Discovering the weird and whimsical sites of New England
Author: Theophanes Avery
Theophanes Avery is a whimsical travel blogger that is hopelessly in love with New England and all it's weird places, people, and things. Besides running way too many blogs they are the author of three books, at least one of them good, and they also enjoy raising aquarium fish in Walsted tanks, sculpting, Sharpie doodling, knitting, tattooing leather, homesteading, and whatever other hobby tickles their raging ADD. Less fortunately they are a hopelessly impoverished spoonie yelling to the world, "WE NEED MORE COMMUNITY!" but alas no one's listening. Make sure to find them on the FaceBook. They love new oddball friends. Fly the freak flag high my darlings!
Twas a grey and gloomy day to take the cat for a walk through a random cemetery, as one does. This cemetery had signs posted at the gate stating dogs were not allowed. It said nothing about cats.
Mystic has been a wonderful place to visit in the past. I’d appreciated the apple picking, the day shopping, the pizza binging, and someday I shall visit the aquarium. Surely such a cute little city must have a fine and glorious cemetery, no?
We went to find out. The stones seemed to be mostly from the 1800’s to the present, almost all were marble. One monument was a mourning woman who had lost a bunch of babies. Tragic but not unusual. What was unusual was that they had a monument to them.
The cat was over stimulated to say the least, but she seemed to be enjoying it none the less. She even managed to court a ginger gent who spent a good twenty minutes stalking our party. Figures she’d find a boyfriend being unfixed and ready to roll. Later on a car would come by, see the cat, and think this was the funniest thing in the world – a cat on a leash in a cemetery. They told us the ginger tom who’d been following us belonged to a house across the street and he frequented this cemetery on the daily. I was impressed. A cemetery with its own cat. That’s pretty cool.
It was a relatively quick visit. The cat sure had fun but I’m not sure I would suggest this cemetery to anyone who is travelling to see it. There was the usual smattering of grieving women, a cherub or two, and some interesting nautical themed monuments but mostly this was pretty standard faire for a cemetery.
It’s been many many years since I went to Jaffrey’s Old Town Center. I’m not sure I ever went into the cemetery but on this day I did! I had heard that there were two famous people buried here: Amos Fortune and Willa Cather. As a child I had heard about Amos Fortune, a formerly enslaved man who made quite a name for himself, but Willa Cather was news to me. She was a Pulitzer Prize winning novelist.
I’ve been trying to do more Catching Marbles entries this month than usual, but my body has NOT been happy with this new goal, and I was knackered even before I arrived. Still, seeing this place again brought back some fond memories of my childhood. The Old Jaffrey Town Center looks more or less like it did 200 years ago, a small cluster of churches and big farmhouses sitting in a neat little circle, a big grassy common in front of them all. It’s quaint and sweet. They even kept the carriage house intact behind the church as well as the absolutely tiny one room schoolhouse. Plaques and memorials are scattered about making a self-guided tour very easy. The atmosphere was absolutely charming and the Old Burial Grounds behind the church were no different. They were nestled in a quiet spot with a gorgeous view of Mount Monadnock beyond. The perfect place for eternal rest.
Out front of the gates there was a big plaque stating that this was a stop on the Black Heritage Trail because of Amos Fortune. I was told online maps of the cemetery would be at the entrance. There was…. sort of… one big map but it was not laid out in a user-friendly manner. On it several graves were marked out under letters although you pretty much had to read this huge thing about all of them to figure out which was which. I passed because I could see immediately beyond a big number one sitting next to one of the graves. Cool. Surely the two graves I was looking for would be on this numbered tour, right? Right?
I had wandered around and enjoyed all the old slates and got a feel for the place when I realized none of the 13 clearly labelled stops were either Amos Fortune or Willa Cather. What?? I managed to just bump into Willa Cather on accident at the corner of the cemetery not far from the gates. I’d only gone to look at her monument because I saw a ton, and I mean a ton, of rocks on top of her stone. I wanted to know who was so well loved! And I was happy to see it was her. Novelists rarely get that much attention after death. From what I gather she had a claim to fame by writing a series of novels about pioneer life back in the day.
Before I found Will though I found a bizarre monument at the other end of the cemetery in the back that was like nothing I’d ever seen before. It seemed like a vault grave but different somehow? On it the face of a woman was carved as well as a series of religious scenes below. It was chunky and odd, like a folk-art representation of the ostentatious wealthy Catholic memorials I sometimes see. I knew from one of my cemetery books that this monument was carved by a man driven mad by grief from the death of his first wife (whose face it was at the top.) After some drama in creating this… unusual display he eventually lost interest, moved away, and remarried. Doesn’t make for the greatest story but it does make me want to ask a lot of questions!
After all this I was having a hard time standing. I sat on a huge tree trunk near the crypt and rested. Where was Amos Fortune?? I had consulted the map earlier on in the day. He was labelled as “J” but seeing as I have no sense of direction I read the map all wrong and didn’t find him. Asking my phone also resulted no results so I went back to the map and realized it wasn’t oriented in the way I thought it should be and tried again but only after looking up what the memorial looked actually like. It was distinctive in that all the slates in this cemetery seemed to be in perfect condition except for his. His looked as if at some point it has cracked diagonally and snapped in half. A repair effort had fused the pieces back together but not in the most delicate of ways – a large white cement crease could be seen as well as some rusted bolts. Not to be bitchy but this was the worst attempt at stone repair I’d ever seen.
And so I tried again. From the gate I walked forward until I came to the stone wall on the opposing side and then I took a small left and it wasn’t long before I recognized this unique stone. I’d been looking for something drenched in pennies but it didn’t look like anyone had been here. Not a single penny, rock, or trinket, lay testament to a man whose name is burned so heavily into this town’s history. I apologized for this and amended the situation leaving a penny on both his and his wife’s stone.
So who is Amos Fortune? Well, he was an African man who was sold into slavery in the 1700’s and brought to Boston where he labored until he was able to purchase his own freedom at the age of 60. After this he moved to Jaffrey, founded a successful tannery, bought the freedom of his wife and adopted daughter, and lived what looks on the outside to be a good life until his death at 91 where upon he bequeathed a substantial amount of money to the church and community. In 1950 he was once again remembered with Amos Fortune, Free Man a Newbury Metal winning biography by Elizabeth Yates.
I was having a weird day today. Ended up accidentally crashing a funeral! Hoooow? How did this happen? Well…
Last week I was reading in one of my cemetery books that there was a beautiful cemetery in Jaffrey NH. Really?? I mean I live very nearby and had never heard of this cemetery. The book also denoted the driveway to it was easy to miss and basically said it was in the middle of nowhere. It was called the Philips-Heil Cemetery which is not an unusual name as many of these older cemeteries are named after the original families that buried their loved ones in them. Seeing as it was in the middle of nowhere, likely a family cemetery, and very old (I’m talking slate stones here) I did not expect to find anyone out there.
It was indeed a bit of trouble to find but the sign out front was big enough to see coming from one direction. It was up a long narrow dirt driveway in the woods, so you could not see the cemetery from the road. As I drove up I found a parking lot. And it was FULL. I mean really full… there had to be thirty cars here. Whaaaat was going on?
I found a tiny slot where I could squeeze my Prius. A dirt road continued onward but I wasn’t about to get my wimpy ass Prius stuck and unable to turn around with so many witnesses. Later I’d learn it was only a short drive to overflow parking where there were spaces. Wish I’d known that.
Do I get out or turn around? People were already looking at my car. Hrumph. I got out. If I had to I could bluff in this odd Harold and Maude kinda moment. Upon getting out I realized this cemetery was TINY and there was no real way I could just wander by the services and pretend to be there for someone else, but I had no other option. I walked up to road by them getting dagger eyes from whoever was leading the ceremony. It was just wrapping up. I was not dressed for this sort of thing and was clearly an outsider.
By now I was uncomfortable and so were a great deal of others. I tried not to make eye contact as I walked to the opposite side of the cemetery and peered at the stones intently. Sadly, all these stones were super old and I couldn’t pretend I was here to leave flowers for a great uncle or something. By now I could smell the faint aroma of decay. That was odd. I’ve been to funerals before, I never remember smelling the dead. Then it dawned on me, I thought Heil might be a Jewish surname. Great. Did I just crash a Jewish funeral in the midst of that clusterfuck between Israel and Palestine? When tensions are at an all-time high?! YEAH, that might explain why the person leading this (the rabbi? The funeral director? Not sure) was watching me with such intensity it was burning a hole in my neck. I swear I was not here for any nefarious reasons. I couldn’t give a shit what anyone’s religion or ethnicity is – I just like the pretty stones!
As people were leaving a friendly man and his wife approached me smiling. Oh fuck, here it comes.
“Just out taking pictures today?”
“Yes, I like to take photos of historic grave markers.”
“Oh! Well! The newer stones are up front. You can see many generations of the Philips family here.”
“Thank you!” I smiled and wandered off.
Later I heard a girl and her mum speaking.
“Why is she here?” She asked, obviously referring to me.
“She might know someone buried here. Or she’s out taking photos of the old stones. People do that!”
This cemetery was very small. Around 150 or so stones. Most were very old and in this setting, they were quite charming nestled away in a quiet corner of the woods. It was VERY New Englandy! Most were pretty uniform although there was one monument that stuck out at the back near the overflow parking. It wasn’t a headstone. It was a chair. Made of marble.
Later on in the day I looked up this cemetery’s history and found this note about the chair, “A striking memorial is that in the north end of the yard, looking across to Gap Mountain. It is a great stone chair, fit to be the throne of a monarch of the hills. It is a memorial of the Ross family, three generations of whom lived hereabout. It is said that according to the belief of a descendant, spirits often return to the scenes of their earthly existence, and so, with filial respect, he placed for them this chair, facing the sunset, where in seemly fashion they may sit at ease when they return to muse upon the scene of their earthly existence.” (You can find the rest of the article here.)
Basically, this cemetery was the remnants of a farming enclave that lived in between Jaffrey and Fitzwilliam, too far away from either to be fully incorporated. Very interesting! And without further ado here is the very scant few snaps I took.
It was another day just wandering around looking for some good trails to explore when I came across the Weetamoo Woods. Strange name, I thought, as I wandered in. As it turns out this gorgeous scenery came with a gruesome and perhaps entirely regrettable historical narrative.
I had no idea this was somewhere that was tainted with the blood spilled during the King Philip’s War. More so I had never heard the name Weetamoo before. As it turns out she was a woman chef of the Pocasset tribe. She led several hundred men in her own army during King Philip’s War against the colonists. And King Philip – he was her brother-in-law during her third marriage (of five.) Her leadership was largely unrecognized by the white settlers because of her being a woman but she fought valiantly in her short life. Unfortunately, she was eventually cornered by the colonists during King Philip’s War, drowned, and her corpse defiled. They brought her head to be displayed to the public on a pike in Taunton Massachusetts. And her children who had been caught alive? Sold into slavery. Most of this story was narrated on a plaque at the entrance.
Dark. Morbid. And wholly unjustified. No wonder they don’t teach us about what really happened in those early years of our nation during our schooling. It’s much more comforting to just go on believing in the Thanksgiving Story. Everyone being nice to each other…
I was struck by this story. This woman was a force in her own right, and she had followed her heart, led her people, and fought with everything she had. And now I was here, near where she died, just casually ambling through a patch of woods we’ve named after her. I was humbled.
Since I was alone on this particular day and lacking someone with a sense of direction, I decided to stay on the yellow path which cut straight through the forest before ending some ways out. Although I could still hear traffic for quite a while these woods seemed more remote than they were. A few big, gnarled trees took on an appropriately creepy vibe. Most people don’t realize that the trees in these parts used to be huge I mean with trunks you could wrap several people around in a hug – the sort of thing we normally only think of existing in the Redwood Forest on the opposite coast of our country. White settlers cut pretty much every last one of them down. I’ve yet to see any evidence of a tree older than these times but before the settlers trees were so big because they were allowed to grow for hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years. Everything you see today is new growth. Trees that began their life after everything else was cut down.
I pondered how different these woods must have looked then during Weetamoo’s life in the mid 1600’s. Were they scary? Perhaps even haunted? I couldn’t blame them if they were. I made sure to talk to the trees a bit and thank them for such a beautiful trail. Whether you believe someone is listening or not doesn’t matter. It never hurts to be kind in these situations. Kind and grateful.
I wasn’t the only out on this day. Lots of people had come with their dogs and they were passing me like no one’s business as I struggled to keep going. My body has not been happy with my recent attempts at getting back into shape and was pitching a fit as it usually does – overheating and stabbing me in the side with sharp pains. I stopped several times to sit on rocks and eventually turned around before finding the end of the trail because by then it was getting dark and I didn’t want to be stuck in the woods with no sweater or jacket for the night. Especially in woods with such a gruesome history. No… I have my limits.
That being said I really enjoyed this trail. It was pretty wet at parts, but it was gorgeous and easy to hike. And all the people with their sweet little dogs? Bonus. Definitely a puppy bonus.
You ever have one of those days where you just have a complete meltdown because of things out of your control and then you ask the universe for some guidance and end up somewhere wonderful? That would have been today for me. Serendipitous, you may say. Earlier on in the day I thought I was near my journey’s end when it came to me being a medical mystery for the past 20+ years but the rheumatologist I went to disagreed and I felt like I’d slammed into a concrete wall for the last time. I went out into the parking lot and yelled in my car and then tried to drive home but then I realized NO, I was not going to go home defeated. I needed to find my inner Zen, recenter, be a peace with the universe. So, I asked the Universe to guide me to a good trail.
And when the time felt right I took one of those fateful detours up a random road which turned out to be Mt Lebanon Road. In less than a mile I got what I asked for. A trail. A trail I knew nothing about as I don’t live in the area. It found me. I parked and headed in. And whew! This trail was… how shall we put this politely? Rugged. Untamed. Quiet. Although it seemed to be near a neighborhood all I could hear were the chipmunks screaming at me and the birds above. No one else was here. This was PERFECT. An answer to my prayers.
I toddled in with the wonder of a small child. And before I knew it the aggravations of the day started to fade and I found myself at the feet of some very colorful autumn trees and then little creatures started to show themselves. Fuzzy caterpillars of all kinds, a darling little tree frog, more irate chipmunks, a pair of mourning doves, and a night crawler so big I thought it was a snake! I felt blessed, quiet, at peace. I looked up to see a dead tree which still had one living branch, really a whole new baby tree, jutting out from it far above my head. I know it seems silly but this seemed like another sign – to keep going, to never stop fighting for myself. Before the day was out I would find another dead tree that seemed oddly significant. It was bendy, really bendy, almost serpentine as it snaked up towards the sky in an S pattern. Normally I’d just say that was a weird tree but that diagnosis I was seeking earlier was for EDS – a disease punctuated by hypermobility. I.e. people with it are bendy. Too bendy.
When I fell tired I perched myself on a rock and in a calmer state than I was in earlier I made a little video about why this particular doctor’s appointment was so frustrating. And the trees listened. And so did a few people on TikTok. I felt better. A lot better. And then I went back to wandering this ill marked trail, eventually ambling off of it only to end up in someone’s back yard staring at a staircase to the road. I turned around, completed the North Trail loop, and because I have NO sense of direction I ended up back at in those poor people’s back yard before correcting my route and finally finding the car. I was spent, feeling a bit foolish, but I’d returned to my happy self.
Which brings me back to this weird review of the trail. If you happen to be in the area looking for a moderate trail with little to no traffic and a few pretty scenes check it out! See if you can find your Zen here too. And for those of you who have been reading this blog and want to see the videos I took of my little 2 part meltdown feel free. I’ll include them after the pretty pictures. Much love to all of you!
I have a complex relationship with my hometown and suffice to say I may not be the best to ask when it comes to things like places to eat. I don’t know. I don’t go out to eat. I mean yeah, I did check out the Hometown Diner years ago when it was first placed in our little town. It was just opening, it was busy, VERY busy, and the waitress was weaving in and out of swarms of yellow jackets while claiming she had a lethal allergy to stings. And as fond as THE ENTIRE TOWN was of this place, I was unimpressed by their pancakes which tasted like they came from a box. I didn’t go back after that buuuuuuut my beau was in town, we were getting ready for an adventure, we needed breakfast, AND this place had changed hands in the meantime. Fiiiiiiine, I will give it another chance.
It wasn’t so busy on this morning. We were able to sit at an actual table which is nice if you’re not counter people. I am not. At least not in town. Service was quick, did not include any death-defying stunts, and our food came out promptly. I ordered the bananas foster pancakes. It was…. creative? Presentation was lovely, three little flap jacks covered in caramel and whipped cream with bananas in between. It was soooo sweet I didn’t even use maple syrup and was still left twitching like a sugar addled child. To be fair I mistook bananas foster pancakes for banana pancakes. Because I am not used to dessert for breakfast, but I see you – out there eating your doughnuts on the way to work. You’d probably love this. Meanwhile my darling was happy for the most part, though he found the hollandaise equally creative. Seemed to have a mayonnaise base? I know nothing of these things.
I hear this place might be going out of business soon. I don’t know why but I suspect it has a lot to do with town politics. Suffice to say I am happy I at least got to try it again when the food was actually decent. It’ll likely be my last memory of the place after they haul its cute little tin carcass off the lot.
Today was a weird day. I knew I needed a walk but I didn’t want to go too far and besides this I knew my mother could do with an outing as well. So I grabbed her and we headed out to the Rindge Town Forest. When I got there all I saw was an unmarked dirt road (driveway?) with a lot of no trespassing signs on both sides. She was not in the mood to push this so we went back to Converse Meadow and I used this opportunity to check out the last little bit of this loop that I did not get to see on previous occasions.
As it turns out McGregor Pond is like a 250-foot offshoot trail off the normal loop. It was SHORT but that was perfectly OK! We were happy to find a bench there and we sat and chatted while looking over this pretty little scene. Actually it was just the right amount of walking for her so it all worked out well. As it is Autumn the weather was perfect and the trees were beautiful. I had a really lovely time and if you happen to be in the area doing this loop, make sure to check out the McGregor Pond offshoot!
Its funny when you finally notice the things you have passed by dozens of times. Endless Treasures was deffinately that but to be fair I dont think its been there for that long.
This place was an absolute trip. The sign out front reads, “Group Shop – Consignment – Vintage – Collectibles – Antiques – Thrift Items.” And it didn’t lie! Never have I seen a shop so uncertain of what it actually was. Was it an antique store? An artist friendly market? A thrift store? ALL OF THE ABOVE!
And because it was having such an intense identity crisis it was an adventure walking through the isles. I must say there was a surprising amount of nice furniture for exceptionally decent prices. Mixed in with these were genuine antiques like a series of old wooden canary cages whose labels read bafflingly, “European bird house.” And then there was an assortment of bizarre DIY folk art and retro Halloween decorations dotting several of the vendor booths.
And then I found the weirdest thing to take home. It was so funny I took a video.
Main street antique stores with well-arranged display cases are fun but as for myself I prefer the quirkier establishments – basement antiques, mill antiques, and of course barn antiques. Much to my delight this store was in a barn out back of a cute little B&B. It was so quintessentially White Mountain-y.
And for being a barn it was WELL ventilated and cool. We saw all sorts of antiques, most of which were clearly linked to the local area. Ancient toys, old farming tools, a couple accordions, even a wooden opium pillow. What wasn’t to love? It was halfway like shopping and halfway like visiting a roadside country museum. I loved every bit of this place from its rustic inventory, to the chickens out back, to the cute little inn next door. It was the perfect way to end our journey into the white mountains and if you’re in the area go check it out! It’s a lot of fun!
We were having such a great day we weren’t ready to go home just yet so we looked up another antique store and found the Rockin’ Thru the Ages Antiques which was… an absolute riot. LOVED this place! It was the only antique store I’ve ever been to that had mini golf course out the back door. And inside? A rock wall. Clearly this place used to be something else but now it was an antique store I was loving how quirky it was.
This place was after my heart when right at the entrance there was two ventriloquist dummies sitting on the floor, slack-jawed, just gawking at people coming in. One was a Howdy Doody and the other was the same dummy I keep finding and not being able to buy. He was fully intact and only $35 and obviously almost came home with me. Only reason he didn’t was because he ended up being a pull string doll instead of a proper ventriloquist dummy. SIGH. SO CLOSE.
The main floor of this place was nice, spacious, good variety of things. My companion was a little weirded out by the display case of Nazi medals at the back. I was more freaked out by the wrought iron handcuffs that had a little label stating they were from a prison back in the day. Clearly an otherwise bright and happy store had this weird corner of human depravity. We shuffled off.
Downstairs was more fun because it was the epitome of basement antiques. SO MANY CLOWNS. And they were all hobos. Why? NO IDEA. I was already working through my own hobo related trauma after learning Candy Mountain, that sweet, adorable children’s song, actually had several lyrics that were censored from the final cut. Basically, it was narrated by a runaway boy telling a hobo pedophile to fuck off. And that’s what I was thinking about when I saw the hobo clowns. Adding clown make-up to the mix did not help.
All kidding aside this place had some weird things including a leather wine holder in the shape of a rooster. And the prices were unbeatable. I found an antique ceramic Jack-O-Lantern and brought him home for $5.
