After crawling back from under the bridge on Quaker Road I continued on my journey to find a good hiking trail. However my attention was distracted by an adorable little historic cemetery off the road. There was a little driveway of sorts into the cemetery that went to the back but it had no sign up anywhere. I had no idea where I was… I *think* I was at the Ledgeview Cemetery based on a Google search.
Coming in there was a structure I thought was a well preserved crypt but it had an inscription which made me wonder if it wasn’t a tomb of some sort? It was interesting whatever it was.
This cemetery was decently small and nestled in a scenic little spot surrounded by stone walls and forest. Above it on a hill sat a huge farmhouse and a cornfield looking down. To the side, where the road was, there was another farmhouse, this one much older looking, maybe from the late 1700’s. Quaint. Beautiful. The perfect spot to catch one’s breathe. .. or have a Gothic picnic.
Most of the stones were from the early 1800’s with a mix of slate and marble, none of which had aged well in such a humid environment. Still, it had its charm, and weirdly enough there were several modern plots – one reading 2007. I guess there’s space left so why not?
If you’re reading the title to this blog entry you’re probably wondering what on earth is going on. Am I mounting an expedition to find trolls? Eh, I won’t say I’m not trying to find trolls but that’s not what was going on in this entry. I did not set out today in order to explore under some random unnamed bridge buuuut… you know, things like this tend to just happen in my life and I couldn’t be any happier about that.
Unlike most of my recent outings I really did have a destination set today. There were rumors of “more than thirteen miles of trails!” in the Brooks Woodland Preserve and that sounded pretty nice on a rainy day like this. So I drove about 45 minutes and half a mile from my destination I saw the road I needed (Quaker Drive) was closed. More specifically the bridge was out. But I could see the bridge so I drove up to it anyway because sometimes bridges have turn-offs to park and delightful little scenic areas below. I was NOT disappointed! Just as I had hoped there was space for a car, maybe two, and it was so breath takingly beautiful I am still at a loss for words. It was like a whole different world out there – moss covered rocks cuddled up in a burbling little river out in the woods, no one else around… like stumbling into Utopia! And I wasn’t the only one to find this place. Someone had left a rake behind and someone else left a little Tuperware box full of random trinkets and toys nestled in a stone wall – I am guessing it was a GeoCache. It did seem aimed at small children. And I was so delighted to find it as in all my hiking adventures I’d never come across a GeoCache by happenstance. It’s like finding treasure — really sad plastic treasure, but treasure none the less! I have to read up on GeoCaches… I’m not sure if I was supposed to leave something? I should have left a marble…
Anyway, I messed around in this one gorgeous spot for way too long before deciding to find the other end of this road in the hopes of getting to that trail in the Brooks Woodland Preserve but before I did that I took a sweet little amble through the Ledgeville Cemetery down the road.
My life’s a mess and the world’s on fire – which means it’s high time for a happy distraction. Why not a hike? In the woods? With trees? They’re good people, those trees. Never said anything bad about anyone and sometimes… I just need this. I think we all do. So I hopped into the car and drove in a random direction.
I ended up winding down a series of lovely dirt roads which seemed for the most part completely unpopulated except for the odd historical barn and or farmhouse. It was like going back into time out there… and I was loving every second of it. I’ve been going through a Classic Rock phase lately and was blaring anthems from the 1960’s. Maybe it’s just comforting to listen to knowing the state of things today. I don’t know, but I was looking for a trail as I was groovin’ along and it didn’t take long before I found something that looked promising. It was an unmarked trail in the middle of nowhere guarded by rock slabs. I pulled over and asked my phone where I was (because my GPS seemed to have no idea.)
Did you know you can just Google “Where am I?” and the damn phone will actually tell you?! Just like that! The wonders of technology! But yes, I was at 1590 Greenville Road Ashby MA.
It was quiet here, not a soul in sight, the perfect place for a socially distanced little stroll through the forest. Immediately upon stepping on the trail I saw two other trails branching off the main trail. Hmmm. And there were tree branches cut everywhere. Clearly someone was trying to keep this place maintained but… there were no trail markers and not 100 feet up the main line I came to a 4-way Y. Now what?! I walked straight, or at least the closest thing I could to straight but the path seemingly ended not far from there OR wound off to the left which looked super hairy. I then walked back to the 4-way impasse and chose to take the farthest left trail. MAYBE if I just keep taking lefts I will just have to take a bunch of rights to get back to the car, right? Theoretically… but this place was godawful. The trail kept winding in every direction with other trails constantly branching off in other Y’s. Nothing was marked AT ALL. This was like navigating my way through someone’s arteries. I couldn’t have been more than an eighth of a mile from the car but I called it quits. I just didn’t want to die lost in the woods today. Sorry. This was literally the worst trail I have ever been on as far as being a rat’s nest of options. It’s a GREAT place if you really do want to get hopelessly lost or perhaps have a body to unburden yourself of… otherwise I do NOT suggest this trail to anyone!
I can’t even begin to tell you how thrilled I was to get a chance to see the inside of the S K Pierce mansion! I have driven by it hundreds, maybe even thousands of times, and I always wondered what was in it. Of course before 1999 it was basically a giant derelict building only a few breaths away from being condemned. The roof was a sieve, the top floor was completely trashed from water damage, and pigeons had taken residence up there for years. And yet even in that state I still looked at in wonder – having both a weakness for Victorian houses and the broken. I didn’t know then it was haunted but the other townsfolk did… the place had a reputation!
Since then it has gone through three more sets of owners, throwing two into financial ruin trying to repair it. The current owners bought this 21 room fixer upper for a shockingly low $315,000 sight unseen because they wanted a haunted house. WELL. Careful what you wish for, this house seems to chew people up and spit them out… almost everyone whose ever owned it fell into complete financial ruin, at least two people died there, and there’s a rumor that a visiting artist went stark raving mad here – or at least that’s what his painting suggest as they get increasing disturbing over the years. In addition to this the house itself has a turbulent history that includes being used as a hotel and a boarding house. In fact it was when it was being used as a boarding house that another local craftsman and artist fell asleep with a lit cigarette and burned to death in one of the rooms.
Since the millennium the house was so haunted that one of the three sets of owners basically fled but not before making this place infamous! It’s been on tons of TV shows – Ghost Hunters, Ghost Adventures, Scariest Places in America, Chronicle, you name it! So obviously knowing it was haunted my curiosity was even more peaked. So is it? Well, here was my experience…
Upon walking up to the place nothing seemed amiss. And as we were heralded into the house I was not met with any sense of foreboding. If anything this place seemed to have a happy upbeat vibe in the sitting room while we waited for everyone to arrive. I had gone with my mother and her friend who had invited us to this tour. She remembered walking to school every day and passing this house wondering who the man in the window was. Now she was wondering whether or not there really was a man in the window or if perhaps he was an apparition. That was the answer she was seeking knowing there was a ghost boy who ran around and was seen in the windows all the time by people going by. No boy lives there.
As we waited my mother sat next to a fireplace watching the pokers sway. I noticed them swaying too but we were also right next to a register so I thought nothing of it. Probably heat moving them around but she claims this wasn’t’ the case, that she put her hand over the register to see if it was blowing anything and didn’t feel a breeze near the pokers. Well OK, maybe. I still wasn’t convinced.
Now this house was like a giant dollhouse, all decked up with Victorian flair and absolutely insane embossed wallpaper. I was loving it even if there wasn’t any ghosts. Still, the tour guide claimed there were twelve spirits here including a ghost cat in the basement. Well, that’s a little odd, I have to admit..
As the tour started to go through the other rooms it was just phenomenal how technologically advanced this mansion was for the time it was built. It had a dumb waiter that went all the way up to the second floor but not the third – because that was the servant’s quarters and why would making their lives easier be necessary? Similarly there were four fire places and metal panels in the chimney to aid radiant heat but they were also all on the first and second floor. The servants were left to the top floor with no heat source whatsoever which I imagine with really high ceilings it must have been colder than a witch’s tit up there! Finally there was speaking tubes and bells, buttons, and buzzers all to aid in contacting the help. The speaking tubes served as a rudimentary intercom long before such a thing was invented. Another engineering marvel was a cistern that collected a truly massive amount of water from the roof to use for laundry and whatnot. And laundry? It had it’s own heated kiln to make the water warm enough to wash the clothes! I have never come across such a thing… talk about luxury!
Washing Machine with kiln for heated water!
The house maintained a few little wash rooms where basins were kept to just illustrate how bathing was done in the day – via sponge bath. Still… seemed pretty luxurious. We went through the rooms and learned their history. I even found myself in the room the guy died in flames in and I felt nothing out of the ordinary. I was starting to suspect this house was all hype but just as I was thinking that I entered the stairway to go to the third floor, the servants quarters, and I was hit by a wall of anxiety that nearly flung me off my feet!
Earlier on someone had asked why some of the servants stayed behind as spirits, did they just love their job that much? To which the guy laughed and said no, most certainly not, and damn I could really feel that right now! This anxiety permeated my whole being the entire time I was up on the third floor getting worse and worse until I entered a pink room where the whole group of people stopped breathing all at once. You could hear a pin drop. It was the weirdest thing. This room was so quiet, too quiet. It was calming, like a total sense of zen. Our guide claimed a psychic told a story about a teenager who lost a baby in here and how many people feel overwhelmed with sadness entering it but no one here felt sad… they felt…. still. It was peaceful. I could have curled up on that bed and taken a blissful nap!
But then I left the pink room and was immediately assailed with that sense of anxiety and dread again. I was hiding it as best I could but by they time I climbed the spiral staircase to the tower my mother was noticing me acting squirrely. I blamed it on the heights but it wasn’t the heights. By now my legs were shaking uncontrollably. It was just panic… But I was still enjoying it! The tower showed a lovely view all around it and I took a few snaps before descending the stairs again. By now the tour was headed to the basement and out of the area! Woo!
So I headed back down and on that staircase between the second and third floor my little panic attack became too much to bear. By now the anxiety I was feeling was through the roof. Not only was I shaking I was getting that tight chest/can’t breathe feeling. The last two steps down I literally had to pause and tap the wall a few times with my hand to reassure myself to come back to the present. The second I got off the staircase… it was gone. I was back in a well lit house feeling pleasant and normal. What the….
After touring the delightful cellar we were done with the tour and allowed to wander at will for half an hour. I got back together with my mother’s friend who wanted to borrow my eyes to see if I could help determine what the writing on the wall upstairs near the cistern said. It appeared to be a marriage contract with signed witnesses from 1902. Why, I have no idea. But this was the third floor again! And I was back to being wobbly! Meanwhile my mother had wandered off and chosen a room on the third floor to just sit and relax with her eyes closed. She wasn’t right when she came out. I asked what was up. She said she felt weird. I prodded further and she said she was light headed. I suggested we leave the third floor.
All and all it was a great experience. If they succeed in making it a bed and breakfast I’ll be back… to stay the night… on the third floor… because that’s who I am! And you know what? I thought the creepiest place would be the dank cellar but it wasn’t! That cellar was positively happy.
Anyway. I took all sorts of photos. Interestingly a shadow had shown up on the staircase I was having an issue with. Now I can’t rule out that it’s not me casting it buuuut the more I looked at it the more I started to doubt because it does not have any arms outstretched which I would have had taking the photo. HMMM…
Below is ALL the photos I took which I am sure are quite boring unless…. you find something weird in them. If so let me know!
One of the things I have not been able to explore as much as I have wanted to is the local music scene – both what’s up in Boston as well as all the weird and unusual things going on in Vermont. Problem is I don’t like going to these shindigs alone (for reasons of safety) and none of my local friends are uh… as enthusiastic as I am about avant guard music. Soooo…. when I learned that a band I actually really adore out of Boston was showing up in Fitchburg for an open-air gig in the park I couldn’t say no.
If I’m honest it’d been a tough week for me but that made me all the more determined to get out there and enjoy this. Problem is there was pretty much no information anywhere. All I could find is it started at 4PM and tickets were $10 online (with no link to buy them) and $15 at the gates. Oooookaaaay. Right from the get-go I thought 4PM sounded weird as fuck for such a thing but whatever… I can still roll with it.
And I showed up at 4PM to a pretty empty park. In fact it was so empty that I wondered if I had the right park! Turns out I had accidentally bumbled into it from a rear entrance. And it was soooo Fitchburgy. To one side a plaque read about how this park was here because the river was soooo beautiful that it was determined it must be a park. And indeed there was some pretty impressive masonry holding up a flag whoosing over… a VERY overgrown and completely unkempt riverbank. Even hiking into the middle of nowhere I hadn’t seen a thicket of weeds so ferociously thick. I took a photo – and then was asked by a man if I was a volunteer. No? He told me to check in and pointed frantically towards the other side of the park. I shrugged and did as I was told.
Approaching the ticketmaster I asked what was up today, pretending to play dumb for a moment. She told me it was a Steampunk Festival and that there were vendors, food trucks, beer from a local brewery, and live music but they wouldn’t be starting for an hour. I knew 4PM had to be wrong! She didn’t even have tickets or anything so I bid her adieu and wandered the streets like a common urchin for a while. Until I got tired, found a bench, and just sat people watching. Problem is there seemed to be just as many people watching me, including a shuttle bus driver who kept passing and giving me the dirty eyeball. WHY? Is it the orange hair? It’s the orange hair.. or perhaps my general ne’er-do-well appearance. Two parked cop cars were also watching me sit idly by myself. I promise I wasn’t dealing. Seriously. Just minding my own!
Does this look like a face you’d trust? At least I had an excuse to wear the granny glasses again…
Eventually 5PM rolled around so I got off my duff and wandered back to the park, said hello again to the ticket master, and gave her exact change because she didn’t have a change box yet. I did however learn that this whole event was an attempt to raise money to buy the park a permanent stage. There’d been a folk festival the month before (which I wish I knew about) and next month they’re holding Fiesta Latina (Saturday 9/14/19 from 5-9) I could feel good about supporting such a cause. Music and art are a wonderful way to vitalize a community.
I wandered around looking at the vendors for as long as I could muster, said a happy hello to them, but really… there was one guy signing people up for a raffle, the beer guy, and two craft vendors. The food trucks were still amiss. I felt bad for the two crafters, this was the saddest turn out for such a thing I had ever seen. Obviously this meant I needed to shower one with praise for her art (which was actually nice, mind you!) and stop to get a Henna tattoo from the other. I’d always liked the idea of letting someone doodle on my skin… I mean this isn’t quite as involved as checking “volunteer sorry carcass to be full body painted” off my bucket list but it was close enough. Did you know Henna smells really weird? It smells like a head shop. I wasn’t real fond of it and kept smelling myself the rest of the day. SIGH. I did however listen intently to the care instructions – should last 24 hours before starting to fleck off leaving a stain. Don’t bash it against things. That last instruction may have been too much for me – someone who has consistently failed at being refined and dainty since birth. And yes, I saw the exasperated look the artist gave me as I then wandered off and sat on the ground in what I can only guess was the least feminine manner possible. Shockingly I did not smudge it in the grass! I did however pick it all off later that night because it was driving me nuts. Can’t win them all. TO NEW EXPERIENCES!
Honestly it looked better as a stain.
By now I wasn’t the only one in the audience but I was pretty damn close. A row of local older hippies sat in camping chairs up near the front. Damn! I had two of those in my car if only I had the audacity to lug them through Fitchburg and into the park. Nope, nevermind. I’m nutty enough a scene without a damn chair. I plopped my ass down a little behind them and off to the side.
AND SO THE SHOW BEGAN! First up was The Dirge Carolers. To me they had a typical steam punk sound mixed with a lot of murder ballad type lyrics. I relaxed. Gallows humor will always be a hit to me. By now some people were filing in and out and I was starting to enjoy the people watching. There were a lot of costumes, corsets, top hats, bustles, goggles, that sort of thing, and flashes of unnaturally colored hair abounded. I was home here. However this was not the feeling everyone got as I witnessed one old black dude just wandering aimlessly, staring wide-eyed at everyone with an unmistakable impression on his face, “Uh-oh, the crazy white people have taken over the park again.” He wasn’t wrong.
I was sitting directly in the sun which was glaring in my eyes bad. I couldn’t see a damn thing but I knew the stage was probably populated by oddly adorned individuals – how? Well by the amount of amateur photographers who seemed to be floating around taking snaps with great glee – captive bizarre human subjects!! I’ll admit, I had thought about doing the same but I didn’t bring my camera, just my phone. One particular photographer was college aged, seemed to think a lot about each capture. She kept circling me, taking photos of everything around me. And then she worked up the nerve to take a photo of me, just me. There was NO WAY she could hide this so I just looked up from my reclined position on the grass and smiled broadly. Sorry. Better luck next time getting a natural shot of me. She seemed embarrassed. I just laughed and nodded.
As the band continued to play the most Fitchburg-y thing happened. A train rumbled through right behind the stage completely blocking out all music for a good three minutes or so as it dragged car after car after car behind it. I thought it was a terrific piece of ambiance for a steampunk festival! The band played on like they were on the goddamn Titanic. That’s dedication there. They eventually left off with some song from a B-rated horror movie they wrote it for, sullenly leaving the stage with this odd lamentation, “Sorry, no Zombie Llama today.” Though I’d never heard of this band I suddenly wanted to hear Zombie Llama.
The first intermission was fun. The park was still pretty quiet. There were people around but it seemed like they were just here for the food truck (ouch.) I considered getting up and buying myself a nice shwarma but I’d been struggling with bad nausea all week and wasn’t really hungry. Maybe in a bit. In the meantime I was being kept well entertained by a human blockhead running around with a long nail and power drill – an act I have seen many times before but this one was way more fun because the audience he was playing to – those nice old hippie ladies- were WELL GROSSED OUT, turning their heads in abject horror and audibly gagging. Sorry bud, it’s just not your day. He wandered off a smidge sullen.
Once everyone settled back down with their assorted dinners the second band went up to bat. They were the Busted Jug Band a strange assortment of heavily costumed, utterly bizarre, peoples carrying rubber chickens. And some instruments…. which were very… DIY… They also introduced every one of the members, not by name, but by aggressively odd nicknames which I am not entirely certain weren’t made up on the spot. My favorite was Root Boy which just… brings up SO MANY QUESTIONS. Like what kind of root? And whhhy? Do you aspire to be a turnip? Because you’re giving me a root vegetable vibe. Even better one of the other band members was wearing translucent angel wings… which during the last intermission freaked me the hell out because all I could see through a halo of sun glare was a top-hatted silhouette and angel wings. For a second I thought I might have died. No such luck.
But anyway, the music from this band was… different for sure! And perhaps a bit familiar? I think I may have seen them before… This had a much more silly feel to it. No one up there was taking their life even the tiniest bit seriously. And of course that intense whimsy was all the more adorable to me. I was pretty happy on my little patch of grass though my knees and back weren’t so much. I contemplated lying on the ground and staring at the sky for a while. I could always tell people walking by I was on acid and watching the pretty clouds (there were no clouds) as I knew in this crowd that’d be a perfectly acceptable thing to say… I held it together.
By the time the second band finished up I was just really loving the vibe of everyone here. The old hippies were randomly getting up, wandering, and dancing, and hugging each other – I’m not going to lie, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were on acid. They were warm and lovely bunch. Most of the lookee-loos had wandered off but more and more steam-punky looking people were showing up and I’ll be damned if that old black dude didn’t pull up a chair behind me with his daughter and her friends. Shout out to all the cool dads out there who don’t get their kids hobbies at all but still support them! I can’t tell you how much I respect that. His daughter and her friends were in the maybe 12-14 age range. She was sporting a dark purple mohawk and was giving me some strong Aspie vibes but I couldn’t be happier with that. Be your weird self. She stuttered to me that she liked my hair. I told her I liked hers too and then she blurted out, “But it BURNS!” What? “Bleaching it! It burns so bad!” Ooooh, I don’t think you’re supposed to keep it in that long… “TWO HOURS! AND I CAN’T HAVE MY NAILS DONE EITHER!” Why? She held up her nails, two well done fake nails still remaining with all the others hacked the hell off. I grok that. I held up my own in solidarity and laughed. She asked if I liked music. I said all kinds and asked what she liked listening to. She listed a bunch of 90’s bands and I suddenly felt really old. I felt only somewhat better when I recognized the one modern band she did mention – Panic at the Disco – but if I am brutally honest I only have heard the name in passing. I haven’t the foggiest idea what they sing.
Meanwhile as this intermission dragged on the human block head came out with fire. Ah, fire eating. How dual purpose. But he wasn’t having a great time with it. No one here seemed impressed, the kids were vocally not entertained, and eventually when he couldn’t get his last trick to go right he gave this exasperated expression and wandered off, leaving the stage to a chick who worked at the local eatery across the street. Her fire came attached to hula hoops and she wasn’t fucking around. I was actually quite impressed! We’d see her intermittently for the rest of the night doing different acts – all with various things in flames. It was probably at this time one of the girls wandered off and cornered the blockhead/fire eater and somehow elicited his entire life story from him. I got to hear all about it a few minutes later and had to struggle really hard not to laugh. I’m not eavesdropping, no siree.
The last band up was the one I came for: Walter Sickert and the Army of Broken Toys. They were having some issues setting up with unwanted feedback loops and were taking awhile. I had already seen them perform two or three times before – never thought I’d see them again. That last time I went they didn’t come on stage until the establishment was nearly closed. The pamphlet said they were unpredictable and I had heard rumors that they were hard to work with because of these issues but even with all that they have to be one of the best experiences of my life. They really truly believe that art, love, and music can cure all the world’s ills and their audience is so vibrant, creative, and accepting that in each of those instances I got the hugest contact high just from all the warm fuzzies in the air. That’s what I came for! That and the music. This band… raw fucking talent. And this was obvious when they finally got to singing and the whole audience which had been fidgety and complaining behind me just went, “WOW!” And the grumpy old dad? “I guess this WAS worth waiting for them to set up!”
It had started with sweet sad violin music, not a note out of place, that lulled the audience before walloping them over the head with strong passionate vocals and more traditional instruments. Absolutely amazing. And some of the band members had young children whose birthday it was so they all got up on the stage and danced in a cloud of bubbles as a few songs were dedicated to them. That was certainly different than the body positive burlesque dancers and drag kings I was used to surrounding this act but it was so…. sweet. And seemed so right, all at the same time. Maybe with time everyone grows up – but the smartest among us clutch tightly to the passion and whimsy that brought us this far. I was overjoyed to get one short video of the madness, one of my favorite songs – a cover of I am Sam Hall (Best. Version. Ever.) which I will post below. As the music came to an end I slinked silently back into the night where I found comfort in the darkness and drove quietly home, a smile on my face.
My final stop today was in the South Cemetery in Wendell Massachusetts. It was really weird. I had a moment of deja vu when I saw it. I don’t know when it was but I know I have passed this cemetery before and I knew then I wanted to see it but if I remember correctly it was another hot summer day and I was coming home from somewhere else, again enjoying the back roads. I didn’t stop then but I knew I had to today. Something there was calling me. So I parked badly on the little grass hill in front of the cemetery and headed in with my camera.
The cemetery is located at a fork in the road. There was traffic going by but I have no idea where they were going. This place was sparsely inhabited. Still, the two cars that drove by slowed down to see what crazy person was out here, alone, in an old cemetery in the woods.
For some reason I was being drawn to the back right corner exactly the opposite of where I parked. I passed by an old crypt, took a quick shot, and then noticed something very odd. Here sitting quietly in the shade were two of the most unusual stones I had ever seen in New England. In fact they weren’t stones at all. One was a wooden cross with another chunk of wood sitting at its base, the appropriate details burned into it and laying atop a circle of random rocks. It was a burial that wouldn’t look out of place in the Old West but here in New England it was odd. Even weirder still was the plot next to it which held no cross, just a lump of wood, again with all the usual data seared into it. This was the first time I’d seen a wooden memorial. It seemed so… impermanent. Was that the point? To be remembered and then forgotten entirely once living memory was lost? A dead bird sat in front of them, perhaps left by a cat. It was a bit eerie, certainly the first time I’ve found a headless animal sitting atop a grave.
I couldn’t stop staring at the memorial. The more I looked the more weird details came to the surface. There was a tiny purse hanging from the cross. Why? This was the last resting place of a man. Was it left by an old girlfriend? I don’t know why but I was very saddened by this particular plot. Whoever was here was young when he died – too young. And it was recently. Only 2015. The epitaph read, “Live life real.” I could have seen him alive and never have known it. And the plot next to him read “matriarch” and was only three years later. Was that his mother? Did she die from a broken heart? My own grandmother outlived two of her five children who died in adulthood and… she was never the same.
I sat staring at these two plots for quite a while. So many questions. There were a lot of other Stebbins here. Clearly the family has been buried here for a long time – but they all got stones. It’s odd. The purse seemed to hint someone was still around who cared. Who visited. But the fact that the marker was so… cheaply made and impermanent just didn’t settle right with me. I wondered if they couldn’t afford a stone. It happens sometimes. I looked them up when I got home but none of my questions were answered. If anything their obituaries just brought up more mystery. I eventually pulled myself away.
Not to far away in the same back row another stone caught my eye. It looked pretty typical until you looked closer at it and realized instead of any of the usual motifs it was a hammer with angel wings and an odd inscription, “In peace, through work; joy” And then I realized this was another person who died young. This just made me wonder more. However this person had literally no traces online having died in 1977. So recently and yet not enough.
By now I was feeling pretty strange. Usually as I walk through rows of stones I do have curiosity but this odd sense of being pulled, this mystery, and the overall sadness was new. I don’t know what or who was there but I don’t think I was alone. I wandered through some of the older markers and made note of some of the prose. One was short and cryptic, “Death sure will come, the time unknown.” That is certainly true of Alonzo Granger who “..died from shock from railway accident when his chest was crushed and his feet were cut off.” Brutal. This mixed with my previous experience here today just made me feel like what I was doing right now – living my life to its fullest, exploring, traveling, learning, meeting new people, it’s all the right thing to be doing. I had a moment of gratitude before I finally left and decided to call it a day. I shall be back to this area. It was far to beautiful and poetic to leave behind forever.
Taking a jaunt through the Northwest Cemetery was fun but ideally I was out for a hike today. All the cemeteries and fishing holes were just a distraction. Really I wanted to find a nice trail and enjoy the somewhat moderate weather. It was only 79 degrees out, in the past week it’s been 84 and although that seems only a slight difference it really isn’t when slogging through the woods!
I’d passed by a number of trailheads which weren’t marked. I wasn’t sure if they were private property and was really on the lookout for something that I could park in front of without being towed away or reported. That’s always a plus. So when I started seeing a few feeble signs for the Federated Woman’s Club State Forest I couldn’t help but wonder what that was. I turned in and it was…. completely vacant. I am not sure any cars have been down here since spring. The roads were ROUGH. The potholes were so deep that the undercarriage of the Prius got a bit scraped up despite me trying desperately to drive less than ten miles an hour and go around them. The GPS was also no help. According to my map I was driving into nowhere. The roads weren’t even showing up.
Finally I drove up to a little parking space which looked like it was at a trailhead although nothing was marked at all. I stopped and tried for the fourth time today to type in “Where am I?” into my cell phone and for the fourth time it told me I was out of range for any kind of internet connection. SIGH. So unfortunately I have no idea which trail it was that I took or where it was… only that I was somewhere within the boundaries of the park.
There were signs everywhere warning that hunting and trapping were allowed here. I guess it’s a good thing I have neon orange hair. I don’t feel like being shot today. The trail at first seemed like an old road and someone had probably driven up it somewhat recently but before I knew it the path narrowed and started looking more like a hiking trail. It was SO QUIET out here that all I could hear was the birds. I don’t think there was a soul around and I don’t think many people aside from trappers and hunters must use these trails because it wasn’t long before it went from a pleasant stroll to “Hmmm, there appears to a be a bridge which I am not sure if humans or beavers built and the trail…. doesn’t seem very trail like anymore…” Plus it was getting hot so I turned around at the weird log bridge.
I had on the way discovered some weird mushrooms, the likes of which I had never seen before. I’d also scared a few frogs, tangoed with a dragon fly or two, and spotted and old stone which I could not prove or disprove may have been a burial for someone. It’s not unusual to find stones in State Forests – often the land is donated by people whose families have lived on it for a long time and back in the day cemeteries were frequently tiny family plots of only 1-20 individuals basically in the back yard of the family farm. Over time trees grow, houses crumble, and people forget.
I was pretty melted by the time I got back to the car but I was having such a wonderful day. This was the ultimate introvert’s retreat. I really felt like I was so far from civilization that I could have turned feral at any moment. I drove down the road some more to see if I could find any more trails. There was one that was badly hidden that I passed by accidentally and then the road basically stopped at a T. To the left there was a big sign reading, “Road closed, bridge out!” and to the right there was a gate across the way. There was a small parking area fit for maybe four cars and I was tempted to check it out but I was still pretty overheated and decided this might be best for another day. Besides I had one more adventure – to the South Cemetery in Wendell – to go to before going home.
I had already been enjoying a long ride down so many dirt roads, passing old farms, camps, and artist houses, interspersed through miles and miles of trees. It was gorgeous. And I was feeling totally refreshed from my stop at Guaco Pond. A little stop in a cemetery to stretch my legs seemed appropriate. So when I found a quaint little gathering of stones I parked my car and went to explore.
This cemetery was odd in its placement. Although I had traveled on some very rural roads to get here it seemed to be nestled in a little neighborhood of sorts. A house sat to one side, another across the street. People passing by seemed curious who it was in the cemetery. This place was just large enough to be a proper cemetery but not large enough to rule out being some sort of private family plot which are scattered throughout New England. Granted it seemed very well kept. A little stone staircase led into it. As was usual it was surrounded on all sides by a stone wall.
Of course it was the slate stones that drew me to them first, settled to the back left hand side. Most of these stones seemed in remarkable condition. They were legible and groomed although one was broken in half and set against the stone wall, a few others had fallen on their back. I am always happy to see the rough backs of older stones which apparently didn’t have the need to grind smooth the ridges made from quarrying the raw slate.
I found a marble stone from 1879 which had the most unusual name: Dedidamia Bradley Shaw. Died April 20th 1879, aged 80. A remarkable age and a strange name. I looked her up when I got home but she wasn’t in any records online. In fact she wasn’t even listed on Find A Grave which makes me suspect this cemetery has not been archived. Sooooo…. if you’re looking for this long lost relative, good news! I found her! Otherwise this was an odd footnote. It always makes me a bit sad when I find something unusual and then can’t find any more information on it. Clearly this woman led a long life, she must have made her mark somehow… and yet she’s completely forgotten to history. It’s a solemn thought.
Even more curious was a modern stone – seemingly the only one dated 2002. That of Reverend Wilton Edson Cross and his wife Rosella M Cross Bemis. Judging by the name change I think she must have gotten remarried. Oof. Must be weird to be buried next to your ex husband after you’ve remarried… In any event it was time to go back to the car and go to my next destination the Federated Women’s Club State Forest.
From the West Cemetery I continued on and I can’t believe it but I actually wandered so far into the middle of nowhere that I can’t really pinpoint where I was! There isn’t even a Google street view! And since I didn’t have my own GPS today I couldn’t push the “Where am I?” button. I tried to use my cell phone for this but I failed again because there was no internet to be found. I was in No Man’s Land. It’s not surprising. This place was so scarcely populated that I only saw maybe two houses on the entire road. This was the beginning of my tour though a bunch of dirt roads even further into the middle of nowhere.
I turned onto Monson Turnpike Road from West Street and it was just a loooong dirt road surrounded by trees. It was like going back in time. Driving a Prius down these narrow and sometimes flooded out “primitive roads” is not the best idea but I did it anyway. There were signs up saying these roads were closed from November through April. That’s how I knew I was somewhere cool. You know, the kind of remote regions where only the odd camp sits and where hunters and hikers long to go.
Soon I started seeing signs, “wildlife management area” which I thought might mean a trail or two could be found. I was not so fortunate but I did find a turn off to what I believe was Guaco Pond where there was a tiny boat launch and signs saying fishing and hunting were permitted. I don’t hunt or fish but this place was like a little slice of heaven. I parked the car and wandered towards the water to take a couple photos. I got the feeling I was in real proper wilderness. The ground beneath my feet started to leap towards the water – the shore was full of frogs. Here too were so many dragon flies and wild flowers. A few rocks sprawled out over the water allowing for the absolute perfect spot to just sit and enjoy nature. In the water below I could see fish dancing about – some even looked like the fat and edible varieties, though they were still small.
I stayed for quite a while in this one spot just enjoying the scene, listening to the water gush in from the stream that traveled under the road. It was so remote and peaceful and yet so terribly alive with frogs, fish, dragonflies, beavers, and birds. I can only imagine it would have been the perfect spot to actually go fishing or to take a kayak out. Absolutely stunning. I even found a patch of wild raspberries growing in the sun. The whole time I was there only two cars passed by, obviously locals because they sped by on a road I didn’t dare go above 15 miles an hour (with a Prius anyway.) This was a breath taking find and I was feeling optimistic when I headed back to the car to find another little gem. It would be another cemetery – The Northwest Cemetery in Petersham.
Today I wanted to go exploring in the Petersham area because I don’t know it very well but the few times I have been through it seemed like a gorgeous local. So I packed up the car and hit the road not having the foggiest idea where I’d end up. I drove to Main Street in Petersham just so I’d have some direction and ended up taking a right at the church onto West Street which is how I came across the West Street Cemetery.
It was a small cemetery with a few older stones in the back so I figured I’d check it out and see if there was anything interesting. Years ago I know I helped archive a cemetery nearby although it wasn’t this one. I was delighted to find that in the very back of the cemetery there was evidence someone else was doing similar work – one of the stones had sunken in the ground making the prose at the bottom unreadable but someone had tried to dig some of it up. The stone was of Fanny Hildreth and was ornately carved and made from marble unlike surrounding stones. I never figured out why.
I’m happy to note that according to Find a Grave 97% of this cemetery has been photographed and it appears to be thoroughly archived. I did not come across any stones with pennies on them and I didn’t see any stones that alerted my curiosity further but it was still a sweet little resting place out in the woods for a lot of the oldest families in this town. There was at least one revolutionary war soldier (Moses Sanderson) who served a month in Connecticut.
This cemetery had a few of the old slate stones I adore so much. The prose was as beautiful and at times humbling as I expect these things to be. I noticed a great deal of them had the same carvings as other cemeteries I’d been to which usually means the stones were ordered from carvers in Boston Massachusetts rather than created nearby. I was however pleasantly surprised to find a new design I’d never seen before on two stones, both of children. I do not know its significance, if any.
This is the first of three cemeteries I randomly visited today (including the Northwest Cemetery and the South Cemetery) but first I visited a nice fishing hole and a hiking trail in the middle of nowhere. As such this was a great start to my day.
