My usual travel companion is a foodie, history nerd, and unbothered carnivore so when he found out the birthplace of the hamburger was in New Haven we had to go.
We parked in the weird parking lot behind this eatery and paid $2 an hour to stay there as we wandered. It seemed a fair deal, even if it was awkward and I had to back into a space like everyone else. But anyway, onto the hamburgers…
The aesthetics of this place are very European looking, very bright and old fashioned. You can’t miss it. Inside it is TINY. The tiniest restaurant I have ever eaten in, with pew-like booths seemingly fit for a child. Still, a crowd was in here, sitting down in them.
The menu was even tinier. You could order a burger or a cheeseburger with optional tomatoes and onions. They were all to be served medium rare with a soda in a glass bottle and a choice of potato salad or chips. That was the entire menu.
I can only remember eating hamburger once in my life. It was what remained of one of my father’s cows – Holly. Her name was labelled on the package as it came out of the freezer. You can’t really blame me for being put off.
Still, I’m an adult now and in the spirit of trying new things I ambled up to the counter and asked for a cheeseburger with tomato and onions with a side of potato salad just in case. We then sat down and waited the fifteen minutes we were told it’d take. This place was awesome in the sense the cook was right next to the cashier and was making patties to set in a preposterously old cast iron steamer. In all my travels I’d never seen such a thing. They also had an antique toaster just rotating toast the whole time.
By the time the burgers came out I was a bit nervous. They were indeed medium rare, still bleeding, so no need for ketchup, served not on a bun but between two slices of white toast. I took the plunge and took a bite of this thick burger. I think it’s fortunate they were cooked so little – I think that might be why I hated hamburger in the past. By the time it turns grey it’s chewy and gross but this was steaming hot, pink, and just dripping. I was shocked how good it was! Which was awesome because the potato salad was intensely bland and would have made for a shit lunch had this whole burger thing not worked. Should we go again I’m getting salt and vinegar chips and enjoying the hell out of the whole thing!
So, is this eatery worth it? YES. It was even worth the drive. Ambiance, staff, history, and great food. This was a win!
It’s been a funny experience going to all these cemeteries around New England. You never know what you are going to get. This cemetery boasted the grave of Eli Whitney the inventor of the cotton gin which is initially what caught my companion’s eye because who would have thought the inventor of the cotton gin would be buried somewhere that is too frickin’ cold to grow cotton. But this was only scratching the surface. The other claim to fame was this was the US’s first cemetery to claim “city of the dead” in its description. All this means is that the streets and paths throughout were given official names making the gravestones almost have little addresses with which to find them. And of course, there was the imposing Egyptian style gates reading, “The dead shall rise” which wasn’t creepy at all. Apparently, it’s a Bible quotation but that’s not nearly as fun as envisioning it having something to do with the secret society rituals performed here by Yale students or one of my favorite urban legends about tunnels being dug under the cemetery connecting the Yale medical school allowing “resurrectionists” to more easily steal and sell corpses to science. That part did happen back in the day but the tunnels, sadly to say, do not go under the cemetery.
The cemetery is surrounded on all sides by whimsically bizarre buildings, including a church directly across the entrance which has gargoyles on it. You have no idea how much this delighted me. I LOVE gargoyles and they are such a rare sight here in the US! These ones looked weirdly political – an eagle in a suit and a donkey in a suit. No elephant though, so there’s that I suppose. After this initial distraction we wandered in only to find this place is another one of those cemeteries that close at 4PM. This has been an ongoing issue for us as we generally have to drive from pretty far away and by the time we get there sometimes the gates are closed. Today we had two hours and counting to amble around.
There was a bulletin board at the entrance that had not one, not two, but four separate maps of interesting graves. One was generalized, one was of Civil War notables, one was of the people involved in the Amistad, and one was of just cradle graves. Obviously, this was too much for one day so we went with the Civil War notables and the cradle graves, promising to be back for the others when we had more time (as those maps had more on them.)
I had no idea what a cradle grave was but apparently this is what they call the memorials that were popular in the late 1800’s that were shaped vaguely like a cradle. The intention of this design was to make it an easy flower bed connected directly to the headstone. I’ve seen these before but being so old none of them still had flowers in them, but this cemetery decided to restore them to their former glory by planting historically accurate native flowers in them, to bloom at different points during the year. As far as I can remember none of these graves were also on the notables list but they did add quite a bit of charm to the place. We found all of them.
We also found the aforementioned Eli Whitney who was hard to miss and a bunch of Civil War dead. They included people who’d died in some of the first battles as well as the more recognized ones like Gettysburg and Fredericksburg and one man who served in New Haven’s first “colored” regimen. Sadly, although this was super old cemetery I wasn’t seeing the oldest colonial sandstone markers. As it turns out all those were moved to the perimeter of the cemetery from an even older cemetery location. The bodies that went with them are still under the common. But their stones still provide witness, and it was eerie and beautiful to see them all lined up against the walls. So many Death’s Heads and other bizarre colonial era carvings. LOVE IT.
We were also surprised to find two sphinxes! Each looking into the distance to the same spot. I realize that the wealthy had an Egyptian fetish from the mid 1800’s into the 1900’s but that doesn’t make it any less awkward to find. They always seem so out of place and these ones didn’t have any name on them and I have not been able to find any information on them which makes them that much creepier. They probably eat souls or some such.
We left when the clock ran out before finding the “random jazz musician” my companion mentioned which turned out to be GLENN MILLER. I didn’t realize that’s who he was talking about until I got home and now we very much have to go back!! Which is all well and good because I still want to see all the Amistad graves too. And maybe take a few more photos since half the ones I took on this day refused to upload.
If you happen to be in New Haven or love cemeteries I absolutely recommend this one. It’s really lovely. And it’s flat. Which is more than I can say of most cemeteries in New England!
To be honest we would have eaten at Alice’s restaurant if it was open that day (because I’m that big of a nerd) but just down the street there was a brooding inn with gift shop and food and it was just about to open to hungry diners. We were told we could wander the lobby for half an hour while we waited.
This place was… something else. We were immediately greeted by the newest staff – one of two hotel cats, who seemed bewildered at the amount of attention it was getting. It’ll settle in, I am sure. Beyond that there was this crazy metal cage elevator that I couldn’t help but think was haunted. The “lobby” was a set of rooms in a Byzantine maze set up with a series of quirky antique chairs. Beyond that there was a gift shop that was small but entertained us for way too long. It had 1950’s styled colored small appliances, expensive candles, some soft plushies, a nice selection of cookbooks, and apparently the rape whistle to end all rape whistles which came in a moderately decorated box saying, “Your mama will want you to have it!” Apparently, it was less of a whistle and more of a pocket-sized flashing siren. Weird choice of a gift shop item… everything else seemed normal!
Just outside the gift shop there was a chessboard set up next to the most anguished looking rocking horse (unicorn?) I have ever seen in my life. Though I took several photos during this visit it was only the rocking horse who came out. Haunted? Maybe. A patron asked if I was allowed to take photos of the rocking horse, staff assured him I could. Not like anyone was on it??
Anyway, when the clock finally timed out and they started letting dinner patrons in we meandered to the dining rooms. One was a proper dinner restaurant with duck on the menu. The other was a little mini pub with bar food. None of us had planned for this so we went with the cheaper option. I had the fish and chips which was… odd! I expected it to be beer battered like fish and chips normally are but no, it came out in breadcrumbs like a piece of chicken?? It wasn’t bad, it was just different. And I was unable to peel the batter off as I would have been able to do with a beer battered fish (because I’m weird and don’t really like the batter, just the fish.) The chips were also good. My companions were also happy with their options, a smash burger, some “spicy” carrot soup, and something I can’t remember. The only complaint we really had was the fact we were some of the first patrons of the day in a not-very busy setting and it still took us almost an hour to get served. But you know… the ambiance was worth it in this preposterously old building with original wood floors (square nails still visible keeping them down!) Decorations were odd and there was even a stain glass window. Again, all my pix came out blurred to the point of not being able to recognize anything in them despite having worked the rest of the day. Maybe the ghosts like their privacy.
Anyway… I do think this place was well worth a good poke. I do wonder what the rooms in the inn look like!
We had initially planned to go to Stockbridge to find Norman Rockwell’s grave – beyond that we were playing it fast and loose. After the 3 hour drive I was ready to burst and was actively looking for a bathroom. Imagine my relief to see a sign reading, “Restrooms out back” as soon as I got into town!! It was the city hall and I was beelining to their back parking lot. After taking care of business I came back out and found this huge display of pamphlets on places to go. This would provide us with inspiration for our next trip when all the touristy things are actually open. SO MANY OPTIONS! Just because I had to piss like a racehorse, we got the best intel ever. It was fate.
But after that we did actually go just up the street a little bit and parked at the church across the cemetery as the cemetery didn’t seem to have any parking (even though you could drive into it.) I was uncomfortable parking there as the lanes were narrow and there was nowhere to really pull off. The church did not seem to mind we were there so that’s what we did. And we checked out the Children’s Tower as we were right there anyway. Beautiful!
In fact this whole area was so beautiful we were getting badly distracted the whole day. But we were here on a mission so off we went! The first thing we found in the cemetery was this weird circular burial plot. In the middle was a modest pillar monument but all around in, as if in a summoning circle, were all the other stones just looking at it. I couldn’t get a good picture of it but it felt odd… usually stones are in rows not in a circle!
Beyond this we started the self-guided tour and started to acquaint ourselves with a whole assortment of local personalities beyond just that of Normal Rockwell. Normal Rockwell was buried at the back in a very quiet plot surrounded by hedges. On his stone people had left coins and trinkets, a can of paint, and a ten dollar bill! Whhhhy give the dead a ten dollar bill?! Guess this area really is rich if instead of pennies they are leaving a tenner!
Behind Norman Rockwell’s grave is the prettiest damn sheep farm on a hill patrolled by livestock guardian dogs! A jogger passing by told us we could stroll up the lane and check it out as across from that was a botanical garden. The garden was closed and we got yelled at for trying to see what it was. Sorry? The farm we just enjoyed the sheep and annoyed the dogs with our existence. There was also a ton of ground bees. So many that passing cars were making pancakes of dozens of them at a time. Neither one of my companions like bees so to get them to walk through these patches was a challenge but we did it! Exposure therapy for a win!
After this detour we went back to the cemetery to see who else was buried there. It’s a fairly small cemetery landwise and honestly most of the monuments are unremarkable but the stories behind them started to be intriguing. Here lied the brother-in-law of the guy who shot Alexander Hamilton in a dual – Timothy Edwards. I know, that one was a stretch but they got better.
There was also Agrippa Hull who we had to search the hardest for. He was a free black man who enlisted in the army and served until 1783. When he came back home he purchased a small farm and the freedom of his formerly enslaved wife. Eventually he owned the most land of any black man in the town and more than many of the whites living there as well. Always nice to see a black man succeed in those days particularly! We found his monument in part by looking for a military flag which has to be placed on all veteran’s graves.
At the center of the weird circle (or Sedwick Pie) was Theodore Sedgwick: an attorney who served in the Continental Congress and in both the U.S House and U.S. Senate as well as being House Speaker.
As the only person of color surrounding the Sedwick Pie there was Elizabeth Freeman who with the help of Thomas Sedwick won her freedom in a trial that would later be the precedent needed to ensure Massachusetts banned slavery altogether.
Catharine Maria Sedgwick on the other hand was one of the first female novelists in the colonies who wrote of religious tolerance and giving equality to the indigenous peoples of the area. Her books include A New England Tale and Hope Leslie.
Cyrus West Field was a local businessman who promoted and helped create the transatlantic telegraph cable which allowed for news from England to reach the United States in mere hours. Â
Stephen Dudley Field was the proud inventor of the electric trolley car, the electric elevator, the ticker tape machine, and a dizzying amount of other things.
Racheal Field was the author of twenty-one plays, fifteen children’s books, six adult novels, and several books of poetry that included one about the scandalous French murder her great aunt was involved in.
Charles McBurney was a doctor who created McBurney’s Point, a guide to diagnosing appendicitis, as well as McBurney’s Incision, the least damaging way to pop out said enraged organ.
Austen Fox Riggs was a psychiatrist who was also an author, the first Boy Scout leader, a hobbyist clog dancer, and hopeful drum player among other hobbies, which I can only assume meant he had intense ADHD which he somehow made work for him. Good for him!
Gertrude Robinson Smith was a wealthy New York socialite and patron of the arts who brought the Boston Symphony Orchestra to town on several occasions and in 1937 when the concert was completely flooded by a terrifyingly strong rainstorm she somehow managed to latch onto that opportunity to raise $30,000 in one evening to build a permanent pavilion. Thinking on her feet! Go Gertrude!
Joseph Franz seemed to be another one of those people with his hands in everything – helping to build one of the country’s first hydroelectric plants, figuring out how to transmit electricity through buried ground wires, and even designing the Ted Shawn Theater.
Frederick L. Leuchs – has a very memorable stone with a stoned glass window embedded into it and there’s good reason for that as he was the town’s stained glass window artist. His work can still be seen in the Library of Congress!
Nathan G. Horwitt was the designer of the “dot” watch, an innovative modern design that contained no numbers or lines, just a dot at the top. As someone with dyscalculia I hate it. Couldn’t read it if you paid me. Still, the Museum of Modern Art in NYC seemed impressed and that’s where it is now.
Richard R. Bowker – founded the American Library Association and Publisher’s Weekly.
Nina Duryea – was remembered best for her immense contributions to the charitable relief of French World War I survivors and refugees, serving over 70,000 with food, clothing and medicine.
Reinhold Niebuhr – said by some to be the guy who penned the Serenity Prayer (better known as the AA prayer to some!)
Frederick Wurtzbach’s innovations with wood pulp made paper products such as books cheaper to produce and more accessible.
And that was our trip. What a sweet, picturesque cemetery in a quaint New England town! Well worth a looksie!
The Granary Burying Ground was the whole reason we came to Boston on this particular day because it is one of the cemeteries that started my fascination with graveyards. A great deal of children in New England end up here as it is part of the Freedom Trail. I was not one of them… so how I ended up here when I was a wee one, I don’t know. I think we just found it walking after a trip to the aquarium. In any event it is goooorgeous and it is 100% where I first started paying attention to the individual artists making the stones because I was blown away by the works of Capt. John Homer – the one responsible for the sideways facing Skull and Bones that I have recognized not just in Boston but also Portsmouth NH where he eventually moved and apparently there’s a bunch on Cape Cod too. He lived a long life and was prolific. I fell in love with this Puritan style right here in this cemetery.
Although most people do not come here for the art – even though it is AMAZING and when the sun is positioned just right this place is a photographer’s dream! No, most people come here because it is FULL of famous people. All of the victims of the Boston Massacre are buried here as well as a twelve-year-old boy who was said to be the first martyr of the Revolution two weeks before the Boston Massacre. His name was Christopher Snider and he was in an angry mob storming outside the home of local Loyalist Ebenezer Richardson. Richardson had gotten the ire of the crowd after he attempted to defend another Loyalist – a merchant by the name of Theophilus Lillie who the angry mobs harassed by placing a pro-British effigy in front of his store to let everyone know no one should be buying anything from him. Richardson was caught trying to get rid of the effigy and the mob chased him all the way home. After surrounding his house, they continued the harassment until he shot several rounds at random out of his window injuring several and killing one – twelve-year-old Christopher Snider. He was tried and found guilty of the murder of Snider and spent two years in prison before being pardoned. This has to be the most Boston story I have ever heard in my life!
Also within the grounds you can find the final resting spot of many governors, senators, congressmen, founding fathers, signers of the Declaration of Independence, Samuel Adams, Paul Revere, and Elizabeth Goose who some believe was the origin for the Mother Goose nursery rhymes. WHEW! That was a lot! And in such a small area with lots of wonderful slate carvings to add the cherry on top of it all. This cemetery has a lot of bang for its buck. Definitely worth visiting if you are in Boston!
Ever have one of those moments where you find yourself somewhere odd, staring at something you can’t explain, and having no idea why? This seems to happen a lot to me and today was no different. I was on the Freedom Trail just meandering when I came across a seagull sitting atop a statue. I thought it was so funny I stepped into the dooryard to snap a photo and found instead the cutest little donkey statue under it! And honestly, I was going to let this go as just that… a fun little thing during the day, not a whole damn blog entry, but things started to get a bit weird. You see the donkey in addition to being life-size (to a miniature donkey) was also practically glowing. It was a bronze statue and a clearly well-loved ass as there were golden wear marks almost all over the damn thing! I mean I’d seen bronze statues polished by people touching them before but it’s always just one spot. This thing looked like it’d been furiously rubbed like a genie’s lamp. What… is going on here?? I looked around for an explanation but there wasn’t any plaques or signs or anything… it was just… an anomaly.
“Is it shiny because people pet it for good luck?” I asked my companion who had no idea either. Just for good measure I pet him. I’m not really superstitious but I could use some good luck… especially after the earlier parking fiasco and the traffic, my god, the traffic. Later I’d look up what made this donkey so special and when I read the story… I smiled!
Apparently, they donkey is absolutely as random as it looks. He started his life in Italy where a Roger Webb found him, became enamored, and purchased him for the low low price of ten thousand dollars. Why? He wanted to put him on the Freedom Trail to entertain bored children! But you can’t just put a random donkey on the Freedom Trail. That makes no sense. And when he tried to donate the donkey to the city of Boston they just frowned. No. just no. BUT HE’S SO CUTE, LOOK AT HIM!
Anyway… eventually Mr. Webb came to lease the courtyard of The Old City Hall and he decided that would be a great place to board the little guy. Certainly, better than his daughter’s garage which is where it was spending all it’s time during this lack of a custody battle. He still had to make up a reason for why it should be there and so he just muttered, “Democrats?” And apparently Boston relented. That is until after the donkey was put in place and the Republicans got their panties in a bunch wondering where their elephant was going to go. To appease them Webb did put a dedication up to the Republicans but it wasn’t in the form of a bronze elephant it was actually just a set of footprints directly in front of the donkey…. so they could stand in opposition to it.
Meanwhile, much to Webb’s glee the donkey became a BELOVED monument, climbed on by children of all ages, pet on the regular, and with selfies galore. And I mean… it deserved it. Why? Because it’s ridiculous and adorable, that’s why. In this increasingly hostile world sometimes it’s nice just to spread joyful chaos. So, if you’re of a whimsical nature like myself I think you too should pay a visit to this sweet little donkey.
I am continuing my quest to get to 500 Catching Marbles Entries before the end of this year. We’re running out of time, energy, and good weather… which could explain why we decided to go to the beach in DECEMBER.
Oh my, was it BRISK! A fair wind was coming off the waves and even I, who has been overheating like a cheap European car all summer, was a bit chilly. Big gray clouds went out to sea as far as the eye could see. Despite being cold as a witch’s tits it was actually kinda gorgeous.
The beach had a huge parking lot which I am sure costs money to park in during the on season, however December was so far into the off season that we found a pack of herding dogs joyously running up and down the beach with their owners despite big signs reading, “NO DOGS ALLOWED ON BEACH.” I get it. You and your friends were insane enough to adopt a gaggle of border collies during your golden years AND you live in a densely populated area. Where else are you and the other crazy grandmas going to go to burn off some of that unused herding energy?? And I for one am all for it. Even though one of these dogs didn’t like me. I think I surprised him.
But really this beach must be HOPPING in the summer! It had a series of roofed structures with picnic tables and a bunch of benches to watch the waters and people going by. And the parking lot was ENORMOUS. I never understood the appeal of sunning next to a thousand other strangers while their children trip over you but hey, to each their own! I preferred the beach now… cold, unforgiving, and completely taken over by a less stressful kind of creature: birds. Holy birds! There were sea gulls and a swarm of ADORABLE sandpipers and some weird sea ducks?? (which I thought were pipers when I was taking photos because I have shit distance vision and frequently have no idea what I am taking pictures of. Sadly this led me to not taking photos of the actual pipers. Just as well, those fuckers are as fast as they are adorable.)
But we weren’t here for the beach. No matter how many rocks I shoved in my pockets proved otherwise. (As a lifelong cool rock collector you have no idea how deliriously happy I am to have a fish tank to put them in now. It’s a veritable rock scrapbook of places I’ve been… with fish!) We were actually here to check out the ruins that I saw someone post on Facebook. I mean… this is how I will be lured to my death some day.
The ruins were waaaaaay on the other side of the beach so we hoofed it through the sand until I was again, overheating. I looked on slightly irritated because my companion was gliding over that sand while I sunk into it like a water buffalo with four left feet. It’s SO MUCH harder to walk through when you’re sinking! Whhhhhy?! Why must I lack so much grace?!
Just as steam was starting to pour out of my ears we reached our destination. The ruins of the Windswept mansion which sits directly between the Scarborough Beach and Black Point. It was built in 1895 on the backs of chronic pain sufferers. Well, at least their hard-earned cash paid for it. You see the money used for building it was earned through selling the family business – Perry Davis’s Vegetable Pain Killer. Believed to be the first such tincture marketed directly to chronic pain sufferers it probably had quite a punch being made almost entirely of alcohol and opium which are suspicious vegetables if you ask me. Eventually it became a fancy restaurant Cobb’s by the Sea before changing hands and starting a long retirement of vacancy in 1952. Ravaged by no less than 5 fires little remains of what was once a 21 room mansion. However, what is still standing is still pretty neat and made for some lovely photos! And a brief study in pediatric psychology as we found some youngin’s notebook ripped up and spread to the wind inside the ruins. Pages and pages and pages of, “I am certain I love my girlfriend.” I wish I could have written back. Sweetheart, whatever mindfuck she’s putting you through ain’t worth it. RUN my child! RUN LIKE THE WIND!
And that was our trip to the ruins. This place was definitely entertaining on this off-season day and wasn’t hard to get to. If you love ruins, or beaches, or just a bit of fresh air I do suggest checking it out.
It is November so I guess it was time for another colonial cemetery. This time I was intrigued by a photo of a single random stone someone posted on FaceBook and with as little planning as usual off we went!
I did not expect to find what we did – a small but well packed cemetery with the strangest and most beautiful colonial era stones surrounded by the city itself. Adding to their uniqueness most were sandstone, likely imported from New York (or I guess New Amsterdam as it was called back in the day) rather than the Boston and Rhode Island slate that filled most of the rest of New England. It was… intriguing.
My travel companion grabbed a pamphlet at the entrance and went about in an organized manner trying to find each historical figure. Normally I follow along and listen to him read aloud but today… the ADHD gremlin bit me HARD and I was let loose into that cemetery with all the enthusiasm and lack of focus as a rabid Jack Russel terrier in a pit full of meth addled squirrels. I zipped from stone to stone, squealing in excitement, looking at the strange artwork on each just soaking it all in.
I did an exceptionally poor job of listening to my historical lecture and honestly all I remember by heart is that this was the final resting place of 15 (16?) black mayors of Hartford (who would have been mayors of their own segregated part of the city which sadly had little to do with the rest of the white population) and the first Irish immigrant. What follows is my research I have done after getting home…
Although today the cemetery is quite small it used to be far more expansive with perhaps up to 6,000 people buried here. Up to 90% of those would have not had the financial means to erect a stone and were thus interred in unmarked graves. Since the real estate it is situated on became valuable much of it was eventually built on top of. People buried here include many important local officials, even some who were involved with the hanging of witches back in the day. At least five, not 15, my bad, black mayors were buried here. A new marker was created to honor the black inhabitants of this cemetery and as such it’s on the African-American Heritage Tour. As for the first Irish immigrant he was actually the first Irish immigrant to Hartford not the US in general so I’m much less interested, but his name was Phenias Wilson (1628-1692) if you want to find him. His stone is one of the first to have a skull on it!
My three favorite graves were purely based on needless drama which colonial New England was FULL of. The first was an unfortunate man who was struck by lightning and instantly killed while he was standing in his kitchen. His grave marker reads “Here lies interd the remains of Capt Isreal Seymour who was kill’d by lightning Augst. 14th 1784, in the 49th year of his age. With awful rev’rence GOD adore Whose holy hand with sov’reign pow’r Did in an instant stop his breath And closed his eyes in sleep of death.” The little poem on that is good enough for me but the fact local ministers used his death to fear monger people to god was the cherry on top of the cake. Best be kissing up to god or else he might fry your sinning ass too!
The second stone could have been ripped out of a colonial era soap opera. It was that of Richard Edwards and his second wife Mary. Edward was 20 during his first marriage and his new bride was 22 year old Elizabeth Tuttle. In two decades she gave him six children but the first Edwards always claimed was a bastard as he was conceived before the wedding. In 1689 after the honeymoon phase was long dead Edward, who was a man of means being an attorney himself, tried to file for a divorce saying his wife was insane and adulterous. He may have been projecting just a little because after this petition failed he once again tried to get a divorce in 1691 this time claiming his wife was threatening to cut his throat while he slept. He claimed she was genetically predestined to be a murderess because her brother had once murdered their sister. This time the courts granted his request and the freshly divorced Elizabeth disappeared into the mists of history while her ex almost immediately married 27-year-old Mary Talcott who the town believed he was already playing hide the sausage with. She bore him six more children so he could have an even dozen (or 11 if the first one really was a bastard. Hard to say.) Apparently the two were able to regain composure in the church and eventually have a grandson who’d become one of the most prominent religious leaders in the colonial era.
But my favoritest stone was the triple monument of the Beauchamp sisters honoring Susannah McLean (1711-1741) Margaret Chevenard (1708-1783) and Maryane Keith (1696-1784.) The pamphlet says thusly about this stone: “In an unusual departure from custom these three married women were memorialized first as sisters, next as daughters, and last as wives, suggesting they shared a powerful emotional bond.” Yes, I am sure that’s what this means, and not three women’s last fuck you to patriarchy. Beauchamp sisters, I got your message loud and clear. I hope you’re still floating around somewhere kicking butt.
And so that was my trip to the cemetery! You should totally go see this one if you can. So much charm. So much drama. So much bizarre gravestone art. What’s not to love?
After going to The Titanic Museum we discovered that the Dr Suess Museum, which has been recommended by several people over the years, was just across town so we decided to go poke at it. I didn’t really know what to expect. Why were adults telling me, a childless person, to come here?
As it turns out the museum is sitting in a little village of museums. Ticket prices on this day were $25 which seemed excessive until we realized it for admission to all the museums in this pavillion and the one across the street. In all this included the Dr Suess Museum, a science museum, two art museums, and a museum dedicated to the history of Springfield Massachusetts. Well, OK then, let’s go check them out!
The people running the museums were delightfully cheerful and seemed happy to see a couple adults strolling in. This place was VERY child-friendly, obviously. The pavilion was filled with huge Dr Suess inspired sculptures of our most beloved Suess creatures. It was really cute!
Inside the museum we were greeted by a man who told us the first floor was a museum for all ages and upstairs were the more serious exhibits. Of course, we had to go through both! And being as we both have ADD pretty bad this entire place was setting off all our dopamine centers much to our pure joy. The colors were bright, the sculptures we darling, and all the displays down here had some sort of interactive element encouraging children and silly adults alike to press buttons, take selfies, and build whimsical structures. We had the most fun with a series of buttons that just made seemingly random silly noises. OKaaaay, I can see what the draw to this place was. Even though it’s CLEARLY for children it’s goddamn delightful! All ages indeed!
Upstairs we found a more typical museum with artifacts and explanatory plaques. There was a whole room dedicated to showing how the bronze statues out front were created, another that was a replica of Suess’ wonderfully whimsical living room, and even Dr Suess’ baby book and the most ADORABLE pair of tiny children’s boots he was apparently given to wear at some point in his life. My companion was intrigued by the weird blunder bust-like rifle which was owned by Suess’ father and apparently inspired some of his artwork. Thing was massive. Could have taken out an elephant or at least a shoulder with the blowback!
I however was most touched by the original drawings and bizarre but hilarious little letters he wrote. I found it oddly inspiring. Made me want to get back to my own ridiculous flights of fancy – be they writing, drawing, sculpting, or whatever else I’m into! This place was well worth the visit for any lovers of Suess’ work, people interested in the local history, or just anyone with a sense of childlike wonder. Stay tuned and I will be posting my adventures in some of the other museums in the coming few days.
Today’s little adventure was more of a misadventure of me first getting lost finding the parking and then getting even more lost once I was on the trails. As such I will try to write this in a way that you won’t make the same mistakes!
Initially I found out about the Cemetery Loop Trail after randomly driving by parking at the Northern Watershed Southern Section which has a nice little map of all kinds of trails in the area. Neat. From this map I could figure out that parking for the Cemetery Loop Trail was actually on Scott Road so I went off to find Scott Road and I drove the whole thing, finding the N13 trail marker before finding the road was a dead end and any promises or parking were highly exaggerated. I could have parked at the main entrance (N60) and made my way on several trails to get to the Cemetery Loop Trail but I decided to park instead at the N10 Main Path entrance. It says not to park there but there’s a little bridge a few feet down the road that has a turnoff, so I parked there.
This actually worked out well. I found the N10 and then the N11 marker so quickly and easily I thought this was going to be a breeze! If you want to avoid the following harrowing 2-hour trek that I took and actually find the cemetery you should keep going straight at the N11 intersection. From there you will go up a steep hill and somewhere on the left, directly in the middle between markers N11 and N13 you’ll see a very unimpressive, unmarked, path on your left. The cemetery is not visible from the Cemetery Loop Path and is on this unmarked sub path, up a little hill and behind a rock wall. If you hit the N13 marker while looking for this sub path you’ve gone too far. This is a SHORT walk, should take 10-15 minutes tops from the car. The following is why it took me two hours.
First, I did not go straight on at marker N11, instead I went past it by going left, believing being a loop trail I’d loop back around. I found my way all the way to marker N12 which should mean I was where I needed to be but N12 was actually a 4-way intersection that was not noted on the map. Two directions were labelled via tree signs as “Scott’s Road” and straight ahead was “The Pipeline Path.” Neither of these paths are on the map and the Cemetery Loop Path was not marked by sign. So, I was left to guess, question myself, turn around, question myself again, turn around again, and again! I never took the Pipline Path. I did however take at various points the Scott’s Road Path to where it ended – at the road behind marker N13 on Scott’s Road, and I took the opposite direction until I hit the Maine Trail again. In the meanwhile, I continued to come across more intersections of clearly marked trails that were not on the goddamn map! Like the Lightning Trail! I could not fathom how a cluster of trails could be both so clearly marked and maintained and yet so impossible to navigate. Somewhere along the way I found an old cellar hole which was cool, before I backtracked all the way back to the N11 marker, this time taking the other leg of the loop where the map noted there was a cemetery.
Well! I made it all the way from N11 to N13 which was a HIKE straight up a hill despite the rest of the day being flat paths and in all that time I didn’t see a cemetery. By now it was raining, almost two hours had passed, I wanted to be back at the car but also I couldn’t just leave after never finding the cemetery. As I walked back to N11 from N13 I peered intensely into the woods on my righthand side and there I found the entrance to the cemetery having passed it the first time. It was not marked. It looked like a deer path and the stones were not visible until I walked up and over the hill this strange sub-path was on. Finally!! Success!!
Here in a TINY three stone plot was the Hartwell family, buried between 1806-1850, all with gorgeous slate stones. Cool thing about this plot was the foot stones were still intact and clearly visible. This is rare in stones of this age. Very cool! Also interesting to see a fresh American flag next to the middle stone marking the final resting place of a veteran. Who died in 1806. And whose grave is now practically in Narnia. How did the people putting the flags and plaques out know where to find him?! They must have gotten better instructions than I did! Now I could go home with a sense of accomplishment, having found what to date was the smallest and most hidden cemetery I have ever been to.
