small cup with my hands. Hearing music drift down the halls at the music school before a recital, notes echoing softly through the worn staircases. Sitting outside during Market Days while the streets filled with food vendors, kids running around with lion and fairy face paint, and musicians playing songs that bounced between the old buildings late into the evening air.
There is something deeply comforting about a city that respects its own history. Concord has always felt alive with memory to me. The old houses, white church steeples and worn wooden floors in certain buildings remind you that generations of people have passed through before you. It feels like people here understand that preserving history is care. They protect what matters because they believe future generations deserve to experience it too.
I think that shaped me more than I realized at the time.
New Hampshire taught me to slow down enough to notice things. The sound of leaves moving in the woods by my house. Snow falling silently outside during the winter, making the entire world pause for a moment. Long walks downtown where you somehow always recognized someone. Even the “between places” mattered: the trails, forests, rivers and back roads that reminded you the world was larger than your own worries.
As a senior in high school, I’m getting ready to leave for Dartmouth College this fall, and it doesn’t feel like I’m stepping away from home so much as moving deeper into it. I chose Dartmouth because it’s still rooted in the same landscape that shaped me. The woods, the cold rivers, the long winters and the quiet sense of space that feels so distinctly New Hampshire. Growing up in Concord, so many of the people I met, families at the YMCA, volunteers at the planetarium, friends of friends, teachers and mentors, seemed to have some connection back to Dartmouth, as if it were part of the state’s shared geography rather than something separate from it. Because of that, it already felt present in my life long before I applied. Leaving for Hanover feels like a continuation: not like leaving home, but like walking along the same trails I’ve always known, just farther into the trees.
Concord gave me my first experiences with art, music, friendship, independence and becoming part of something larger than myself. It gave me room to grow while still making me feel supported. It taught me that community is built through ordinary moments repeated over time until they become the foundation of who you are.
To me, New Hampshire means roots. It means history that still breathes. It means creativity, kindness, old buildings, deep winters, rivers at sunrise, summer festivals and long walks through the woods. Most of all, it means home.
Vaibhav Rastogi is a senior a Brady Bishop High School. He lives in Concord.
It wasn’t until I moved out of state for my first year at Syracuse University that I realized just how special New Hampshire is.
As a freshman, the first three questions you’re always asked upon meeting professors and fellow students are: name, major and hometown. When I answer that I’m from Webster, N.H., I’m often met with slightly perplexed expressions from domestic and international students alike. Something along the lines of, “I’ve been to Boston, but I don’t really know anything about New Hampshire” or “There’s a lot of mountains up there, right?”
So, I came up with a sort of elevator pitch. A quick and easy explanation of what New Hampshire is.
“Well, I live in the middle of the woods, off a dead-end dirt road. Enough so that I have videos of moose trotting across my yard, pictures of groundhogs sitting on my front doorstep and memories of my dogs playing with baby deer. But, I’m only a half-hour drive from the capital city, Concord. I’m an hour from the beach, an hour and a half from Boston, where I can see any of my favorite artists perform, and just two hours from Portland, Maine, and Burlington, Vermont. I’m surrounded by woods, lakes and mountains, but still have the option to venture into a city or lay by the ocean for a day if I’d like.”
At first, I was surprised by people’s reactions when they would comment on how nice it must be to live here. Enduring the cold winters and rural isolation gets old, and I certainly don’t plan on staying here forever. Still, I’ve noticed that the way I describe it has always been more affectionate than I gave it credit for.
But what I’ve realized since leaving is that New Hampshire is more than just its convenient geography. It’s a feeling you don’t fully understand until you’re far enough away from it to miss the small things.
It’s recognizing yourself in the lyrics of Noah Kahan, hearing your home described in a way that feels nostalgic and deeply personal. It’s the pride of seeing “Live Free or Die” on license plates and tattoos, knowing it isn’t just a motto, but a kind of identity people grow up internalizing.
It’s summers at Canobie Lake Park, riding Untamed for the tenth summer in a row and still flinching at the top. It’s road trips up North to Lincoln, watching the mountains slowly take over the horizon. It’s holding onto my dad as he snowmobiled around our house, wind biting my face while everything around us turned into a white blur. And it’s the constant hope of refreshing Snow Day Calculator, waiting for that announcement that meant the world would slow down for just one more day.
It’s the small familiarity of it all. Walking into Pitchfork Records and knowing the man behind the counter; talking about music as a shared interest, not a mere transaction. Visiting the middle school for my little brother’s events and knowing the teachers there will greet me like I’m still their student. It’s the kind of place where community quietly becomes a staple of your life.
It’s winter evenings that have a way of slowing everything down. Joining my family on the
couch with the sound of Fritz Wetherbee’s voice coming through the TV, steady and familiar. The introduction of the old, crackling vinyl singing, “There’s an old-fashioned home in New Hampshire with a light in the window for me.”
Although the appeal of New Hampshire has naturally worn off after 19 years in the same small town, and I often joke that I need to leave, my classmates’ replies have reminded me how remarkable the state really is. None of these experiences can quite capture it on their own, but together they point to what it means to be from a place that is small, but feels endless — one where nature, community, history and memory all overlap in ways you only fully appreciate once you leave.
I’ve always loved the idea of travel, and I have every intention of city hopping in the years to come, chasing new places and versions of “home.” But regardless of where I end up, the Granite State will always feel like mine. It’s where I know I can return when I need a renewed sense of familiarity, comfort or perspective.
For me, New Hampshire is more than the place I was born. It’s the confidence of knowing exactly what it feels like to belong somewhere, and the comfort of realizing it’s been there all along.
Addyson Kimball is a lifelong resident of Webster. She is currently a sophomore at Syracuse University, where she is dual-majoring in Political Science and Law, Society and Policy.
I’m always one to relish local eats, adventures, and unexpected experiences from around the area. I kept hearing whispers through the grapevine about a legendary psychic medium out of Portsmouth, a woman in her 70s who people swore is crazy accurate with her intuitive abilities.
And after multiple recommendations from locals, I knew I had to meet her.
Her name is Betty Lipton.
Around the Seacoast, Betty’s name (the “Portsmouth Psychic”) seems to travel in an almost folkloric way. Nobody hands you a business card, but they’ll most certainly mention her and the specificities of their reading that left them with goosebumps.
That alone intrigued me.
In an era where every self-proclaimed psychic has a social media brand and a neon storefront, Betty feels like a relic. The kind of local legend whose reputation was built slowly, person by person, reading by reading, over the course of decades.
Now approaching her late 70’s, she’s reportedly spent most of her life working as a psychic medium but has always known about her gift since childhood. First living in New York for a good portion of her early adult life, she now resides along the seacoast.
According to an interview with WMUR, Betty says, “she’s spent more than 40 years helping locals find clarity, comfort and, above all, connection.”
So on a whim, I called Betty to book an appointment and to my surprise, she had a cancellation that day. Coincidence much?
Found at the heart of Portsmouth, Betty has her own office with a beautiful waiting area for those coming in groups.
I spent 45 minutes with her reading my palm, channeling my energy and inner thoughts and even having a visit from my grandmother (who, to my surprise, is watching over me). And although I won’t disclose intimate details about my read, I will say that she knew details about my life that you certainly wouldn’t find on the internet!
I’ll give you a quick example… Betty told me my daughter would have children who would call me “Mimi”. Ready for the freaky part? My toddler had JUST started calling my mother Mimi this past week.
READ MORE: This Inspiring Free Portsmouth Exhibit Spotlights Christa MCauliffe, 39 Other Trailblazing NH Women
Meeting Betty Lipton started to feel less like booking an appointment and more like a crazy coincidence. As a firm believer of signs and “meant to be” moments, I can vouch that she will help you gain clarity or give you reassurance from a loved one.
Inside Portsmouth, New Hampshire’s Holistic Spa, Ash Alchemy
Portsmouth’s newest organic, holistic, spa is worthy of the hype! Take a look inside.
Gallery Credit: Kira Lew
17 of the Oldest Restaurants in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, Still Going Strong
Here’s what locals say are some of the oldest restaurants in the Portsmouth area. Be sure to go to the bottom to see which one’s the oldest.
Gallery Credit: Megan
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