March 8, 2026
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December 7, 2021
By Ciara Bartholomew
When quarantine started, my husband, Jon and I traded our beloved South End, Boston apartment for Gilmanton, New Hampshire. Never heard of it? Not surprised. (Unless you’ve read Devil in the White City, you might know it as where H.H. Holmes grew up).
We stayed in Jon’s family home from 1840 that his 94-year old grandfather grew up in. To paint a picture, the house still had shudders on the windows to keep arrows from flying in during war time, portraits of ancestors on the wall, and massive book cases filled with novels from the 19th century, including an original copy of Letters from Oscar Wilde. Yes, we were essentially living in a haunted house. But it had heat! AND hot water! We were so fortunate to have this option. Being tucked away in the woods with no cable served as a refuge, ultimately giving us the privilege to get quiet among the noise and get back to basics:
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