It was another day just wandering around looking for some good trails to explore when I came across the Weetamoo Woods. Strange name, I thought, as I wandered in. As it turns out this gorgeous scenery came with a gruesome and perhaps entirely regrettable historical narrative.
I had no idea this was somewhere that was tainted with the blood spilled during the King Philip’s War. More so I had never heard the name Weetamoo before. As it turns out she was a woman chef of the Pocasset tribe. She led several hundred men in her own army during King Philip’s War against the colonists. And King Philip – he was her brother-in-law during her third marriage (of five.) Her leadership was largely unrecognized by the white settlers because of her being a woman but she fought valiantly in her short life. Unfortunately, she was eventually cornered by the colonists during King Philip’s War, drowned, and her corpse defiled. They brought her head to be displayed to the public on a pike in Taunton Massachusetts. And her children who had been caught alive? Sold into slavery. Most of this story was narrated on a plaque at the entrance.
Dark. Morbid. And wholly unjustified. No wonder they don’t teach us about what really happened in those early years of our nation during our schooling. It’s much more comforting to just go on believing in the Thanksgiving Story. Everyone being nice to each other…
I was struck by this story. This woman was a force in her own right, and she had followed her heart, led her people, and fought with everything she had. And now I was here, near where she died, just casually ambling through a patch of woods we’ve named after her. I was humbled.
Since I was alone on this particular day and lacking someone with a sense of direction, I decided to stay on the yellow path which cut straight through the forest before ending some ways out. Although I could still hear traffic for quite a while these woods seemed more remote than they were. A few big, gnarled trees took on an appropriately creepy vibe. Most people don’t realize that the trees in these parts used to be huge I mean with trunks you could wrap several people around in a hug – the sort of thing we normally only think of existing in the Redwood Forest on the opposite coast of our country. White settlers cut pretty much every last one of them down. I’ve yet to see any evidence of a tree older than these times but before the settlers trees were so big because they were allowed to grow for hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years. Everything you see today is new growth. Trees that began their life after everything else was cut down.
I pondered how different these woods must have looked then during Weetamoo’s life in the mid 1600’s. Were they scary? Perhaps even haunted? I couldn’t blame them if they were. I made sure to talk to the trees a bit and thank them for such a beautiful trail. Whether you believe someone is listening or not doesn’t matter. It never hurts to be kind in these situations. Kind and grateful.
I wasn’t the only out on this day. Lots of people had come with their dogs and they were passing me like no one’s business as I struggled to keep going. My body has not been happy with my recent attempts at getting back into shape and was pitching a fit as it usually does – overheating and stabbing me in the side with sharp pains. I stopped several times to sit on rocks and eventually turned around before finding the end of the trail because by then it was getting dark and I didn’t want to be stuck in the woods with no sweater or jacket for the night. Especially in woods with such a gruesome history. No… I have my limits.
That being said I really enjoyed this trail. It was pretty wet at parts, but it was gorgeous and easy to hike. And all the people with their sweet little dogs? Bonus. Definitely a puppy bonus.
You ever have one of those days where you just have a complete meltdown because of things out of your control and then you ask the universe for some guidance and end up somewhere wonderful? That would have been today for me. Serendipitous, you may say. Earlier on in the day I thought I was near my journey’s end when it came to me being a medical mystery for the past 20+ years but the rheumatologist I went to disagreed and I felt like I’d slammed into a concrete wall for the last time. I went out into the parking lot and yelled in my car and then tried to drive home but then I realized NO, I was not going to go home defeated. I needed to find my inner Zen, recenter, be a peace with the universe. So, I asked the Universe to guide me to a good trail.
And when the time felt right I took one of those fateful detours up a random road which turned out to be Mt Lebanon Road. In less than a mile I got what I asked for. A trail. A trail I knew nothing about as I don’t live in the area. It found me. I parked and headed in. And whew! This trail was… how shall we put this politely? Rugged. Untamed. Quiet. Although it seemed to be near a neighborhood all I could hear were the chipmunks screaming at me and the birds above. No one else was here. This was PERFECT. An answer to my prayers.
I toddled in with the wonder of a small child. And before I knew it the aggravations of the day started to fade and I found myself at the feet of some very colorful autumn trees and then little creatures started to show themselves. Fuzzy caterpillars of all kinds, a darling little tree frog, more irate chipmunks, a pair of mourning doves, and a night crawler so big I thought it was a snake! I felt blessed, quiet, at peace. I looked up to see a dead tree which still had one living branch, really a whole new baby tree, jutting out from it far above my head. I know it seems silly but this seemed like another sign – to keep going, to never stop fighting for myself. Before the day was out I would find another dead tree that seemed oddly significant. It was bendy, really bendy, almost serpentine as it snaked up towards the sky in an S pattern. Normally I’d just say that was a weird tree but that diagnosis I was seeking earlier was for EDS – a disease punctuated by hypermobility. I.e. people with it are bendy. Too bendy.
When I fell tired I perched myself on a rock and in a calmer state than I was in earlier I made a little video about why this particular doctor’s appointment was so frustrating. And the trees listened. And so did a few people on TikTok. I felt better. A lot better. And then I went back to wandering this ill marked trail, eventually ambling off of it only to end up in someone’s back yard staring at a staircase to the road. I turned around, completed the North Trail loop, and because I have NO sense of direction I ended up back at in those poor people’s back yard before correcting my route and finally finding the car. I was spent, feeling a bit foolish, but I’d returned to my happy self.
Which brings me back to this weird review of the trail. If you happen to be in the area looking for a moderate trail with little to no traffic and a few pretty scenes check it out! See if you can find your Zen here too. And for those of you who have been reading this blog and want to see the videos I took of my little 2 part meltdown feel free. I’ll include them after the pretty pictures. Much love to all of you!
Today was a weird day. I knew I needed a walk but I didn’t want to go too far and besides this I knew my mother could do with an outing as well. So I grabbed her and we headed out to the Rindge Town Forest. When I got there all I saw was an unmarked dirt road (driveway?) with a lot of no trespassing signs on both sides. She was not in the mood to push this so we went back to Converse Meadow and I used this opportunity to check out the last little bit of this loop that I did not get to see on previous occasions.
As it turns out McGregor Pond is like a 250-foot offshoot trail off the normal loop. It was SHORT but that was perfectly OK! We were happy to find a bench there and we sat and chatted while looking over this pretty little scene. Actually it was just the right amount of walking for her so it all worked out well. As it is Autumn the weather was perfect and the trees were beautiful. I had a really lovely time and if you happen to be in the area doing this loop, make sure to check out the McGregor Pond offshoot!
What’s the best way to end a day of antiquing and wandering? For me it might be just a little stroll through the woods. I let my companion choose the trail on this day and this became our chance to make the Prius cry again as it was down a long bumpy dirt road. And when we got to our destination we weren’t even sure it was our destination. All we could see was a faded sign board in front of an access path to the telephone poles. Still, we poked at it and eventually found a path that branched off the telephone poles.
It was starting to get dark and I was a little worried we might end up lost out here because there were no trail markers, numerous branching paths, and there was always the possibly of bears and whatnot. We only saw two other people the entire time we were walking. One was at the entrance – a woman picking ragweed aside the road. The second was on a bicycle who zoomed by at one point.
This trail seemed very suitable to mountain biking. It was long and flat but just the right kind of packed down dirt to encourage this sport. It was less suited to hiking but that’s OK, we still managed. As it was also a wildlife area there were studies going on. Signs warned of cameras (to prevent dumping!) and we found some mosquito buckets gathering specimens and the biggest bat box I have ever seen. Thing could have probably held 80 bats but being dawn I am pretty sure they were already out of it and hunting bugs. We did however find a cute little tree frog and the moon was so big and beautiful as it came up that I took a gorgeous photo of it between the trees.
This place was a nice stop. We got a very brisk walk out of it which was good for the blood. Otherwise, this wasn’t really a trail I’d suggest to hikers so much. There wasn’t any great views or anything, it was more just a good place to exercise. So, if you’re in the area and want to go mountain biking by all means this place is a good bet. And it goes on for a while. Just bring your sense of direction, you’ll need it!
Ponemah Bog was one of those last-minute finds that I expected nothing from. I had been in the area running errands when I decided to see what Google thought was worth exploring and the Ponemah Bog came up so off I went! And let me tell you – this place was sooo whimsical and fun!
It’s an easy boarded path into the wetlands and of course a wildlife sanctuary. As such dogs are not invited (sorry pooches!) I ended up at this bog twice – on the first visit I brought my mother just as a fun outing and I took SO MANY photos, including my first close up photo of a crane flying by and landing! But when I got home I found my camera didn’t have a card in it. My hard work was lost… but not my spirit. I went back a week later to take more pictures just so I could make this blog entry and here’s why:
It is the PERFECT season to go out in the bogs. Summer has passed so the pounding heat of the sun and the drumming of blood sucking bugs has slowed to a crawl and better yet it’s fall foliage season and some of the trees are already starting to turn their vibrant colors. And much to my surprise this included not just the trees but several low growing plants and a massive carpet of moss! Red moss! A whole field of it! It was absolutely magical!
Frogs darted under my feet, birds screamed at me for ruining the neighborhood, and I found LOTS of turtles sunning themselves on logs. This place was ALIVE. There’s a number of observation points and they’re all beautiful. I sat at some of them and just soaked it all in. On my first visit I came across a girl scout troop who complimented my T-shirt and told me to make sure to buy cookies (OK!) and on my second trip the only other person I saw was a workman putting fresh paint on the ends of the planks so no one trips. I tripped anyway because I have no grace whatsoever and ended up with an immediately SOAKED shoe – so…. don’t go off the boards!
All of this would have made it well worthwhile but the thing that really set me off was the carnivorous plants. In all my wanderings I have never seen them in New England but I did today! Sooo many pitcher plants and they were all stunningly gorgeous! It really set my heart a’ flutter. And really made me want to sing a score from Little Shop of Horrors but that’s a separate issue… ANYWAY… if you happen to be the area I would definitely say you should check this place out. It’s easy to get to, easy to walk, and very easy on the eyes!
As we all grow older and hopefully wiser we began to take on the gentle wisdom of phrases like, “Let lying dogs lie” but Caroline Cutter may have been an exception to this philosophy. You see after her death in the mid 1800’s her husband spent what I can only guess was a decent bit of money on a scathing 150 word headstone that called out several members of the community by name, accusing them of harassing his beloved to literal death.
Basically, this was a petty feud between a church and a couple who once attended services with them. According to the church Caroline’s husband Calvin Cutter was little more than a shyster. They accused him of bullying other church members into helping him fund his own church across town – a church that ultimately was never built. For these grievances they excommunicated both Calvin and Caroline and Caroline apparently took the blow to her reputation very hard and despite her better efforts was never able to get back into the good graces of the church.
After she died Calvin took it upon himself to make her headstone into one of the pettiest monuments ever carved. In it he claimed the excommunication destroyed his wife’s life, threw her into poverty, and eventually killed her while she was already down. That’s quite a bit of drama. Drama I don’t even think the town wants over 200 years later as a completely unrelated monument/plaque stands two feet from the stone nearly completely blocking it.
Now I don’t know if Calvin really was a na’ardowell, nor do I know if Caroline was really as dramatic as her husband. It seems as if social ostracization may have made both of them a little nutty. And maybe, just maybe, dear old Calvin wasn’t a grifter but just someone with ADD who let his rejection sensitivity spill over into his grief for his deceased wife. Anything could be possible!
But no matter what you believe the stone still reads thusly, Caroline H., Wife of Calvin Cutter, M.D. Murdered by the Baptist Ministry and Baptist Churches As follows: Sep’t. 28, 1838; aged 33 She was accused of lying in church meeting by the Rev. D. D. Pratt and Deacon Albert Adams. Was condemned by the church unheard. She was reduced to poverty by Deacon William Wallace. When an exparte council was asked of the Milford Baptist Church, by the advice of their committee, George Raymond, Calvin Averill, and Andrew Hutchinson They voted not to receive any communication on the subject. The Rev. Mark Carpenter said he thought as the good old Deacon said, “We’ve got Cutter down and it’s best to keep him down.” The intentional and malicious destruction of her character And happiness as above described destroyed her life. Her last words upon the subject were “Tell the Truth and The Iniquity will come out”
This stone is SUPER easy to find, though there is no parking in the cemetery or roadside. I parked at the gas station across the road but I guess there’s also a park around the corner with even more appropriate parking. The cemetery gates are behind a little park monument out front and should be open if it’s daylight hours. As for Caroline Cutter’s stone – it’s in the first row almost in the center right in front of someone’s barn and behind another completely unrelated monument.
Today I decided to go on a little adventure and find the Rindge Town Forest. This resulted in me turning around after hitting a super sketchy and totally unnamed dirt road which had a “Posted – Private Property” sign to one side. I think the private property sign belonged to the neighbors but with no other signs leading the way and me in a Prius I decided not to take the dead end “primitive road” and get stuck on perhaps private property.
Instead I turned around and decided to check out a far more welcoming trail at the Converse Meadow Conservation Area just a few miles away. This place is also weirdly hard to find. It’s in a neighborhood and the parking lot doesn’t look like a parking lot until you’re in it. But once you’re in it there is a big bulletin board letting you know what’s up.
Today I went alone. I needed to have my moment of Zen with nature. I miscalculated how goddamn hot it was and how long the trail was but that being said it was exactly what my soul needed. There was a gentle breeze coming off the pond and big fluffy white clouds that eventually turned grey and threatening.
At the beginning of the trail there’s lots of memory benches, just super sweet places to sit and just mellow out. There are also a number of signs that let you know a little bit about the history and wildlife of the area. I guess a long time ago there was a mill here but there didn’t seem to be anything left of it. This was just… nature.
And the trail was lovely. One half of the loop gave access to different viewpoints of the pond, all absolutely luscious. Birds sang above my head as frogs, fish, and beavers splashed in the water. I even saw a bald eagle fly by! Didn’t get a photo as it was through the trees and happened really fast but there is no other giant white-headed bird in the area so I am certain it was a bald eagle. I sat at one point to cool down and to just melt into the scenery. Not a soul was out here besides me and it was just so amazing. I can’t believe I have lived in the area for almost my entire life and never knew about this place! Well now I do and so do you. So, if you’re looking for a gorgeous and surprisingly long (but easy) loop check it out.
Fort Wetherill was another one of those finds that I kept having suggested by search engines and AI but nothing online made it look that impressive. Still, it was only a few miles away from where I was staying that day so it made sense to go check it out.
To get to this place you have to wind through a bunch of sweet little neighborhoods reminiscent of European villages. There’s more trees though. And by the time you get there it’s a big park with a ton of parking and no one there. There was literally one other car.
I was not expecting this place to be so massive! Or so taken over by trees. It’s not that old – at least not compared to some of the other forts I have visited for this blog. Fort Wetherill was commissioned during World War II to protect the bay and as a sister fort to Fort Adams – which I haven’t gone to yet but I am sure I will at some point. It’s in complete disrepair now. For the most part it looks like it’s being eaten by a jungle of weeds. Many areas are fenced off from going inside but there are parts you can still go inside or even on top of the fort for some spectacular views of the property and the ocean.
We spent a good chunk of time just wandering around the structure like lost rats. The graffiti was something else. Hilariously someone commented to me that they love the graffiti in New England because you can always read it. And it’s true! We lack the highly stylized fonts of the west coast. In addition to this it was oddly cerebral. Although there were the usual tags there was also some pretty decent art – including a chimp dressed in a gnome cap. And someone had taken the time to hang bizarre vaguely medical looking paper flyers like they may have done in the early 1900’s. It added a certain… ambiance.
I really enjoyed this place. It was a great place to spend the afternoon and probably had some hiking trails too – we just didn’t go that route on this particular day. I don’t know why this isn’t a more known destination although maybe it is and we were just there on an off day. Hard to say as I did also get some responses about other people having loved this place in the past. All and all it was well worth the trip and I think would make a fantastic outing for photographers.
*Scroll to the bottom for photos or enjoy a good read below.
A few weeks ago I heard a book calling out to me as I strolled haplessly through a Barnes and Noble. It was titled Over my Dead Body and it was all about the evolution of the garden cemeteries starting in Paris and working their way over here to the United States. It was a very informative (and often funny) read which mentioned a lot of cemeteries here in New England, one of which I’d never been to before. So that’s how I ended up at the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Concord Massachusetts last week. It’s the home of Author’s Ridge which is where Lousia May Alcott author of Little Women, Henry David Thoreau author of Walden or Life in the Woods, Ralph Waldo Emmerson the poet, essayist, and philosopher, and Nathaniel Hawthorne the author of the Scarlet Letter and The House of Seven Gables are all buried quite close to each other.
Honestly it was weird I didn’t know about this place before seeing as I am constantly enamored with authors, cemeteries, and history. Still. Sleepy Hollow is a large cemetery with clearly marked signs leading to Author’s Ridge and scant parking so keep that in mind if you visit.
So how did all these icons of their era end up buried in a row? Simple, they weren’t. Back in the day the cemetery more or less bought their remains so they could put them here to drive-up tourism. Capitalism at its finest. Nothing is off limits. Not even celebrity corpses. But it worked! And people are STILL flocking here. Although oddly enough there were remarkably few pennies. Alcott had the most. I wonder if they weren’t being cleaned up or if this bunch just wouldn’t be fond of having pennies left for them. They seem the type…
I’d been accidentally stalking the life of Lousia May Alcott for some time weaving in and out of the strange and wonderful landmarks they had something to do with and I have been coming to learn they were a fascinating individual, possibly even a trans or non-binary icon as in their own words they declared, “‘I am more than half-persuaded that I am a man’s soul, put by some freak of nature into a woman’s body.” And they liked to be referred to as gentleman, like a boss! They were buried in a family plot with their author mother Abigail May Alcott and author sisters Elizabeth Sewell Alcott and Abigail May Alcott Nieriker. Their last remaining sister wasn’t a writer but she was inspiration for Meg in Little Women and she also resides in the family plot. Her name was Anna Bronson Alcott Pratt. Pretty hard-hitting literary family there.
Admittedly I don’t know much about Emerson, he’s flown under my radar for some reason. Though I did previously visit the former resting spot of Henry David Thoreau’s cabin in the woods aside Walden Pond. I could appreciate his deep and intense need to be one with the wilderness. However, my knee jerk reaction since childhood was to not have any real fondness for Nathaniel Hawthorne. I decided at 12 he was whiny, and my opinion has only gotten bleaker with age. He wrote The Scarlet Letter and The House of Seven Gables which is a real place and a delight to visit. He’s buried with his likely more talented writer and artist wife Sophia Amelia Peabody Hawthrone who was relocated from her original burial in London in 2006! THAT POOR DEAR.
I will note now there are other authors buried here who are not on author’s ridge. They include but may not be limited to:
Novelist, poet, and screenwriter Millen Brand known for his 1937 novel The Outward Room and his 1948 screenplay The Snake Pit.
Prominent transcendentalist, poet, and dear friend of Thoreau: William Ellery Channing whose books include “The Woodsman” (1849), “Near Home” (1858), and “The Wanderer” (1871)
Intrepid journalist Irene Agnes Dolores Corbally Kuhn who was the first woman to broadcast on the radio in China and whose career spanned a great many interesting topics from interviewing Charlie Chaplin and Margaret Sanger to covering the Lindbergh baby kidnapping.
Robin Moore – the author of The Green Berets and The French Connection
Franklin Benjamin Sanborne – Writer and one of the “Secret Six” who funded John Brown’s Raid on Harper Ferry sparking the Civil War. Gotta love a trouble maker!
Margaret Sidney – Children’s book author of The Little Peppers and How They Grew series under a penname.
Not be outdone there are other people of historical note here. In fact many of them are written up on a board near the entrance of the cemetery that also has a little map and I think a QR code for an audio tour. We decided to wander around like cracked out squirrels looking for whatever took our interest in any particular second weaving in and out of some areas several times, talking to other lost cemetery goers, and getting distracted by beautiful monuments and really ornate slate stones. So much diversity here!
As we wandered we found slates with ornate carvings – sometimes whole family crests, as well as a number of modern stones that had the deceased’s signature on them. I’ve never seen either of these before or a slab of green granite being used instead of marble. There was also Edward Nealy’s memorial which was an old indigenous mortar being currently used as birdbath. A slate stone commemorating a woman who was a teenager when the British came into the tavern she lived atop of and announced their occupation of the colonies. There was even a few Asian stones with characters on them but my two favorites were a fairly recent burial who had A TON of rocks set on top of his stone. He must have been loved by SO MANY people to have acquired that many rocks! On the complete opposite side of the spectrum I found a husband and wife drama from the 1800’s. They were in a family plot and the husband had practically his whole obituary on his stone – totally mental amount of words and aside him his wife had a matching stone that literally only ready her name, date of birth, and date of death. WOW, what happened there?! Upon closer inspection she didn’t have the same surname so I am guessing she remarried after her husband died and then came back to be buried awkwardly in the family plot. Ooooo the scandal!
But I suppose I should get back to the other famous people buried here… My favorite I think was a very unassuming one. Her name was Anne Rainsford French Bush who was the first woman to get a driver’s license! I left her a penny (as there were none there and if I am thankful for anything in this life it’s that I, as the owner of a pair of tits and a twat, have the freedom to drive a car. VERY UNDERATED RIGHT.) Not to be outdone there was also Katherine K Davis who wrote the lyrics for The Little Drummer Boy. Her stone was the hardest to find as it was a flat ground level stone and there were soooooo many ground hornets in the area. Thousands. I tried taking a photo but they were too small to pick up. You’ll just have to believe me this was the biggest swarm of ground hornets I have ever seen in my life. This cemetery is known for bird watching as migrating birds seem to love it here – I suspect many will get eaten by them in a month or two.
Daniel Chester French, the sculptor responsible for the seated Lincoln in Washing DC also shares a residence here with the other authors and artists. And in a quieter but no less important role we also found Mary Lemnist Titcomb – the creator of the first bookwagon (or bookmobile,) Elizabeth Palmer Peabody who helped create the kindergarten system in the US, William Monroe Spencer – the first man in America to manufacture graphite pencils, and Ephraim Wales Bull – who bred the first Concord grapes, and Marc and Emily Daniels – a married couple working in television as a director and camera coordinator respectively. Marc’s resume is impressive including episodes of I Love Lucy, Hogans Heros, and Star Trek and Emily was one of the first women to work behind the scenes with the cameras on shows such as I Love Lucy. Their stones were the only ones we did not find. I don’t know where they were hiding but we looked a good long time for them – with a terrible map, a confused GPS, and a broken gut instinct.
We didn’t bother to try and find the oodles of politicians and famous gun makers. Suffice to say we’re both a little weary of such things at the moment.
All and all this cemetery has soooo many historically interesting people, especially women of note as well as authors. It was on some beautiful grounds and aside from the lack of parking and the thousands of hornets it was actually really pleasant! I would highly suggest it to any cemetery or literary lover.
St Auburn Cemetery is where it all began – garden cemeteries, that is. It’s the first in the US and with over 170 acres and with 93,000 people buried here there’s A LOT to check out!
Garden cemeteries came into existence before the country had any official parks and they were used as green spaces for living people to enjoy during the day. And St Auburn is gorgeous. It’s immaculately landscaped with all sorts of exotic trees and shrubbery, a few little ponds, and many hills and crevices. It makes for a unique and serene experience especially if you go at the right time of the year like we did when all the trees were in full Autumn colors.
Funny enough, I’d never actually heard about St Auburns. It was suggested by my traveling companion who also had no idea what it was. As such I didn’t expect much but WOW. This place sure is something! We were barely out of the car when we stumbled upon a huge sphinx, like the one in Egypt! Just sitting there with its big lion paws and judgmental face staring down at us. What the…? Now that’s a strange sight in New England! Around it were other Egyptian inspired monuments and that… was just the beginning of our discoveries.
Near the sphinx was a big church looking building… Bigalow Chapel and a number of the stones surrounding it seemed to mimic its ornate style. But then directly across from that family plot there was a stack of granite boulders making another weird memorial. And sitting nearby was a full bronze statue of… someone. Someone who I am sure felt he was important enough for a bronze statue although none of the crew today recognized his name or possible accomplishments… but nice statue!
I was hopeful on this day to find the oldest part of the cemetery where all the old slate was… but we only found modern slate, some which were clearly recently placed and had yet to have anyone buried under them. Is slate coming back into fashion?? You have no idea how close I am to buying a slab of slate directly off a local quarry and having fun carving my own. It’d be… something. That’s for sure.
ANYWAY – aside from such morbid thoughts we continued to be surprised by the weird elements of this cemetery including a series of crypt-like mausoleums buried directly into the hills. And some more traditional mausoleums. One which was chained from the outside, a second which had a broken door that looked like it broke from the inside, and a third that apparently gave a good knock. And I mean if I were buried above ground in a tiny marble house, I’d be desperate for escape too. Or maybe they were just offended by comments like, “Watch out! Unnecessarily hot Jesus to your left!” But I mean you can’t beat doing a cemetery tour with people willing to make gentle fun of hot Jesus. This one had missing fingers which made him weirdly even hotter. I said what I said.
We did find other notable people buried here… There was a memorial to Robert Gould Shaw the first colonel to lead the 54th Massachusetts Infantry – otherwise known as the North’s first black regiment during the Civil War. Shaw was white and when he died during the second battle at Fort Wagner the Southerners threw him into a mass burial with all the men that he led. He’d eventually be dug up and reburied in Beaufort National Cemetery in South Carolina which begs the question why is his memorial here in Cambridge MA? Maybe because he’s buried under an “unknown” marker in SC or maybe because the locals here felt he needed something proper. Funny enough I find memorials without bodies fairly frequently on my travels and one of the biggest reasons is there is no body or it’s a famous person whose hometown also wants to show some respect even if they’re buried elsewhere. And then we come across stones that have whole stories on them… like this one:
“Charles Turner Torrey was arrested for aiding slaves to regain their Liberty.
For this humane act he was indicted as a criminal convicted by the Baltimore City Court and sentenced to the penitentiary for six years.
While on his death bed he was refused a pardon by the Govenor of Maryland and died of consumption after two years confinement a victim of his sufferings.”
And there’s a story I didn’t know that sort of gives me a little hope in humanity so that’s good…. it’s funny how life affirming a trip to a cemetery can be. Especially when there’s so many stones in the shape of beloved dogs for some reason.
We spent an entire afternoon sorting through the stones and enjoying the pretty trees. We even stumbled into several sections with stones that were engraved in foreign languages – some even Asian. 11,000 steps later we went back to the car completely exhausted and not having seen the whole place! How much did we miss? I don’t know but I have a feeling we will be back.
