When my husband and I first decided to move to Connecticut from the city, we had a few preconceived images in our heads about the state. Most of them were more positive than negative, and that made the idea of choosing a suburban home easy. The hard part, of course, was finding the perfect house—no small feat in my business! When we finally signed the papers, the home we chose had many of the ideas—and ideals—we had in mind before we stepped foot in the 203 area code. Our 19th-century home has wide-planked floors (cut on the property), imposing sugar maples and a stone wall. For two apartment dwellers, we had truly arrived.
As I have become familiar with the Nutmeg State, I've learned that certain icons—both natural and man-made—have come to define it for residents and visitors alike. Center-hall Colonials on town greens, the Litchfield Hills, the Long Island Sound, the Merritt Parkway, commuter trains and stone walls all telegraph our state. Unfortunately, many of these symbols are under siege from both man and nature. I have spoken passionately about preserving our state's rich architectural heritage and the responsibility all of us share in ensuring the health of the Sound. Now it seems stone walls are the latest item on our endangered list.