As I was driving around aimlessly looking for a hiking trail I was distracted by a sweet little cemetery on a hill. It had a little brick crypt (fancy!) and even an iron gate reading “1790.” Well, that’s all I needed… I’m in! I parked the car aside the road and grabbed my camera.
This was a well manicured cemetery but it was clearly old and out of use. I didn’t see any stones past the mid 1800’s. The vast majority of them were slate with the usual decals and a few oddities. If you read this blog often you know I have a deep fondness for slate stones but today my attention was drawn to the few marble memorials that were sitting near the gate. One was a little lamb, dedicated to a toddler. It’s always sad seeing these but the marble lambs age so interestingly. This one was completely intact (frequently the lambs loose their heads or ears) and was covered in lichen. Little spooky, nice for an artsy photo, and then I saw the big memorials behind it. One was of an open book, again so covered in lichen it was unreadable, and next to the book on alter was one of the most heart-stopping and unique memorials I have ever seen. It belonged to a boy named Johnnie whose bust I can only assume it was, lying as if asleep, forever immortalized in marble. It evoked a profound sense of grief and sympathy for the loss of a child. I was unable to track down any information on the poor soul but his stone reads:
HERE LIES THE REMAINS OF THE BELOVED CHILD OF J.&.E. HARTNOLL JOHNNIE A. BORN IN DEVONSHIRE ENGLAND MAY 11 1868 DIED IN MASON N.H. JULY 14 1878 AT REST
The other notable stone was on the opposite side of the cemetery and was where the remains of the first president of Harvard college Henry Dunster was laid to rest. There are also a number of revolutionary war soldiers here, mostly fatalities from Bunker Hill. Oddly no one left pennies on their graves. I take it this place is not visited often.
However if you’re into history the Uncle Sam house is less than a mile away. And on this day I decided to close out my day by enjoying the Mason Rail Trail nearby.
How is everyone out there today? Chomping at the bit and going a little stir crazy? Yeah, me too. I’ve been working super hard on my writing and have been churning out one novel length manuscript a month since January but this sedentary life has not done anything good for my body. Time for some exercise and a little fresh air!
Since the Stay-at-Home orders were put in place a lot of the more popular hiking destinations were forcibly closed because too many people were gathering there. Now they are thinking about opening them back up again which is a horrendous idea. Please people, keep yourself and others safe there are a TON of hiking options that are far less populated! And it’ll be those destinations I will be bringing you along as we hit these warmer months.
Today I asked if my mother if she needed a little time out of the house and when she said yes I hopped into the car and just started driving. I had no destination actually planned. For me it’s fun to just drive in a random direction and let the Universe guide me to wherever it is I am to go. That’s how I ended up in Greenville NH, a town I’d never heard of, taking up the single parking space outside of an obvious trail that looked like it might have been a road once. I had no idea where I was and my GPS decided to take that moment to croak. Luckily I googled, “Where am I??” and my phone answered thusly:
The trail didn’t seem to have a name or anything like that but there were a few signs up saying it was not for “wheeled vehicles” which I don’t think the locals took very seriously because there were tracks from bicycles, dirt bikes, and probably a four-wheeler or two… These were clearly visible because HOLY MUD! It was just flooded!
It’s been an unusually wet spring. I guess I will start travelling with my trusty galoshes… Despite the mud this path was gorgeous at the beginning. Cascades of tiny droplets were coming through the mossy rocks and twinkling in the noonday sun. It was actually kind of magical. I wish I was able to get better photos of this but I am 100% inexperienced taking photos of droplets and apparently it is very hard to catch those little buggars! Clearly I needed to change the speed of my camera’s shutter or something… but I guess that’s a lesson for another day when I am not towing my mother behind me while standing ankle deep in mud.
The rocky outcropping was to both sides of the trail and had a lot of trees growing out of it allowing for some pretty gnarly roots and terrific scenes of erosion as a few toppled down the embankment. There was even a few pieces of graffiti hidden in some of the rocks going back to ’89!
We didn’t walk too far before the trail just ended at what looked like maybe piece of bridge? Luckily the path was to either side of the road where I parked so we just went back and took the low side. It was a brisk walk from there that passed one house and had signs reading “gate ahead” but we never found a gate as I tuckered my poor mother out and we had to head back. It was a nice little jaunt, a well needed one at that. If you happen to live in the area I’d suggest checking it out, otherwise it’s a little muddy and the prettiest parts were literally at the beginning so I don’t think I’d suggest travelling too far to see it… but you know, it looks like a good option for an easy solo walk…
It’s funny. It seems I have been all over the place – this blog started when I went to all the lower 48 states, and then Europe, and then decided to explore all corners of New England, but what I haven’t done in all that time is pay any attention whatsoever to the town where I was raised and spent the majority of my life: Rindge NH. And what a perfect time to explore a deserted cemetery so close to home than when we’re all still being super cautious about the corona virus.
So that’s how I ended up in the center of Rindge at the Meetinghouse Cemetery. I parked at the church because I had a foggy recollection that there was a gap in the fence I could walk through at the corner of it. Indeed there is, as well as a proper entrance adjacent to the current town hall just down the street a little ways where the old crypt still stands. Parking at either is easy and doesn’t bother anyone.
I hadn’t visited this place since I was probably 12 or 13 years old and had a friend living nearby. We’d walked the cemetery and played in the town center – once giving the dog officer a hell of a scare as we bounded through the snow in the common on one particularly dark evening. But happy childhood memories aside, this is the heart of the historic parts of Rindge and it’s got a lot of stories to tell. And what a better day to tell them than on a rainy day like this?! The perfect activity for those of you going nuts in quarantine – no one walks through old cemeteries in the rain… well, except for me and a handful of other delightfully weird people.
I have to say I don’t remember this being the most hill-filled graveyard I have ever been too. WHEW! There was no effort whatsoever put into flattening the ground here but I must admit that adds to how dramatic it feels with slate stones dating back to the 1700’s and creepy barren trees on all sides. Still it was super peaceful and welcoming to the photographer in me. (Though people driving by absolutely did notice me there. Probably thought I was the Ghost of the 1970’s with my orange plaid bellbottoms.)
A Little About the Stones…
I’ve learned a few things over the years about these old graveyards and cemeteries. The first is the difference between a cemetery, which is just a generalized burial ground, and a graveyard which is the consecrated ground surrounding a church. The slate stones that were favored in the 1700’s were mostly mass produced in Boston. As such many have the same designs on them. Today I saw mostly Death Heads (a symbol of rebirth and resurrections) and weeping willows. As usual the stones closest to the church were both the oldest and frequently the most wealthy. You can tell by how large they are as they range from little more than a foot tall to five or six feet. People of wealth in those days often were tied to either religious institutions or the military. You can see several Minute Men buried here who usually have metal markers aside their grave.
Was there anyone of particular note residing here? I actually don’t know. I suspect there are a lot of people that were important to the town back in the day but this was a while ago. I didn’t see any stones that dated any younger than 1901. This… is a forgotten place.
Other Things to See Nearby
That being said there are a few other things to see nearby if you’re there anyway. Directly across the street is the ruins of an old foundation that used to be our old town shelter for both abused animals and battered women. This was not unusual as the Humane Society functioned more as peace officers for domestic abuse situations than they did as animal rescuers although they fulfilled both roles. How much of a need did we have for this little building I have no idea but suffice to say if you were in need you’d be kept there…
Not far from the ruined foundation there’s a tiny park dedicated to our veterans. There’s a few benches, a little memorial, some flags. From here you can look over the town common which used to be used as a livestock exchange and open air market. Today it holds a gazebo used for weddings and one of only two antique livestock scales left in New England which we proudly use every year for the great pumpkin weigh-off. So how big can a pumpkin get? apparently over 2,500 pounds… and let me tell you moving these giant orange beasts is a challenge. Worth coming out just to see that!
And so that’s my little town center. Thanks for stopping by to enjoy it with me. Below are five galleries of photos I took, organized by topic.
Gallery One: Super Dramatic Multiple Stone Photos
Gallery Two: Some Individual Stones
Gallery Three: Artsy Close Ups
Gallery Four: Other Things to See
This structure was used to house carriage horses during church services.
Well! It’s been a while since I gave a little love to this blog and if I am bluntly honest I wasn’t really planning on it today either… but then I realized I actually hadn’t said much about this little haunt of mine so I took out my cell phone camera and started snapping away. I NEEDED THIS TODAY!
If you’re anything like me you’re probably being a good little disease vector and staying home in quarantine while simultaneously crawling out of your own skin. I get it. I know I had a TON of plans for this blog this year. I was going to go to art galleries, bizarre museums no one has ever heard of, lots of festivals and county fairs, and even some odd things like a midnight showing of Rocky Horror which I am currently being threatened with. OK, so those are off the table… for now… but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep exploring, just means I’ll be exploring more obscure hiking trails and cemeteries… in New Hampshire…. because all the states around NH are starting to pull out-of-staters over. Vermont is fining them, Massachusetts is sending them home and Maine is demanding a two week quarantine before entering. It’s…hairy….out there.
That’s OK though! We can do this. We can go out and appreciate nature without coughing on anyone. Especially on these far less loved trails so how about it… here we go!
Today I walked a very familiar trail – the Betsy Foskett Trail in the Betsy Fosket Wildlife Bird Sanctuary- the entrance of which is located half-way up some dude’s driveway (the very last driveway on the Emerson Lane cul-de-sac) and is hidden from the road. It is however there and that half of the driveway is a right of way so don’t worry when you’re walking up, it’s right past the little bridge and impossible to miss.
The beginning of the trail was flooded today because we’ve had so much rain but I took the part of the trail that is next to the water and walked along there following the yellow markers until a little sign showed where the two paths diverged. From here I took the red path – Pond View Trail. It’s longer than the Betsy Fosket but crosses it again later on. Here I found the ruins of what I think was a house at some point and lots of lovely photo opportunities. I even found a nesting hole from a woodpecker and a beaver damn! Both new to me!
It’s an easy trail but I am fiercely out of shape at the moment and was having difficulty keeping up. So when I came across the entrance to the clearing where it crosses the Betsy Fosket Trail again I got off it. The clearing has all sorts of No Trespassing signs but the trail is still town property so ignore them. It will lead to the dam which is where I took a lovely rest before returning home via the Betsy Fosket. Where does the Pond View Trail end? I currently do not know… but I will investigate this further when my lungs aren’t burning.
I had a GREAT trip out and needed this little distraction so bad. I regret not taking my actual camera as I tried to only take a few snaps with my cell. My photographer’s brain was going completely nuts out there. It’s been WAY too long since I let it out to play.
Since I clearly need more exercise and exposure to nature this will not be the last you hear from me this year. Stay tuned and keep safe!
Around the time I started this blog I attended a group session for past life regression led by a certified regressionist at the Life Path Fellowship in Jaffrey NH, an event I knew about because they had posted it on their FaceBook page. I have always been severely curious about these things but I was hesitant to share my experience publically for the fear of it being seen as “a little out there.” I know what you’re thinking – three years later I am making plans to track Bigfoot on summer camping adventures while searching for UFOs and glowing mushrooms in the dark. I am a little out there. I’m an odd combination of scientific and spiritual. I don’t always 100% believe in these things but I keep my mind and eyes open just in case. And since I am now comfortable just being me here I have decided it was time to finally share what went down. It was an intense personal experience, one which I wrote about with more gravity than my other entries. Reading it now feels like a punch to the gut so take it as what it is – if you’re curious, by all means, go on and read. I apologize that I was unable to take any photos of the actual event so visually this is a pretty boring entry. Either way, enjoy!
That morning I was already running late and I was SUPER nervous about attending. I had no idea what to expect but generally speaking I am not one who usually enjoys participating in group activities. Add hypnosis and I was even more anxious but there was something driving me to do this. When I drove in the parking lot was empty. Greeeeeat. A moment of doubt. I still got out and made my way into the building where I was warmly welcomed. There were two other women there burbling to each other, they were cheerful and funny. I smiled and a minute later another woman showed up – an audience of four. Okaaay, little smaller than expected but too late to back out now. I settled in and just listened. The woman hosting this little event had a calming soft voice and explained the whole process of hypnosis and how it’s still a conscious and voluntary experience and can be backed out of at any point. Then she passed out yoga matts and pillows and told us all to spread out and make ourselves comfortable lying on the floor. I pondered if I would fall asleep. It’d been an early morning.. I settled in under the sun coming through the window. Another fucking gorgeous day!
I know it’s supposed to be a demon but I think it’s kind of cute. Hieronymus Bosch painting
I closed my eyes and relaxed. She brought us through the usual relaxation procedure for hypnosis, taking note of every muscle and feeling it all turn to melted butter. This took what seemed ages and I tried not to fall asleep. She then told us to imagine a garden so I did…. It was a big very planted garden behind a stone wall to one side, trees and a mountain to the others. In the center an old marble fountain, a stone bench, all sorts of strange and colorful plants and little imaginary creatures skittering about like rats. Oddly I think most of them I plagiarized from Hieronymus Bosch. Amusing…. Sure, helpful, probably not. I was sitting there wondering what the point of this exercise was and how silly it seemed when she asked for us to reach out in our garden and touch something there. Fine…. I picked up a weird alien flowery cactus-y kind of thing. It was squishy and weird, sort of like those gel beads but with far less form and perhaps a little warmer. Gross. My subconscious has a sense of humor. She then asked us to imagine our garden bathed in light, bathed in the essence of existence, alive with the energy of the creative force, a place of peace, serenity, and safety. OK, can do. We were instructed to return to the garden whenever we pleased. OK… that sounded slightly alarming but hey, another happy place isn’t always a bad thing.
Then she said we’d be going back to a memory of our younger selves. OK. Which one? Oh fuck, I’m in the back of my mother’s shitty little red Nissan driving down that road between Cathedral and Fitzgerald. My brother is in the front seat. I’m five years old fidgeting with the seat belt which is cutting into my neck because I’m too short to wear it right. This isn’t a good memory…. My mother’s pulled over, hysterical, crying, but trying to hold it together. Oddly I can feel her emotions as well as my own, which is absolute confusion, and odder still my brother’s…. He seems….. He seems disconnected, intellectually knowing what the situation is, emotionally putting it away for later. My mother announces my aunt, whom we’d all been very close to, is dead. She’s not coming back. I’m five, I never knew her when she was healthy, hospital visits were just part of life. This death thing made no sense to me.Â
Back to the garden I’m told to relax. Clear my mind. Fine, just as well, that wasn’t pleasant.Â
Now I’m told I’m going to two weeks before I was born. Uhmmmmm, OK, darkness? What am I supposed to be seeing? My host’s soothing voice guides me through the experience of witnessing my own birth. Who is there? What are they feeling? Why are you there? Interesting questions with a shockingly clear answer that comes to me like being jolted by lightning. Because I am wanted here – attracted to my mother’s love. My mother is soooooo happy. My brother is here too, age seven, I can feel his emotions – chaos, just pure chaos. What is this shriveled wailing thing we’re bringing home? I feel Flo [a close family friend] too and am really struck by her vibe…… She’s proud, very proud of my mother for doing what she wanted (having another baby) even though it was extremely difficult in her situation. I am struck once again by the lack of a final presence……… My father isn’t here. I find the whole scene fascinating. Never thought about any of this…Â
Back to the garden. Breathe, take a moment. OK.Â
Now I am going back to another life. I’m asked to look down, what kind of shoes am I wearing? A utilitarian looking set of old cowboy boots…. What do my hands look like? Manly? Where am I? Out West somewhere, in a shitty little mining town. I try to see the distinguishing features of the buildings but they become blurry especially the more I try to fixate on them. Dammit. From here I was to go to a pivotal moment in this person’s life. OK. The scene changes. I’m on the beach now, the ocean to be exact. Angry waves, dunes, Californian looking plants. There’s a gathering of people here. We’re in out twenties, early twenties, maybe even younger, there seems to be alcohol involved. A woman stands in front of me, long dark hair, her energy is of pure chaos. She’s crying, trying to make sense of it. Who is this memory about? My best friend from childhood. He’s dead, this is an impromptu memorial of sorts. I’m asked why I am at this particular memory? Not sure but I think I am supposed to meet this woman again. Someday, somehow. And now I’m brought to this person’s scene of death. What has happened? Not sure. I feel dirt and gravel under my fingers and feel myself floating upward. Something has happened very suddenly. I do not realize I am dead. There’s a big gray car. Maybe I was hit by it. Maybe I crashed it and flew through the window. Who knows.Â
Back to the garden. Well, OK. Here I’m encouraged to meet my spirit guide. Things get weird. I wasn’t expecting a spirit guide buuut…. there’s a red Chinese dragon here. Why is my spirit guide a Chinese dragon? It answers it is not, it’s a mask. Cool. Can I see behind the mask? He takes the mask off, behind lies a red European styled dragon. Very funny. Not sure I believe in any of this spirit guide stuff but either way this is oddly hilarious. I’m told to ask any questions I need to know about my life, he will answer.  OK. My waking life was in utter chaos at the time so I asked a shitload all at once, the dragon breathes a deep sigh, has a look of impatience and says, “You’re not meant to know any of that yet.” Fiiiiiiiiine. Spirit guide or a reflection of my subconscious, either way I should have expected that.Â
Back to the garden, now I am told it’s time to wake up. I popped out of it. Felt my heavy body come back to life on the floor. Opened my eyes, looked at the ceiling fan, got up. OK, that was weird. We sat around and expressed what we had seen. All three other woman had done this before. One saw another dimension, another witnessed death of old age in a teepee, and I can’t remember what the last one came up with. I meandered back out to the car, still a bit woozy, struggling to hold back the urge to cry (not from sadness but from an unexpected joy.) This was an intense experience, completely unexpected, deeply personal. I left with such profound gratitude and love of life and the people in it. Each and every one.
When I got home I told my mother about a little of it. She said I looked like I was glowing and I really held back the urge to cry then. I am not someone who cries so this was a bit alarming for us both.
In the end I didn’t see what I thought I would see. I didn’t get any answers I sought. I don’t even have a belief one way or the other of whether this was a real vision or just my subconscious throwing up whatever but because it was so life affirming I stepped away from it changed somehow – in only the best of ways. When asked if I would recommend this to others – yes, I would, but with the caveat that you don’t know what you are going to get.
I was really excited to go to the mushroom festival today. It’s a two day event way up in the White Mountains that is gaining popularity. I found out about it through a FaceBook ad and decided I needed to go wherever my people are. Who are my people? Weird people. People who would find mushrooms far more interesting than flowers. People who would appreciate my favorite punderful T-shirt that reads, “Amateur mycologist with questionable morels” which I had no choice but to wear today.
Unfortunately I don’t live in the area so I missed the Early Bird Mushroom Walk which sounded like fun. However I did manage to get my sorry carcass up there in plenty of time to enjoy some other events and I had a great drive up listening to local artist Holly Brewer’s new album Medicine of Time Travel. As usual it was absolutely beautiful and put me into a spacey sort of mindset – perfect mushroom festival mood music.
When I drove in I was greeted by a young woman who tried to tell me where the parking was in the most alarming way possible, “HEY! So the parking is over there… see that row of cars out in the field? Like there’s tons of parking… but also a lot a holes! But we marked them with red flags so you don’t ruin your car!” Another woman in full steampunk regalia cantered up, “Why are you giving her a full song and dance?! Just go out and park! And avoid the holes!” I immediately regretted taking the Prius. It stands only two inches off the ground and is known for getting stuck in fields. But we did OK! The holes were very well marked!
And then I checked in. The festival is free but for a $10 donation I could get a cute mushroomy lapel pin or $15 I could get a glass and fill it with lemonade. I already have an odd fascination with pins so I figured why not.. and trotted off with something shiny.
I was happily surprised by everything here. The weather was GORGEOUS, there was a food truck and even a bar outside. Bathrooms were in a nearby restaurant. And unlike most of these weird little fairs and festivals I go to there was quite a few vendors and a delightful mix of things being sold – lots of jewelry, grow your own mushroom kits, some amazing sculpted art, incense and hippie things, some clothes, fresh honey, mushroom tea, and even a woman selling Fiore artisan vinegars and olive oils – three of which were mushroom varieties. She let me try them with a little bread. I asked her what her favorite was – she said lemon so I tried that first and I must say it was nice, bouncy, and fresh. Very lemony. But Obviously I was here for mushrooms so when in Rome… I requested the White Truffle because I have never eaten truffles and was curious to know what the fuss was about and HOLY SHIITAKE that was some AMAZING oil! I think I made a face because she gave a bit of a laugh. It was very strong but not at all unpleasant. I’m notoriously stingy when it comes to these things but I forked over $21 for a little bottle without a second thought. AND I WILL DEVOUR IT.
All the vendors here were super sweet and chatted pleasantly with me. They all seemed to be doing well. I learned this was the fifth such festival and it started with only four vendors that first year. It had grown so much that the farthest visitor to come by was from Washington DC! And I thought I drove the farthest! ha!
After this I stopped by the end of a cooking demonstration and was able to try mushroom “bacon bits.” Apparently if you marinate dry mushrooms in something you like, something bacony, you end up with these somewhat crunchy little chunks of flavor. I mean I wouldn’t mistake it for bacon buuuut it was closer than I thought a mushrooms could get and sure as hell beats the slimey canned mushrooms I was used to seeing on pizza – you know those rubbery gray bits that have the texture of a drool sopped dog toy? They were the reason I thought I didn’t like mushrooms all these years!!
Sculptures by Chakra Fairy
But hey, I had an hour to kill before the thing I came for so I decided to get a bite to eat. Today they were serving Black Truffle Bisque, Chicken of the Woods soup, and something else mushroomy I forgot. Seeing as I am really good at finding Chicken of the Woods that got my curiosity first but then the idea of bisque took my imagination… It was $8 a cup and yet another totally worth it thing. I sat at a picnic table in the sun and just enjoyed the day, eating this lovely earthy combination of flavors.
Eventually the mushroom dying demonstration started and that’s what I wanted to see… Here another young woman had an assortment of yarn and wool all dyed with mushrooms she found locally in the woods. She was displaying tie dye silk scarves in yellow, orange, green, and wine. I bought a little silk scarf for $15 so I could try dying one. WELL! This poor woman was having a day. Her entire set up with hot water and several heated dyes went flying over and drained on the ground at the beginning of the demo. And water has to be hot for dyes to take… So she went into the restaurant and hauled out some hot tap water and tried to heat it up further on her burner as quickly as she could. Four of us had scarves and a fistful of rubber bands to make it tie dyed. Two women wanted the wine color, I chose yellow as the orange had dumped on the ground, and the last girl went for the green. Well… it takes 30-45 minutes for the scarves to set and this poor woman did not have nearly enough material to keep us occupied that long and all of us had already visited the vendors and the food station so there was a half an hour awkward wait…
Scarves dying
I wandered off to check out their little information station. I flipped through their binders they had there and got to learn quite a bit about what mushrooms are around and what they’re used for. I guess those Chicken of the Woods were good for Cancer and Type 2 Diabetes in some studies. Interesting! And it went on to tell me about how mushrooms often have symbiotic relationships with trees, that they are some of the largest and oldest organisms on land, and that some of them even glow like jelly fish! Also there were recipes, most of which were to be expected, but three others made me really scratch my head: Chocolate and Toasted Shiitake Scones, Pear and Toasted Shiitake Jam, Blueberry and Black Trumpet Crisp.
Display table of local wild mushrooms.
So after learning all this and talking to more vendors I decided to check back in on the scarves. They weren’t doing too good… Mine, the yellow, was very very faint since the water didn’t start off hot enough and I had only been away 25 or 30 minutes… She actually wrapped up some dried mushrooms and alum to go home with me so I could try it again. And when I do I shall post pix! The women who chose the darkest color seemed to have made out pretty well though…
I had a wonderful day. So many strange and charming people – all super friendly. I’m glad I pushed myself to do it. Granted I was burping up soup for hours and had Black Trumpet flavored heart burn the entire way home. What can I expect with no gall bladder…. And of course my GPS thought it’d be hilarious to make me go on a pointless detour around the police station with a bag of dried mushrooms in my lap… Thank God I wasn’t pulled over. That would have been hard to explain… “No! They’re to die a scarf! I SWEAR!”
All and all I would definitely go again. This was 100% worth making my entire digestive system cry.
I had to go back to Peterborough today to pick up either my medical records or the first draft of Moby Dick, I can’t tell you for sure, point is once I finished this chore it occurred to me there was a trail nearby I had passed the last time I was up here. So off I went to check it out!
The sign you can see from the road
Now the sign denoting this little forest path is HUGE but it’s oddly located outside what appears to be a hall of some sort and an orchard and some other random houses. Once you’re in the parking lot you’ll see a bench, a big green field, and a bulletin board type thing describing nearby trees. The entrance to the path itself is past this big board and over the field out of sight of the parking lot. It feels…. awkward…. to get there…. but I did it anyway.
Entrance ot the path
I don’t know if many people use this place. The path was a bit gnarly from the get-go but it is fall and I suspect less people go out hiking when the weather gets cooler. I don’t know why. It’s way more pleasant to hike now than it is in the 80 degree heat of summer! But hey, if you want to dissolve into a puddle of sweat be my guest…
The path started to diverge into dozens of other smaller tributary paths. All of them were marked as trails but there seemed to be no logic or deeper meaning to the markers which were spread like confetti randomly through the trees sporting every color for no reason I could tell. Normally this sort of thing would make me head back but it was a small area surrounded by roads and since I knew the roads I figured I was safe enough to wander.
PINE TREES.
This was a somewhat unusual hike for me as it was straight into a pine forest. Most of the places I hike are decidedly deciduous or at least mixed. They’re arguably prettier but pine forests are definitely creepier… and I am not the only one to say so. It’s no surprise to me that years ago when I was chasing the Jersey Devil he was said to live in the pine barons. Today wasn’t disappointing either. Once I got to the river I could sense the presence of a teenage girl but I couldn’t see anyone at first and then at three separate points I noticed in the corner of my eye someone in an ankle length historical dress darting behind the trees 100 or so feet away. I know what you’re thinking, this seems like a great reason to head back to the car and pretend nothing was out there. I however am not that easily swayed. Whoever it was seemed to be watching me, yes, but they seemed to be doing so in a playful manner so I took a different option – I just started to talk to them. “Hello there! I can see you and I don’t have a problem with you if you don’t have a problem with me…” And maybe she just wanted to be validated because I didn’t feel or see her again. I have no idea if this place is known for such encounters or if today I witnessed something special.
I spent some time sitting on some rocks over the little brook but there were also picnic tables nearby and despite the trails being a total rat’s nest this did seem like a sweet little nook in the woods, perhaps a great place to take a date for lunch. Although you might not want to take dating advice from me considering my idea of a date involves far more death than desserts. Stroll through a cemetery? Sounds like a Gothic dream to me. Winding down unexplored “roads” with a Prius where you might be attacked by Bigfoot or get mired in a mud puddle and die? AWWWWE. Going to an abandoned asylum at midnight looking for ghosts? Fuck, if that’s your idea of a date I’m marrying you! This is probably why I’m single… I mean I think it’s hilarious I have the audacity to bum rush a bobcat without thinking (to protect my bunnies) but most people find this at the very least intimidating. SIGH.
ANYWAY, back on track… This was a lovely little outing. If you happen to be in the area with a bag lunch by all means check it out… otherwise it’s tiny. I guess historically these paths used to go everywhere in Peterborough but they’ve been chopped up by the purchase of private property. Some of the trails did lead to longer ones if you didn’t mind crossing the road (I wasn’t about to do that…) Anyway, here’s the photos I managed to take – including a couple of a FUZZY CATERPILLAR, the perfect distraction!
Yesterday I passed this cemetery and noted that I had to go check it out because of all the slate stones I could see from the road. Had I not been running errands I would have stopped right then and there but alas I had to wait until today to satiate my curiosity.
The cemetery is easy to find. It’s on Old Street Road between East Hill Road and Glen Drive. It’s marked by a large green historical marker and has space for a few cars to parallel park in the front of it. The numerous plaques and markers denote this is the resting place of a great many Revolutionary War soldiers, including a famous drummer by the name of William Diamond. It was also Peterborough’s first cemetery and wow, did I hit the jackpot here! This had to be the largest gathering of slate stones I have ever seen. This was a sizable and old cemetery. I would have never guessed Peterborough was this bustling so long ago!
But first I had to get in. A sign out front said the hours and a few limitations (no pets or stone rubbings allowed) but when I got to the gate it seemed to be welded shut. It was weird. There was already a car here so someone was already in the cemetery but I couldn’t see them. How did they get in?? I tugged at the gate. Nothing. I contemplated jumping over the wall but there were too many cars going by and I am rather recognizable with neon orange hair and psychedelic bell bottoms. After getting frustrated I said, “OK. I will be back!”
Later that day I was talking to my mother about all this and she said there had to be a way in. “I bet you that gate opened somehow.” So I put her up to the task and we both headed out for attempt number two. As it turns out the gate isn’t welded shut it’s just stuck – quite stubbornly. With enough wiggling and pulling it finally opened.
By now I had gone online and realized that this cemetery was only 77% photographed and there were five open requests out to find five separate grave markers:
William Wallace (1698 – ??) Jane Mitchel (1721-1791) Jane Chamberlin (1820-1822) Benjamin Chamberlin (??-1819) and William Robbe (1692-1791)
Two of these were babies during their deaths about a hundred years ago. Who is searching for the grave markers of long dead babies!? I mean I understand the adults – it’s probably a genealogy thing, but babies never grew up to have descendants and with almost a hundred years since their death there’s no one in living memory to want to see their memorial either… It sounds really crass but often times the memorials of infants and babies are… ephemeral. They’re small, often lack a lot of information, sometimes they don’t have any writing on them at all. In the case of stillbirths they’re frequently buried without a name. Today the death of a baby is a tragedy but a hundred, two hundred years ago? It was just another every day event.
Possible gravestone stump to the right…
Still – knowing someone was looking I was determined. I WILL FIND YOU! EVEN THE BABIES! I looked to see if there were any more information on any of these individuals and came up pretty empty handed. In fact the information online about everyone here seemed shockingly scarce for what I felt to be quite a historic place. But alas even the revolutionary war soldiers had only the shortest and most cryptic of descriptions online – birth place, birth and death dates, time of service, if they were married or had kids, and nothing more. Pretty basic stuff. I also found no pennies here. These historical figures were…. completely and utterly forgotten.
It was weird. The cemetery seems like it’s kept really well. Some of the stones were repaired or replaced but most were still in pristine condition. This made the missing stones all the more confusing. It was a bright hot day and almost the whole cemetery is in full sunlight with no shade. I started in the corner and made a beeline for the back where I figured the oldest stones may be. And sure enough I found the Robbe family plot which spanned two centuries and seemed to have all the Robbe’s… except for William. Where are you hiding William? Do you even have a stone here? Or did you ever get one? Or did it somehow get destroyed? There was a rock in the ground which I couldn’t tell if it was just another random rock in the ground or a part of a gravestone that no longer had a top. Hmmmm. The mystery thickens!
And by now the mugginess and heat where getting to the both of us so I had to call it a day. I’m not done yet though. I will be back… perhaps with a map of plots in hand to help guide me. And in the meantime I joined Find a Grave and will offer my photos and finds as they are warranted since I am already touring these places anyway. Might as well make myself useful!
There’s also a two trailheads on the same street and well… I am going to need to check those out too…
The Festival of Fireworks is something that almost everyone I know has attended at least once because it’s so goddamn amazing. Normally it’s 45 solid minutes of fireworks perfectly timed to well loved music like Pink Floyd and Queen. Seriously, you’ve never heard Queen until you’ve seen every note set to colorful sky explosions. It’s AMAZING. And it’s put on by Atlas Fireworks – the same hometown company that does the big displays at our nation’s capital on July 4th. Dare I say there’s no better firework display to see in the US!
This year the theme was Woodstock so I knew I had to go no matter what. I may have been born in the 80’s but it’s the music of 67-69 that really ignites my passion for music. And the 50th Anniversary of Woodstock? Are you kidding me?! I’M GOING.
It’s pretty normal for locals to have parties and gatherings the night of the fireworks and to attend them in little groups. We had done much the same and invited a bunch of people. However things from the start weren’t going right. Mother was anxious to leave early, although she didn’t know why, her friends weren’t responding to text messages despite having planned to meet up, and the one person already at the house had a headache so severe she decided to stay behind. By the time our other guests showed up my mother was in a tizzy.
We arrived in Jaffrey and parked a ways away before walking the rest of the way. There had been threats of rain and it was looking pretty gray but I continued walking. I didn’t care. It rained at the actual Woodstock, who says this wasn’t nature’s little tip of the hat to authenticity? However what we didn’t know is the fireworks were starting early and by the time we got to the gates we had already missed the first third of the show. Still didn’t care. Still kept on walking! Our guests on the other hand didn’t want to pay the $10 a head to see something that’d already started so they stopped before the gates.
As we walked up to the ticket booth I caught the tail end of Jefferson Airplane’s White Rabbit and by the time I was setting my chair up Joe Cocker was belting out With a Little Help from my Friends and I nearly cried because I was just so happy. Ear to ear grin. And when Santana started playing I felt like I was goddamn flying. I was in my element. There’s something about that music that just makes me feel so…. alive. And I wasn’t the only one grooving to the good vibes. People all around me were singing along to the choruses and giving off this wonderful sense of connectedness.
As soon as we sat down it started to drizzle a bit. People were already leaving. I brought a hoodie and an umbrella, planning for the worst and just staked it out. I took a few videos. They had a lot of the favorites – Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Credence Clearwater Revival, Jefferson Airplane, a little Blood Sweat and Tears and then when they got around to The Who’s Pinball Wizard things had really heated up. By now it had started to POUR and people were fleeing in droves, practically no one was staying seated. But the fireworks were going off by now with more vigor than all the songs previous and I was just having a blast! Was I cold? YES. That rain was icy. Was I wetter than a gym sock during a field trial? Fuck yes I was and it was just adding to my pure joy about the whole thing. It just felt right.
After this the rain started coming down in sheets even harder than before which aside from drenching all the people left behind it also drowned out any music I could still hear. A white water rapid formed aside us whooshing a four inch deep stream down into the storm drains. People were running out en masse, soaked through and through. It was like watching a hoard of drown rats fleeing a sinking ship!
Still I managed to video the finale anyway. As usual it was bombastic – just nonstop flashes of colors and chest rattling booms. My mother and I were laughing. I took a selfie to remember the night. By the time we got back to where we left our friends they had already walked back to the car and driven home. We spent the next half hour wheeling around the back roads because my mother got lost. To be fair it was PITCH black and raining and I probably would have done the same.
All and all, despite everything that went wrong, I am sooooo happy I went. I really needed that! And the free ice cold shower was actually a bonus to me. Below are the videos I took.
Janis Joplin – Piece of my Heart:
Bad Moon Rising – Credence Clearwater Revival
You Made me so Very Happy – Blood, Sweat, and Tears
Rolling on the River – Credence Clearwater Revival
All Along the Watchtower – Jimi Hendrix
**having some technical difficulties uploading this one**
Pinball Wizard – The Who
The Finale – Song Unknown.
This blog brought to you by me and my super chill mom.
It was this and several other little memories that brought me back today as I found myself once again on the road. The Fort at Number Four is a reconstruction of a wooden fort that stood in the fourth plantation of the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1735. It was the North Westernmost British settlement in the New World. By 1745 ten families lived within the confines of the fort behind big fortified walls. There were living quarters, a saw mill, gardens, a barn, a black smith shop all nested in the woods like some sort of antisocial wooden castle blockading itself from the rest of the world. Why was such a thing necessary? Well because diplomacy apparently wasn’t one of the settlers’ biggest skills and the “Indians” (which are still referred to as such in the pamphlets they were handing out today) were a little testy about the new neighbors claiming their land as their own. And from there it appears there were some dust ups involving the British, the French, the occasional Spaniard… to me this seems like lunacy. For ten families to live in what amount to the wilderness – thirty five miles from the closest settlement. But OK.
Oh today’s tour was going to be good if this is what I went in there thinking. I am happy to note it was a really easy place to find and on a Thursday pretty much no one was there except a woman taking admission fees ($12 per adult) and one melting tour guide in period garb who I found playing Hoops with some children. He offered everyone else guided tours but myself and the older couple who came in at the same time as me politely declined to go wander on our own. I like allowing myself time and space to take photos from odd angles and such.
Here’s a photo of my knees giving a solid “fuck you” for climbing to the top of the tower. These stairs have to be climbed down backwards like a latter. Fun.
First off I should remark that you shouldn’t revisit places form your childhood that you once thought were so grand because when you get there and realize just how tiny and insignificant they are your perceptions will be RUINED. I headed up the tower, which by the way is only three stories high, and looked out over the river. Yup. There was Vermont. Looking all green and sleepy as she usually does. The view was sooo…. unspectacular, but I guess it would be for someone who has flown in planes, peered down from the Penobscot Bridge Observatory, and nearly died of exhaustion dragging my sorry ass to the top of the Empire State Building. Life and experience had dampened my reaction.
I remembered literally nothing else of the fort from those sweet early days and I was actually happily surprised how expansive the place was. Plus it smelled like old barn wood which made me deliriously happy. Of course being unlit it was pretty dark in spots but that made it all the more fun. Coming into the kitchen I found a number of herbs hanging to dry. One of them brought me straight back to my childhood. It smelled SO FAMILIAR but I don’t know what it was… something from my days in the first house I lived in. I was grinning from ear to ear. The fort seemed to have a lot of personality even with very sparse furnishings. It was indeed the perfect space to play with my photography – the lighting, the architecture, the odd artifacts, all lent themselves beautifully to this task.
Yup, those would be two child-sized coffins int he rafters. Daring motif.
Then I got to looking around – and having a bit of fun with the artifacts. being as this was basically set up for children many of the exhibits were hands-on like the series of pelts that lined the walls of one of the buildings that made up a sort of macabre dead petting zoo of sorts. It wasn’t the most morbid thing by far, there were two child-size coffins in the workshop, and another plaque telling the history of the place said something about “murder holes” being needed to protect the families in their bedrooms. Murder holes. To protect the family. In their beds. Just let that sink in. But the weirdest thing I found was a diorama of the place. There were soldiers reenacting a battle all around it, which I get, but why they were wearing Scottish kilts and who they were fighting…. fuck if I know. Maybe there was a sale on figurines that day. Kilted ones. Or maybe there’s something the brochures aren’t telling me. Quite frankly I left a bit confused and only took one feeble shot of this weird scene because I didn’t feel like being that person taking photos of the diorama. Seriously. That guy. We all know that guy. I still have pride. I wandered off to fondle the zombie pets.
Besides the mystery Scottish militia there seems to be a vaguely Turkish looking dude in the back swinging a bayonet at nothing. I have no idea who they’ve killed.
I spent maybe an hour or so poking around. It was a sweet little way to spend an afternoon. After this I allowed the GPS to try and kill me leading me through increasingly narrow dirt roads on the search for my next destination – the scene of Phineas Gage’s fateful railway accident.
