Last week’s adventures had a theme – abandoned theme parks! And we started with this one which was… an adventure. It always is.
It was another FaceBook suggestion which I have found to be a total coin toss when it comes to being worth it. I thought this was the place with the abandoned fairy village but no, that was a different Facebook suggestion which I will refind later.
In fact this place was kind of hard to find. It wasn’t really around too much civilization which you would expect of a theme park… The GPS played a few games with the street address before we finally arrived. There was a decrepit sign aside the road that led to a terrifyingly rough parking lot which had been nearly completely taken over by weeds and shrubs. The parking lot was paved but that isn’t’ saying much considering there was grass jutting out from the many cracks in it. This was like all the photos you see of current day Chernobyl, probably the sketchiest place we’ve been yet!
Things got even more creepy as we made our way towards the woods and found… a couch! Why? I have no goddamn idea but here it was, covered in spray paint, torn apart, but still in bizarrely good condition considering which suggests it hadn’t been there for long. Clearly this was where local teenagers came to drink. Been finding a lot of their secret hiding places as of late… maybe I am trying to find my own inner teen who didn’t really have much of a life back in the day, certainly less adventure than I do now.
Beyond the couch there were trails, of a sort, although there were no signs, no markers, no real suggestion that they were for people and not just overgrown deer paths. This place was supposed to have ruins scattered about but we didn’t come across much until we were fairly far down these paths. The first things looked like maybe the roof of a doghouse? And a wishing well nearby. From there we found what looked like an abandoned mini barn which some delightfully positive delinquent spray painted, “Someone loves you!” on the front of. You got to love life affirming graffiti. You, my dear tagger, have it right. Keep on shining!
The insides were of course covered and more typical of what you might expect. From here we crossed a little bridge, found some sort of open storage house decaying out here with perfectly good PVC still stacked up under them. From he we ended up wandering cluelessly onto a nearby golf course before going back into the woods from whence we came. This place was so overtaken with vegetation I felt like we were urban explorers trekking through Ingene Island trying to dodge nests of velociraptors…. and maybe a few pterodactyls.
When we came back to the parking lot I noticed trees blocked all of the Enchanted Forest’s sign except for what looked like “The END.” Fitting! And creepy! And of course when we got back to the car the one other person there had emerged from the thicket and was looking suspiciously at us. He was clearly a teenager, loitering about, maybe waiting for friends and we… were probably just a confusing sight to him with our unfamiliar baby faces.
When I was driving around trying to find the abandoned sanitorium I happened to pass this enormous compound of… treasures. I know, it might look like a junk yard, but really it was an antiques mall with all kinds of… shrapnel-looking things all over their expansive yard. Can you believe my travel companion has never been antiquing? Worse he’d never been antiquing in Maine where such a hobby is…. somewhere between dumpster diving and showing up on Antiques Roadshow with an unknown Picasso. I joke but really, it’s an adventure.
And so after we came back from our urban exploration I couldn’t resist driving in. There was a big sign offering RV parking. Think about that. An antique store in the middle of nowhere has so many RV’s driving in it created it’s own parking lot for it. This is exactly what I mean about not knowing what we’re about to walk into.
It took me a moment to realize I’d been here before! In fact it was one of the very first stops for my Catching Marbles after basing it solely out of New England. Back then I was having a grand old time pointing out all the bizarre racist shit that was everywhere – Aunt Jemima jars, pick-a-ninny dolls, minstrel related what-the-fuckery — I mean it was EVERYWHERE. And in the spirit of being all inclusive it wasn’t just black people getting the short end of the stick. There was also a number of offensive items relating to indigenous peoples and Asians soooo… I guess there’s that.
This time around I am actually happy to report the vast majority of those items were missing from the shop. Sign of the changing times? Maybe. Or perhaps I was just here on a good day. Who knows.
This place is EXPANSIVE. It’s in a number of old barns that span many floors and go off in all sorts of directions in a delightful Byzantine maze of weird relics. I let my travel companion loose to find something that interested him – which he soon found in the form of a whole booth of Victrolas and wax cylinder recordings. As fascinating as that was I preoccupied locating all the haunted dolls – of which there is always a ton.
This place went on for what seemed to be miles and we were each having a lot of fun just poking at random things. I found some vinyl records – paid a mighty sum of 60 cents for one that was on sale. Age of Aquarius. I mean come on… everyone needs a copy of that song, no?
My travel companion lamented he’d like to find a straight razor. I asked why he hadn’t found one previously, as this sounded to me to be a perfectly common request, and I guess the answer was normally people don’t spend their Sundays going to flea markets and antique malls… Who knew! Sure enough, two cases down from this conversation he spied a straight razor complete with a box and several replacement blades reading “1906.” And the whole display case was 50% off so he walked out of there $10 poorer but happy as a Cheshire cat.
We actually lost track of time and were escorted out of the store at closing (whoops! Apologies!) It is a store that merits a lot of wandering. And wondering. Still don’t know what’s going through this chap’s mind. He looks confused.
Obviously I will give you all what you came here for – the gallery of haunted dolls!
Life these days can be overwhelming between trying to keep your head above the water financially and dealing with the plague going around… it’s becoming increasingly difficult to take a break and get back in touch with what’s really important. And so here I am once again inspiring someone else to solve an old mystery and mark off something on their bucket list – you know take an adventure and learn something, live.
It had started off as a mild curiosity a week ago. Basically we were talking about a big gap in my travel companion’s family tree that seems to just end with his great-great-great-great-great grandfather who fought in the Civil War. Somehow it was known that he was buried in Springfield Maine. I had to go up to Maine anyway so I figured why not take a little detour to satiate curiosity?
And so we gathered some charcoal and a large sketch pad for a rubbing, woke up early, and headed out to the tiny village of Springfield. It would be a two hour drive and as usual I did not have the exact address of the cemetery because it wasn’t around any houses and cemeteries don’t have their own address. Initially I even got the road wrong. I drove out there and was greeted not with the village I was expecting but instead a vast expanse of dirt road that led us absolutely nowhere.
So after this we continued down the road where over the hill we came across Bog Road which contained the South Springfield Cemetery. It was a small cemetery, with maybe 150 stones or so, if that. I parked aside the road the best I could.
There was indeed a Spaulding family plot just to the left-hand corner. There we found a series of crumbling stones under a big oak tree being eaten away by lichen and moss. Some had fallen over, some were possibly sunken into holes in the ground. Several were in pieces and legibility varied greatly. We’d been warned they were in poor condition so I didn’t know what to expect. After surveying what we could find we started to piece together an interesting story.
We learned that Samuel Spaulding was the son of Christopher Columbus Spaulding and Lydia A Mapes Spaulding. He was one of four brothers, served in the Civil War, and probably lost all three of his brothers to the same war. William T Spaulding was the first to go in 1862 at the tender age of 13 (yes, children served – usually as drummers, fife players, and gophers) followed by John W and Liberty B. John W’s age was lost but Liberty B was 20. None of them appeared to be married and the stones all matched implying they’d been bought at the same time. In the Civil War era this frequently means there was either no bodies under them or possibly the wrong bodies who’d been shipped back. Samuel outlived the war and went on to have a family which would move out of Maine. I was struck by the loss. I’m more into Revolutionary War era stones so it was easy for me to bypass the devastation of the Civil War, even this far North.
We took some time to absorb this new information and take a rubbing of Samuel’s stone which was by far in the best condition. I took a few photos and took note of all the Spencers and Websters out here – two more family names I am supposed to be related to somehow. I wondered if this meant that five generations back our two families could have been related somehow. This whole excursion had been as enlightening as it was curious.
On the way home I got the additional adventure of having one of my tires melt off the Prius and explode as we were going down the highway. Luckily I noticed something was off and was already slowing down and turning into the break down lane when we heard a loud pop followed by a lot of wobbling. Trying to tell AAA where we were was a challenge and took at least 20 minutes as we had no idea and the GPS coordinates my phone gave me didn’t come up the same on the phone operator’s side. Another hour of waiting for a driver – the fear of not being able to be let in the cab due to covid – and finally being dropped off at Lincoln’s only tire store which did not carry appropriately sized tires – and we were starting to get punchy. We left with a tire that was too wide but still worked. The next day we’d tour three more tire stores before finding anything that could work for us. This ate up a great deal of time and tried everyone’s patience. Still, it was better than having more exploding tires!
I know what you’re thinking. In the middle of a pandemic what on earth am I sitting here blogging about a general store? And usually I’d agree with you…. but these were special circumstances. I was already in Maine, with a passenger in tow, and we were all set and ready to spend a few days responsibly hiking. The only problem was that before we even got to that point his shoes gave out on him and here I was trying to come up with where to buy shoes in the middle of nowhere. You might think, “Just Google a shoe store” but this is Maine… the closest actual shoe store was 40 minutes away. So instead I went to a few general stores which are everywhere. For those of you unaware of what a general store is just think of an old Woolworths. The sort of thing pioneers shopped at long before Wal-Mart existed. And in doing this I remembered the biggest and most amusing of these stores was also about 40 minutes away so why not?
It’s name, Hussy’s, is already reason to raise an eye brow or two but this place is actually a bit famous. They have quite the gimmick you see – as they sell “beer, guns, and wedding dresses.” Everything you need for a shotgun wedding! And I can testify women absolutely do buy wedding gowns here. It’s somewhat of a local tradition. Obviously, if they had all these things they must have some shoes…
I’ve been to Hussy’s before but I never got the chance to take photos or blog it. This time I made sure to take a photo of the sign out front. My travel companion for the day loved this place. It had “character.” He’s a city mouse and used to large chains and an endless strip mall of soulless corporations. Coming here – to this quirky roadside attraction – was apparently quite the experience. There was just so much to see! The usual collection of country chic brac-a-bracs, a whole section dedicated to old timey toys, lots of soda, beer, and dry goods. And of course when we wandered upstairs things got even more odd. I stopped by a display of rabbit furs. Nearby there were fox heads, various pelts, and genuine coonskin hats. On the walls there were moose heads and taxidermied coyotes and then we ran into the guns… I was tranfixed for a second because they were oddly beautiful. It was a whole display of old classic revolvers, the sort of thing you think might be dug out of old attics or randomly out of the ground.
“They look so old.” I scratched my head.
“They do.”
But then around the corner was a huge counter full of more modern arms. A little bit of everything. The man there asked if there was anything he could do for us and I tried not to laugh. I’m not a gun person but I have seen it all before however this was the first time my companion had ever been to a gun shop and the variety threw him off, I think.
“You even have knives!” Oh yes, so many pretty knives. And tools. And camping gear. And yes, wedding dresses. I was intent on finding a bottle of Moxie to feed my unfortunate guinea pig. I mean you can’t go to Maine and not try Moxie… that’d be blasphemous.
“It’s like cola right?”
“Hahahahaha!”
Sadly, I didn’t find any Moxie… or else there’d be an attached video of the tasting. Sigh. We also didn’t find any shoes that were up to snuff so we left empty handed. It was a nice little detour but the place made me nervous as no one was wearing masks… not customers, not even staff, so when I left I basically bathed in hand sanitizer when I got back to the car. Off to an actual shoe store!
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.
Alright! Having been sufficiently engaged with the Pleasant View Cemetery I was all ready to go find a hiking trial… one that was a little more user friendly than the last one I tried! It didn’t take long before I stumbled onto the Mason Rail Trail.
I was a little disappointed. I wanted something a little less… popular… but it probably was a good thing I ended up here. I am hideously out of shape and the rail trails and nice and flat! And go on for miles! And since it was later on in the day there weren’t too many people, although more than I would have liked considering quarantine and whatnot. However, there were few enough of us to really spread out and even so one older couple had masks (so did I, matching my orange hair of course.)
I was happy to note there was not only a bunch of cyclists but also much evidence of horses along the trail. Rail trails are lovely places to go out riding if you are so inclined.
Today’s trail seemed very polite, it even had signs warning of washed out areas! And the people all seemed in a great mood. It was the perfect weather to be out – cloudy and 66 degrees. I walked at a fast clip trying to get myself a decent work out. A cyclist noticing my camera told me that if I walked in the opposite direction, across the road, I would come to a little swampy area where an “oblivious pileated woodpecker” lives. I had to laugh. Thanks for the heads up!
I walked for about 45 minutes before getting winded and deciding to find a place to sit. This turned out to be on a little detour off the mail rail trail where I found a rock to sit and listen to people going by overhead. That was kind of amazing in it’s own way. Most had no idea I was there, though one guy took a double take at something colorful in the woods and upon seeing what it was, or rather who, he smiled and laughed. I know these little interactions are brief and meaningless but they pick up my spirits. I like to know that my mere existence can make a stranger smile. I sat for quite some time enjoying this little serene spot before heading back at a leisurely pace. Rail Trails are wonderful for late day hikes because they are very wide and straight and literally impossible to get lost on so if you get caught out there after dark – no bigs! You’ll still get back to the car just fine! And I did… and I was the last car to leave the parking lot…
If you would like to check out this trail please know the Uncle Sam House (and adjoining trail) are also right up the road!
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.
