North Country: A Personal Journey Through the Borderland

In honor of his 50th birthday, Howard Mosher decided to take a solo journey exploring his home ground. His chosen turf is the "north country," the borderlands between the United States and Canada. Mosher traveled from Maine to Washington, meandering a few miles one either side of the border.In this account of his odyssey, Mosher intersperses short anecdotes from his life as a resident and traveler in these areas, combined with mini-sketches of the people and places he encounters. Nobody and no place merits more than three pages of Mosher's spare prose. Mosher voices himself in the taciturn manner of the hardy border people. He strives for a rough-and-ready effect, implying that his itinerary was haphazard, and that his encounters were primarily ones of chance. I suspect that a lot more planning went into the trip than Mosher suggests.My favorite chapter was the one on "fresh starts," in which Mosher profiled people who had left one life for another. For Mosher, traveling through places both familiar and completely new was its own form of fresh start.

Howard Frank Mosher is a gifted writer. His descriptions provoke the imagination into painting landscapes and portraits that the human eye ordinarily can't see. I found it literally impossible to put this book down, and I will definitely be reading the rest of Mosher's stories!

Howard Frank Mosher has crafted a warm, inviting story of his journey across the America via the backroads border of Canada. This book invokes the wanderlust... Read "Stranger in the Kingdom" and "Northern Borders" for superior fiction. Warm and intriguing.

North Country by Howard Mosher. Review by Jules Older Howard Frank Mosher celebrated his 50th birthday by taking a trip. With his wife's blessing, he loaded the car, got himself some letters of introduction, and started across country, alone. As autumn was approaching, a southern route might have made the most sense. But not for Mosher. Since childhood, when he and his uncles spent their summers fishing the rivers of Quebec, he'd been fascinated by the north country. So deep was his borealphilia that he'd settled down and raised his family in Vermont's Northeast Kingdom, just a few miles south of the Canadian border. And now, as a 50th birthday present to himself, he set off to explore that border from one end of the country to the other. In late August, he headed east into Maine, where "farmhouses still sport brown wreaths on their doors, left over from last Christmas." He drove past "listing, bullet-pocked drive-in theater screens no Technicolor presentation or titillating coming attractions have flashed across for years." He wistfully noted "semiabandoned main streets running quickly into the interchangeable edge-of-town commercial strips that the boarded-up downtown stores have defected to." From the coast of Maine, Mosher pointed the car west. He'd stop whenever he found a reason to. The reasons included flying a light smuggling run with a Quebec bush pilot and learning tricks for catching poachers from an Acadian game warden. They included gaining a new perspective on gambling from a Mohawk leader and hearing local history from old-timers on both sides of the Canadian border. Mosher also got some unwanted lessons. He was stopped by the U.S. Air Force near a missile silo marked, "Use of Deadly Force Authorized." He was kept awake all night in a cheap motel by a pair of extremely loud newlyweds through one thin wall and an irate trucker banging on the other. And in the mountains of northern Idaho, he was stalked by a camouflaged survivalist armed with a hunting bow and deadly steel-tipped arrows. Sometimes, Mosher would come across people or places that reminded him of events in his past. On those occasions, he'd slip back for a chapter or two, either to the dying Catskills town where he was raised or to Vermont's Northeast Kingdom where he wrote his five previous books and raised his own two children. Not every writer would choose to record some of these events, no matter how forcefully they came to memory. One Mosher might have preferred to forget was the response his first book, Disappearances, drew from reviewers. The Montreal Gazette headline put it succinctly: "VERMONT WRITER SHOULD DISAPPEAR." Over the years, Howard Frank Mosher seems to have hardened up. Two weeks before the trip, Harper's rejected one of his stories as "too linear and old-fashioned." Mosher "nailed the note to the side of my own weathered barn and blasted the living hell out of it with my shotgun..." Though he shot the revie