I know I haven’t been giving my beloved blog much attention lately but it’s only because my chronic fatigue has been working me over like a steam roller this summer so I haven’t been able to make it out of the house very often. So too has my usual travel companion who is currently being pushed to the brink by his capitalist overlords. As such we both desperately needed a more unusual outing, an extra little escape from the bleakness of reality. I pitched the Wydah Pirate Museum because you can’t beat pirates!
The Wydah Pirate Museum is an entire museum based on one very lucky discovery of a sunken pirate ship off the coast of Cape Cod. I’ve always wanted to see an old wooden shipwreck but am also phobic of the ocean so barring that this seemed a nice compromise.
We ended up during peak traffic hours on a gorgeous summer day so by the time we got there I was in no mood to be fighting with the GPS who didn’t feel it was nessassary to tell me which side of the road I was supposed to find this establishment. It is set back from the road with an underwhelming forefront so I drove right past it and ended up turning into a big seemingly abandoned parking lot which turned out to be almost directly across the road. And then I had to dodge two lanes of unrelenting traffic to get across said road which nearly ended in catastrophe when I saw a break in the traffic and slammed the gas to the floor only to have my wussy little Prius bottom out and only kick in a full second or two later. No one died, not even the Prius. Thank God.
As I drove in I was one of several cars there. Outside there was a big banner above the door to what looked like a big metal warehouse. This was almost as sketchy looking as all those salt water fish stores.
Fortunately the inside was completely different. Two teenagers joyfully tended the entrance desk and told us this was a no photo establishment and self guided tours started in an adjoining room where a short video played on a loop. Under the screen was a big gold bell in a tank which was apparently the first thing they found on this wreck.
Travellings into the museum itself we found LOTS of plaques and information, the usual scattering of creepy wax dummies, and a few cases of random things found. We learned this particular ship had a 40% black crew as well as numerous indigenous members and a random twelve year old runaway whose boot and shinbone were found and were currently on display. This was all news to me. I knew black pirates were a thing but I had no idea there were so many and why would an indigenous person want to be a pirate?? I had no answers on that one although the picture was much clearer for the black crew members who through escape and mutiny had chosen the pirate life over slavery. There was also a small display honoring the women pirates who dressed as men to take on this life which to me sounds like some transmen found belonging in a diverse democracy at sea. I’m telling you pirates sound better at governing than our own land based government.
I also got to see some twisted and broken pirate pistols and learned why pirate guns always seemed so cartoonishly large – its because they’re not hand guns, they’re literally sawed off shotguns. Remind me not to get on the bad side of a pirate.
There was even a little station where you could touch some of the coins dredged up during this escavation. They were well polished and worn by being pawed at by thousands of fingers and yet it was still pretty cool to touch someone’s spare change from hundreds of years ago. Also on display were real gold deblooms and pieces of six. They looked so much more primitive than I’d imagined.
But the most unique display was a whole room of various fish tanks filled with large chunks of the wreck that had been encased in mineral deposits and needed to be slowly melted away with the magic of water erosion. There were X-rays revealing what was in these strange rocks. I had always thought corals may take over these sunken vessels, it never occurred to me they’d be slowly enveloped by rock over time, like fossils! Of pirate guns.
Finally there was a slew of displays on what ultimately happened to the pirates who were caught. Spoliers: nothing good. Sort of brought my mood down a bit to be honest. I was rooting for these probably ADHD-addled sea rogues.
We took a moment to play at the knot tying station before scanning the gift shop for morbid loot. There were indeed books a plenty but I left them on this day feeling the $18 entrance fee was already quite enough to spend.
Off we went. I took a selfie outside with one of the wooden pirates so I’d have something to post here, having obeyed the rules of the inside museum.
This one had been on my list for a long time because it was so odd. And the entrance fee was only $3 a head. Win.
I didn’t actually know where Rockport was. On the other side of Boston of course… so we did that whole fun trip right through the city and all the traffic but luckily it wasn’t that bad on this spring day. When we got to the Paper House it was in a residential neighborhood that was littered with signs reading no parking on this side of the street.
The sign was outside a regular house and up a small city driveway. Was I supposed to go in the driveway??? Could I park on the street?? The driveway had two parking spots, one had what I asumed was the home owner’s car in it. I parked in the other one and we walked awkwardly up the driveway wondering what was going to happen from here. Would we have to ring someone’s doorbell or ring a number? We walked up to the building on the property that read Paper House and looked in the windows. Yep, it was the paper house. It took us a minute to find a sign stating the door was unlocked and we could go in. There was an honor box outside to leave our entry fees.
This place was really small but fun. We were clearly the only ones there. In the structure the walls were decorated with folded paper in the style of “tramp art,” which was common in the 1920’s when these pieces were made. There were chairs, a table, a piano, and a grandfather clock, all decorated with rolls of paper. The information given was that these were made as an experiment to see how long print paper (in this case newspapers) could hold up if varnished and used to make things. There was no explanation as to WHY this experiment was going on, only that it was the homeowner’s grandfather who started in with this quirky hobby in the 1920’s. Some postcards sat out for souvenirs if you wanted to pay an extra 35 cents.
There was also a few pamphlets on other cool places to go in the area including a pottery shed just a few houses down. We’d continue our explorations there. This was a quirky little side quest and if you’re int he area I deffinately think you should give it a little lookey-loo. Otherwise, on it’s own, this probably wasn’t enough for me to say it’s worth any sort of drive, especially through Boston traffic! However, there’s lots of other stuff to do in the area that may make it worth it.
It was another gorgeous spring day so we decided to spend it outside. In a cemetery. Because that’s what normal people do. I left the choice of which cemetery to my travel companion who chose the Holyhood Cemetery because it was said to be haunted. Aren’t all cemeteries haunted? Probably, but this one seems to be mostly ghost children running between the stones and in the 1920’s people claimed to hear Gaelic lullabies in the wind.
But the cemetery’s real claim to fame was the fact it was the burial grounds that contained the Kennedys. Specifically, the mom and pop of the never forgotten former president John F Kennedy. And his sister… the one who at 23 had too salacious a lifestyle for her parents to handle so they had her lobotomized, then institutionalized, and no one ever spoke about her again. Shame, I think she seemed like the sort of live wire I would have loved to have read about if she weren’t turned into a human vegetable for the convenience of her rich family. I pondered for a moment what they must think of their legacy now being carried by RFK Jr, their nephew, who is currently succeeding at killing dozens of children through his campaign against measles vaccinations. He also thinks germs aren’t’ real and was recently stopped from starting a non-voluntary register for autistic people for… reasons. Oh Rosemary, you were the only sane one in this whole family weren’t you? I am so sorry you were robbed of becoming way better than any of your male family members. Also, at the risk of making a political statement on a blog which is not… Fuck you RFK Jr, go back to the rock you crawled under and die. We do not need or want you.
BUT BACK TO THE CEMETERY! It was well spaced out and pretty large making for a nice little amble. The majority of the stones were very typical but there was enough more individualistic ones to make it worthwhile. My favorite ended up being a woman angel made in bronze who was just… dramatic.
We spent maybe an hour or so walking around here. I can’t say I saw any ghost children or heard any Gaelic lullabies but it was still enjoyable. Perhaps worth it if you’re in the area.
You know with the economy crashing as badly as it has been I have a feeling more of y’all will be joining me in finding the best FREE entertainment New England has to offer! On this particular day it was the Beneski Natural History Museum attached to the university in Amherst Massachusetts.
This is one of the things I love about New England is their colleges and universities are usually quite proud to share their discoveries and collections with people, even people who do not attend said institutions, which is great because even though I was once academically inclined I now do not have a cent to give towards such lofty endeavors but that doesn’t mean my love for the sciences has waned.
The Natural History Museum is attached to an active science building. There are classes going on in the back but there’s pretty rocks in the hallway just outside said classrooms to enjoy if you’re quiet. I was hoping to eavesdrop on a paleontology lecture as I was surrounded by the aforementioned pretty rocks but instead my eyes glassed over at the sound of someone trying to make unsolvable math problems exciting in two different classrooms. Math. It’s never liked me and I never liked it. But the rocks were cool… there was even a display on rocks and minerals found here in New England and I had NO IDEA were here but now I’ll be looking! And the variety… my god, I’d never heard of most of these little earth treasures.
However I didnt swing by today to tell you about hallways, the main part of the museum was probaly more notable! It had more fossils than anything. Most of the big displays were brought back during one exhibition the college hosted in the 1920’s when all you needed was a $100 car, a pick ax, and a vague destination out west somewhere. The colorful details if this story were everywhere to be read and enjoyed.
But there were also drawers, so many drawers! Each just asking to be opened with all sorts of fun stuff… everything from trilobites to turtle fossils. My favorite displays included an Irish elk, two beautiful archapteryx complete with fossilized feathers, and a sea scorpion which is the state fossil of New York. Also the basement which had dinosaur tracks and dinosaur skin imprints lining all the walls.
And since I seem to be writing this entry backwards I will say the exhibits in the entry were very well displayed and even included a cute little dinosaur I’d never heard of and the school’s mascot: the mighty mastodon. A very excitable student greeted us and told us to ask any questions we had. I didn’t ask anything but I did learn the US used to have tiny camels running around and there’s a rock called wulfinite that’s is a gorgeous orange…
I guess that’s where I’ll leave you until tomorrow when I’ll tell you where we walked from here.
Why not follow up a ghost hunt at the Lizzie Broden Inn with a stroll through the cemetery she was buried in a few days later? That’s absolutely what we, two lovably morbid history buffs, did today.
I had Oak Grove Cemetery on my big list of cemeteries to check out but I had long forgotten why until I was reminded this morning. Ooooh yeeeah, it’s where the Bordens are buried!
I was expecting another sprawling garden cemetery oozing personality in the form of varied monuments and when I drove up to the gate of this place I really felt this what it must be. Big iron castle-looking gates, an actual parking lot beyond with several cars, and an information center inviting you to check out their cemetery tour QR code. But that wasn’t necessary because there were giant white arrows on the pavement leading to Lizzie’s grave. This place certainly knew who to cater to! This is the first time in all my cemetery jaunts that I have seen a grave so well marked for tourists. And it was only a very short walk which was great because it was cold as a witch’s tit today.
Curiously Lizzie is buried in the same plot as the father and step mother she likely ax murdered. She was found innocent at the time and lived a long life afterwards but there’s proof here she never quite got away from the stigma of the crime in the form of her name – changed from Elizabeth to Lizbeth. I don’t think dropping the E helped much to be honest. She’d eventually move from the family home to her own mansion across town where instead of socializing with an entire town that was giving her the cold shoulder she prefered instead to host theater actrices from afar, more than a few of which she likely courted. In those days she would have been known as a spinster, today we probably would say something more along the lines of lesbian.
Lizzie Borden to me stands as a bit of a tragic figure. Forever memorialized by a children’s jump roping rhyme forever naming her as a killer and she probably was but I think if she were tried today she’d be seen in a little more sympathetic light. There’s quite a few historians who give her father more than a little side eye for potentially being not just a miser and all around horrible person but also one who may have been grooming his own daughters. I saw the crime scene photos – there is nothing left of the Borden’s faces, to me that suggest some serious pent up rage, built up from decades of abuse and held back only by the strings of a corset. Lizzie may still see her time as we grow as a society to have a better understanding of criminal psychology. We could recast her as a folk hero of the Me Too Movement for taking charge of her own destiny in a time when that was near impossible for a woman.
But back to the cemetery, would I suggest it to my readers here? Maybe, if you are into the Lizzie Borden story. Otherwise probably not. Although the cemetery was sprawling there were remarkably few monuments that looked unique enough to get my attention – less than a handful of statues, a couple masoliums, a single Celtic cross. I will note however there was a rather large murder of crows watching us from creepy bare trees the whole time which seemed fitting.
If you grew up in New England you deffinately skipped rope to the sound of gleefully morbid children singing, “Lizzie Borden had an ax, gave her mother 40 whacks, when she saw what she had done she gave her father 41.” Before counting to the sound of the rope slapping the ground. The Lizzie Borden story is forever written in infamy – a grusome crime that was never officially solved. Was Lizzie, who was found by a neighbor burning a bloody dress guilty of such of crime? Or was the maid who claimed to be asleep in the house, or Lizzie’s sister Emma, or the mystery guest or uncle who showed up to town just two days before? Character reports of the murder victims painted them increasingly cruel over the years so whose to say who had an ax to grind with them? The people at the time did put Lizzie on trial (while heavily sedated by doctors to calm her nerves) and they found her innocent because ax murdering is just not something a proper lady of the time was capable of! Lizzie moved on, bought a different house across town, became a patron of the arts, took on the occasional mistress, and died a spinster, forever shunned by the people about town. And the house.. it remained more or less the same until someone decided to make it into an inn. Of course times are tough so it’s had to get creative to pay the bills. In addition to being an inn it also converted the barn to a gift shop and now hosts regular ghost tours and hunts. It sounded like a fun place to poke around.
We arrived early in hopes of finding parking and lucked out. There is a very small and hard to find parking lot but it only is comfortably big enough for four cars or so.
The tour started at registration in the little gift shop which was filled with all sorts of brutal memorabilia, the usual magnets and postcards scattered among black cat plushies and bloody ax pillows, and a whole corner devoted to ghost hunting devices – everything you could ever want in that department from simple EMF meters, to REM pods, to spirit boxes and more. Under glass at the counter there was a fun display of pottery fragments and metal things from the era that had been dug up on the property. Tonight the group was large consisting of I believe 19 people and the tour guide of course. Most of these people seemed to be young goths and couples looking for an interesting date night. I would expect no less. There was also one other family there with a small child who seemed quiet and content. We had come ourselves at the request of a very excited teenager and here we were!
After checking in we were led to a small kitchen and we all gathered around to be told the cliff notes version of the tale but this time it included the neighbors, relatives of the Bordens, who also witnessed murder in their household when the mother dropped her three babes in the well before slitting her own throat with a razorblade. Two of the children drown in the well while a third scrabbled her way out and survived the ordeal. Was it another attempt at a whole family murder at the hands of the husband or was this really the murder/suicide of a woman stricken with post partum psychosis in the days before medical science even had an inkling of such a thing? I guess no living person will know but we were told the children often skip on over here to talk with guests. And finally we were told of Max the cat who died at 21 just a week after his owners sold this house and moved. His paw prints and ghostly visage still showing up from time to time.
From here we were all given EMF meters to use and allowed to choose from a whole host of other ghost hunting goodies – spirit boxes, yes or no lights, dowsing rods, a thermal scanner, REM pods galore, one of those devices that puts green dots all over the place, headphones, cat toys that lit up when touched. We were given a brief instruction on all of them before being split up into two groups, one which got to go into the creepy basement first and one which got to play around the first floor where Andrew Borden met his fate. The top two floors were of course reserved for inn guests . And then we were basically off to free range and do as we pleased, as long as that wasn’t playing with a ouijia board!
Of course by now we had one super excited teenager and one who found the experience a little too scary at first – not appreciating the ghosts answering during device demonstrations nor the bloody manniken corpse on the couch at the site of the murder. But we encouraged her to get involved and ask questions of the yes/no light which would light up green for yes, red for no, and with quite a bit of coaxing she really warmed up to the yes/no box, so much so that in a few minutes it was just herself and I asking it questions and it was going off steadily, although at times it’d light up both red and green which was a bit confusing. That being said the lights were oddly comforting in their responses and she was able to see the ghosts here appeared to be of the friendly variety. Meanwhile my companion and the other teenager were in the dining room playing with dowsing rods and having just as much success. Hilariously both the dowsing rods and yes/no box appeared to prefer just the two people they were talking to keeping us separated into pairs for the time being though I did pop my head for a moment to see the dining room whose table had actual crime scene photos that despite being in black and white were no less horrific. There was just no recognizable face left on either corpse. That… that’s some potent familial rage there.
Other guests were in the other rooms playing joyfully with their chosen devices and apparently doing as well with them as us. I was pleasantly surprised. I sort of expected this to be a pretty boring tour-kind of exercise where we might hear one or two words on the spirit box so we could all oo and awe and come home but the amount of activity going on here was wild. I would have been happy with just that but on hour two we were instructed to switch with the other team and so we entered the creepy basement where we were shown a face in the bricks above a wash basin, a thermal photo of Max the cat’s ghost, pawprints in the paint also ascribed to Max, the luminol-sprayed and glowing blood stains that dripped from the floor above, and a room that was once used for seances and ouijia board readings.
At this point our whole group started in the room with the wash basin but it’d only be a moment or two before all three of them left me behind to poke at something else. So I found myself in a room with the yes/no box, a REM pod, a cat ball, an EMF Guage, and a set of dowsing rods at which point the yes/no box started going mental and blinking both lights without request, the REM pod started its high pitch squealing, the cat ball lit up, my EMF reader spiked all the way up, and just for shits and giggles I took out the dowsing rods which no matter where I stood just continued to point at the REM pod. What am I supposed to do with that? With everything going off and nothing stopping I resigned myself to find something else to do (mostly because the screaming from the REM pod was burrowing into my autistic brain and was irritating me more than I can express.) I left to find the teens both alone playing with the headphones and radio in the seance room. I made my way in and sat down. One held the earphones close to her head and stated words that she could hear as the radio flipped between stations. The other asked questions for a time but it got a bit mean-spirited and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I thought at first one may just be trying to scare the other with repeated words like, “death,” “die,” and “cemetery” but by the time it said, “go into the street” the mood didn’t seem jokey. Nonetheless teen two got up and demanded they get a turn with the headphones while teen one spooked out of a seeming trance and claimed to remember nothing of what they’d said. I shifted but continued to observe to make sure nothing got too out of hand. Teen two put the headphones on and started in on the same spooky malarkey. Teen one did not appreciate this and I think may have been a little spooked as well when they got up and put a stop to the whole experiment. Teen two left to see what everyone else was up to as teen one picked up the flashlight which had two settings – UV and normal light. They wanted to see the bloodstains so they put on the UV and directed it at the ceiling at which point it switched on its own to regular light. Annoyed they asked if we could turn out the light so we asked the guide coming around if that’d be alright. He agreed but the flashlight continued to switch. At this point the guide was curious and confused as we were. He took the flashlight and tried himself and it didn’t respond but upon handing it back to teen it switched three more times. He said it’d never done that before. None of us really knew what to make of it so we wandered off to see what my companion was up to. He was in a third room in the basement, in the dark, smiling the biggest grin I’ve ever seen him wear. His EMF meter was lit all the way and a group had formed here and was asking questions which were apparently being enthusiastically answered by the ringing of a little service bell. They believed they were talking to the drown children and were playing games with them. So at this point there’s three rooms in the basement and basically all of them were seeing an insane flurry of activity all at once. That is not what I expected! But the crowd was jubilant and we were all having a good time – until one young man sat in the seance room and put on the headphones. He immediately heard, “I hate you” and ripped them right off. So clearly whatever lives in that room is a turd to everyone. I felt a bit better for not yelling at the girls for being mean to each other as it really seemed to be just an angry ghost. I didn’t think I’d ever be saying that!
By now the night was winding to a close and our spooked teen was thoroughly involved and had a lot of fun but was still concerned about bringing something unwanted home. To appease the household spirits they gave a toy frog they had in their pocket to the tour guide to place in the room upstairs where guests had left all sorts of toys for the ghost children. I left my own tidings in the form if a tip to our gracious host for the evening who I must say wore a period top hat very well!
All and all it was a very exciting night and we were all absolutely tuckered out from all the activity. We did not get to go back to the gift shop which is a shame as we would have bought souvenirs but I did get a special memento in the form of a weird light/mist in one of my few photos which was coincidentally was in the same room as all the devices going on when I was in there alone.
Soooo, would I suggest a ghost hunt at the Lizzie Borden Inn? Absolutely! And having gone on one perhaps we shall join a ghost tour someday to learn more of the history. This place was a wild ride for sure!
For the sake of making Catching Marbles more accessible this is the first blog entry which I am trying to post a reading of the entry to listen to. So, if you are so inclined enjoy, otherwise feel free to read it yourself and look at all the pretty pictures! Much love! ~Theo
Provincetown has been on my bucket list for a number of years, but I didn’t really know what to expect. All I knew was that it was a long drive and whomever I brought with me had to be really cool with a whole lot of shit. No prudes, no relatives, just merciless sarcasm and innuendo, like an episode of Hazbin Hotel! (which if you haven’t seen it yet it’s on Amazon Prime. Go watch it. Right now.)
ANYWAY, why would I want to visit New England’s queerest corner? Why wouldn’t I?! I figured it must be a neurodivergent heaven! I mean 1 out of every 6 normal people define themselves as gay but if you only poll autistic people…. literally over 70% of us identify as various flavors of the rainbow. Basically, it’s a giant blinking bug zapper to people like me.
Be this as it may I did not know anyone in my circle wanted to go and was more than happy to take some hostages on this venture. So, with BF and BFF in tow we made our way to Commercial Street, which I am going to say now IS NOT MADE FOR CARS. Do not drive down it! You will be MOBBED with pedestrians and only able to go at max 2 miles an hour until you find a parking lot. The parking lot I found was $15 and came with an attitude. Was I just learning how to drive? No sir, your instructions just suck and it’s making me nervous you’re standing directly in front of my car while I park. I suspect the $20 parking just down the road came with less guff. And a hanging sculpture of a Great White at the entrance….
Now that that was settled we all got out of the car and started our ambling. This was going to be another adventure in ADHD. We were immediately distracted by gargoyles. Fucking GARGOYLES. So, we walked away from Commercial Street to figure out why on earth there was a tower full of gargoyles overlooking the town. As it turns out this was the Pilgrim Monument. For a cool $20 you could take an elevator to the top. Or you could pay nothing and just read the pretty plaques probably stating that the pilgrims first landed in P-town not Plymouth. They merely wandered off and settled in Plymouth.
From here we decided to go back to Commercial Street which was FULL of summer tourists and pride flags of all persuasions. Some of them even flew out of the eaves of Seamen’s Bank which made us all giggle like twelve-year-olds. To be honest everything here seemed to be written with a wink and a nod. Never have I seen an oyster bar so thirsty. “Real men eat it raw.” (I’m really starting to wonder how I am going to contain the rest of this entry within the PG range for the angry and decidedly prudish AdSense gods.) Especially since the first thing we saw was this alleyway covered in…. I’m going to say erotic art. And baby doll heads in cages. My kinda weird.
It wasn’t all adult oriented. We started off within the normal area of family friendly activities stopping by a candy shop and checking off another bucket list item – trying saltwater taffy. It was soft! And sweet… and… I don’t have much of a sweet tooth but I’m glad I tried it anyway. The orange flavored ones were the best. From here we wandered into a little hippie shop with T-shirts and hippie clothing, funny bumper stickers and the usual touristy shit, and a forbidden staircase to the above 18 crowd. Wait, what? You can’t just dangle a forbidden staircase; curiosity will kill the cat (but satisfaction will bring him back.) So, what was up there? A weird convenience store of dildos and hookahs and bongs and pipes and more adult toys… just an overwhelming blizzard of rainbow colors… and textures… and why does this dildo look like it’s made for a platypus? (If you know, you know…and if you don’t you probably shouldn’t google what’s up with platypus bits.)
ANYWAY. We came across a lot that afternoon. Much of it was perfectly tame like a T-shirt shop for funny T-shirts that “can be printed in 9 seconds! Just pick a design!” As well as galleries, so many galleries with such a range of topics. There was even one that was just hyper detailed photos of your eyes. Or someone else’s eyes, but I’m pretty sure the point was to make it your own. And there was an AIDS monument we accidentally found as well as another monument with a ship on it that I would have read if I weren’t also trying to run and catch up with my crew. Lollygagger.
The whole street seemed to be places to eat, dispensaries, adult stores, galleries, tourist traps, billboards for drag shows (dammit, I want to see Hedwig live now!) and a smattering of bookstores. One such bookstore I’m pretty sure was a fairy trap. My companions, also twelve at heart, said damn straight it is a fairy trap. It was down a long alley that was completely covered in vines. How is that not some sort of fae attempt at luring unsuspecting humans?! We’re all idiots because we walked right into it. And it was sweet! A little quiet used bookstore with some really interesting titles… granted a large selection for the LGBT+ community. I enjoyed it.
Then we ended up walking by yet another sex shop but this one had signs in the windows none of us could ignore. One was the shop’s name, “Toys of Eros: More toys than the devil has sinners!” One point for the Greek mythology reference, another for the blasphemy, can we make it any better? Oh yes, they can also have a sign on the door that says they won’t sell to bigots except with MUCH more colorful language. I want to post a photo I took of it on FaceBook but I’d have to censor 30% of the words. SIGH. And beside all that there were promises of a sex museum! Fine… we’ll follow the free candy sign into the big black van just this once. The sex museum was more of an entryway full of terrifying cake mixer looking vibrators. Did you know that the electric vibrator predates electrical outlets? They had to be plugged into light bulb fixtures! So, I guess you can diddle or have light but you can’t have both. They also had a merkin. Looked like a dead rat. And some other things. Of course, by this time we’re in the shop. Clever ploy sex nerds, clever ploy.
First, we saw the case of glass twat ticklers. Slightly terrifying but I’m sure they were phantasma-orgasmic. I was then distracted by a rack of leather puppy masks, which are just… so… perfect…. for wearing when you go back in time just to scare the hell out of people. Hey, no one said it had to be a sexual thing. Sometimes, intrusive thoughts need love too. You could totally be a cryptid. I believe in you. ANYWAY, back to the task at hand – there was a wall of whips and switches and floggers with which to fondle all under a flying mannikin descending from the ceiling on a sex swing. Speaking of uses against manufacturer’s instructions I knew someone once who hoisted her rottweiler into a tree with one of those so she could spray her bath-hating pup down with a garden hose. Try getting that image out of your head.
I think the store clerk was bored because at this point she approached us and started showing us a whole rack of pocket pussies. You may wonder why a gay man and a woman would entertain such a thing but I wasn’t going to walk away without poking at it and HOLY SHIT this feels more real than my own flesh and blood bits! Whaaaaat is going on here?! This is where morbid curiosity gets you. Pondering what decisions in life brought you to this exact moment. They also had some that were less hyper realistic and more demure – and by that I mean hidden in what looked like a coffee thermos. I’m just saying, if I opened up my thermos one day and the death of Adam stared back at me from with it… Well, it’d just make the whole rest of the day weird, you know. Awkward weird. Naked Lunch weird.
It’s OK though because past the trans-friendly corner there was a delightful selection of vibrating muff marauders. Again, the clerk made sure to turn on every one and hand them to me and my companions. So many speeds, and vibration patterns, textures, and sizes. Cute little ones and ones that looked like they were made by Black and Decker complete with attachments. Purple ones, pink ones, black ones, shiny ones. Ones that thrust as well as vibrated! Hell, there was even one that sucked. Quite literally. It was a suction device for lady beans. That one was called the Womanizer. Of course, hearing that I tried to goad the clerk into telling me what was the most offensively named product in the store but she shied away from my cheerful trolling. Shame. I would have enjoyed that list.
As we left the clerk let it slip she was from NH and I had to ask where exactly. This resulted in her asking where I was and when I told her she had the same not great opinion of my town. Said the only good thing about it was the Walmart and the people were miserable. Guys, I’ve been saying this for years, and everyone always says all small towns suck but low! I’ve never felt so validated in my life to meet a complete stranger who sees the unique shittiness of my hometown. BIG SIGH!
It’d been a long but fun day. We’d found food and places to poke at and were really just heading back to the car when we saw a young woman across the street sitting at a typewriter with a sign reading something like, “I’ll write a poem for you.” This intrigued all of us to varying degrees and we went to see what that was all about. In short order we found ourselves talking to her and telling her about our day to which she took a notecard out, placed it in her typewriter, and in the matter of a minute managed to concisely summarize our day with some pretty words. It warmed my Beatnik heart and provided a beautiful souvenir. We decided to give her $20 for her efforts. And you can follow her on Instagram! @sticky6wordbandit
It was getting late and we were heading back to the car but that’s always perfect for yet more distractions. This time we’d be playing with a bunch of dead bugs. There was a whole shop for them! Just… butterflies in frames… and weird creepy crawly keychains… Made my inner bug loving twelve-year-old very happy. And finally we wandered into a well-lit and empty gallery because we’d seen one of the paintings from the street that looked decidedly like an all-male orgy melted like candles into each other in some sort of acid induced hallucination. The other art ranged from beautiful and serene to more erotic scenes. Then there was a little sign pointing to a dark streetside staircase reading, “there’s more in the basement!” Another fairy trap. I wasn’t about to but after reading the sign aloud my companion said we should go down and a disembodied voice from the underworld yelled, “YEAH! YOU SHOULD!” You guys, no, this is definitely a fairy trap. We’re gonna be disappeared. But alas the basement was just a TINY room barely big enough for the three of us and the disembodied voice was the artist who swooped by and up the stairs with all the deftness of… well, I guess a fairy.
I really liked some of the really close up paintings of blueberries and fruit. Sadly, I didn’t have 2 or 3K on me. But none the less I wished him good luck as I popped out of his gallery and into the night. We all agreed that as fun as today was we’d still like to come back and see more. And so that’s how our day ended… with sweet beautiful whimsy and more than a little innuendo. Totally worth it.
Sometimes when you have been out adventuring for as long as I have the inspiration starts to run a little dry and then you just have to ask the universe what it thinks you should do. In this particular case it thinks I should go to the oldest wooden jailhouse in the United States which was said to be open. Sounded good to me so off we went! And there it was in all it’s adorable glory sitting next to an old blacksmith shop and a Naval Museum. But woe! Although the brochure on the door said it was open it was not. So we took a walk down the trail directly behind it – two days in a row – because as you guessed it, it wasn’t open the day after either.
And you know what? The trail was a destination in and of itself! Cute and cozy and near civilization and yet covered in vines and greenery that made it seem like an import of some far away jungle. Before very long we crossed a railroad track which provided a fun opportunity for photos. Beyond that there seemed to be a number of unmarked trails all jutting off of each other. I am honestly not sure where we ended up or why. But when I started overheating we headed our way back, having had our walk in for the day.
It was kind of cute. I would definitely tell someone who lives in the area to go check it out. Maybe you’ll get lucky and the old jailhouse will be open! If only… as for the trail, it was nice, worth travelling very far? maybe not. Although the surrounding area was super interesting and unique so maybe….
It’d been a hell of a few weeks for me and unfortunately, I think my chaos gremlin followed me to Rhode Island on this particular week because my usual travel companion wasn’t having an easy go of it either. We both needed desperately to get out of the house but lacked the energy to actually do so. A compromise was made – to stay in town and go back to a destination we’d already been to before – a destination I remember taking photos of but for some reason cannot find said photos or blog entry?? Shame because I took very few photos this time around thinking I already had plenty!
Prescott Farm is the site of a historic farmstead and gristmill. It has one of very few surviving windmills in here in the US built in the early 1800s and there are several other historic buildings also on the property you can poke at. And “gardens,” lots of “gardens” which appear to be wildly out of control fenced in weeds… which I guess are mostly native and probably were used at some point by locals but I definitely saw some things in there that clearly blew in from somewhere else. A vegetable garden this was not. Although I did find a patch of choke cherry trees along the perimeter. SOMEDAY. Someday I’ll have land and chokecherry trees of my own with which to make jam with.
The location is known for its little duck pond where a gaggle of them wait to be fed. We however were here to check out the hiking trails first so off we went past the old homestead, the historic markers, and the windmill, into the woods! The woods were a well needed respite from the heat. Despite the fact that today was hotter and muggier than a teenage Shrek’s jock strap (sorry) the woods were cool and refreshing! And pretty! We found a bunch of little fairy houses that someone had left at random trees and then I spotted a really fat deer – the first one I’ve seen on island in all my visits here! And just beyond the deer we came across a weird bird sitting at the edge of the water just chilling, giving no mind to us whatsoever. My companion thought it was a hawk because of its coloration and short stubby shape, I thought it was a blue heron because of its beak. Drawing closer to it I realized it wasn’t nearly big enough to be a heron and its beak definitely wasn’t that of a hawk. We were both bewildered by the animal who still didn’t care we were staring at it like leering predators. We’d only later learn its identity by posting photos on FaceBook – it was a night heron. I have never heard of such a thing and am growing increasingly concerned I might be wandering ever closer to becoming a birder, the horror. This goes doubly for my companion who thought he heard an owl. This resulted in us both stalking a mourning dove to the chimney of the farmhouse. To be fair the “mourning” sound of mourning doves does sound a bit owl-like.
The trails were very short and sweet and at times a little messy but it was cute and I was happy to have seen some wildlife. We were however about to approach the famous duckpond. Ooooooph, it was very choked in out in weeds, I don’t think they were native either. However, the ducks still persisted, as did frogs, baby turtles, pond skimmers, diving beetles, and a fantastic orgy of every kind of dragon fly you could think of just finding their love match. It was kind of funny. The ducks showed interest in us only as long as it took to figure out our sorry asses didn’t have any food for them and then they wandered off crankily quaking at each other.
This was a nice little diversion – just the amount of green and activity I needed to get back onto a path of a well-regulated nervous system. So, if you’re in town maybe check it out. It’s rather cute, child friendly, and has a little history. Also, the windmill is nice to take photos of.
After going to the Grove Street Cemetery and doing their cradle grave and Civil War tour we had to return to check out all their Amistad related graves and find the monument they left for Glen Miller which we missed the first time. There’s even a tree tour but we didn’t get to that one.
Right at the front where the kiosk is there is also a monument to the captives of the Amistad, many of whom were buried in this cemetery near the lawyers, judges, and other people involved in this historic trial. Most of these individuals were nearby. It was interesting to see what happened to many of these individuals after the trials, it seems a number of the captives became active and successful members of the community which just astounds me considering the trauma they must have all carried with them.
We learned the oldest stones that were leaned against the perimeter of the cemetery were actually from a different cemetery that used to be where the park is now. Though they may have moved the stones they don’t appear to have removed the bodies and as late as 2020 human remains were found entangled in the roots of a downed tree. This is not a unique story as many cemeteries were eventually taken over and transformed into parks over the years.
We were also surprised to find Webster of dictionary fame, Goodyear the guy that pioneered vulcanized rubber, Josiah Willard Gibbs – inventor of calculus and significant contributor to thermodynamics, Eli Whitney inventor of the cotton gin, Walter Camp “father of American Football,” and Othniel Charles Marsh a tireless Yale professor and paleontologist that worked mostly on the evolution of birds publishing an astounding 1,400 scientific papers in his life.
And of course towards the very end of our exploration of this cemetery we found the monument to Glenn Miller – composer of In the Mood and a ton of other songs that are still played today. I say monument because this isn’t his actual grave – he died in a plane crash fighting in World War II and his body was never recovered. I wonder if he was the first of the popular musicians to die in a plane crash, either way what a bad ass way to go – killing Nazis.
Anyway, that was our tour. We learned a lot of history and saw a lot of cool things. This is definitely a cemetery worth checking out and if you’re looking for someone specific the fact the roads have names and the stones have addresses makes it pretty easy to find them.
