I love to travel, but I always enter a black hole of self-doubt beforehand that turns me into Emma Woodhouse's father. Why am I leaving home at one of the prettiest times of year? Why subject myself to the stress and the complications? Why not sit in the dappled shade of my garden and be happy that I have a brief respite? Is it not true, as
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Having never lived in New England, I will only say that there is a large, vibrant fan and writer community in the vicinity of Boston.
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One of the advantages of the Vermont/New Hampshire area, so I understand, is having a barn which is actually attached to the house. This may be a big help. Having a reliable handyman is more than a help, it's a necessity.
I can't speak for arts community, unless you're talking theatre, but there's always the south end of the Shenandoah Valley, between the Allegheny Highlands and the Blue Ridge.
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