Category: Roadside Attractions

Sheiling Forest – Elizabeth Yates McGreal Wildflower Garden – Peterborough NH

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!

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Phineas Gage Memorial – Cavendish Vermont

Vermont in particular seems to have a long and bizarre history when it comes to interesting ordinary individuals. One of those people I just learned was Phineas Gage. If you don’t know who Phineas Gage is you’re not alone. Mostly it’s people in the psychiatric and medical professions that know his name. He was just a normal railway worker living his life when an accident launched him into the pages of history.

It happened in 1848 when he was working on the rails south of the village of Cavendish Vermont. The railways went directly through mountainous areas which meant that workers had to blast their way through in order to put the rails down. This was dangerous work that involved boring a hole in the rock, filling it with explosives, and packing sand on top with an iron rod (called a tamping iron) before lighting a fuse. Phineas was in the process of doing this when his attention was distracted and when he turned his head to speak the tamping iron struck the rock, caused an unexpected spark, and before he had any time to react he had the 13 pound 3 foot rod shot through his head which landed 85 feet away. This would have been the end for most workers but not Gage who convulsed a few times before getting up and staying conscious well past getting to the hospital. Insanely stoic this guy claimed he wasn’t hurt much and should be back to work in a few days. Granted going to the doctors in the 1800’s wasn’t as sterile or educated as it is today. Gage’s recovery was up and down and at one point included the draining of a fungal abscess on his remaining brain issue which may have caused further damage.

Today I visited the spot of the memorial plaque dedicated to this very unlikely survivor. It sits in the Cavendish common which isn’t the site of the accident but is nearby. I parked at the Municipal building which is just behind the monument that is welded to a rock. I’m afraid my photo isn’t fantastic but it shows in brief detail the life of a man that is more of a curiosity now than he was in his own life (and he was very well known then for it.)

If you’re wondering what happened to Gage after his recovery well… that’s where the story gets quite muddy. What is known is that Gage survived his injury and that for what appears a short time afterward he showed symptoms not uncommon among brain-injured patients but remarkably despite his story being repeatedly rewritten for political reasons he seems to have gone on to live a pretty normal life… His intelligence was said to be unaffected, his memory returned, and he even held down numerous jobs before seizures prevented him from keeping them. We don’t know why he died or if his injury had any real lasting effects on his personality because there seems to be a lot of conflicting information.

Other common myths around this one remarkable individual is that his injury gave inspiration for the invention of lobotomies. There’s no written evidence of this but I have to wonder why it’s been linked in the first place. As I read up on this to create this blog entry I was filled with far more questions than answers. Did he have any serious personalty changes after the accident and if so did they get better over time? Maybe the lesson in his story isn’t whether or not brain damage can make someone a different person but to what extent one can expect to recover from such a thing. Maybe this is really about the remarkable plasticity of the brain.

This photo of the man was discovered in 2009. In it he sits with his tamping iron which toured with him throughout New England in the two years after the accident. It’s unsettling to say the least.

After leaving the monument I asked the GPS where to go and by happenstance it dragged me onto a narrow dirt road where the same rail line ran through the woods. It was a strange moment to realize this. All and all today’s visit to the Phineas Gage memorial and the Fort at Number 4 satiated my desire for history. Until next time…

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Fort at Number Four – Charlestown NH

The tower from whence you can see Vermont.

I remember sitting in the woods of New Hampshire when I was perhaps eight years old talking with my friend about the view from the Fort at Number Four. We were told by our teachers we could see Vermont from it’s highest perch and to our tiny preadolescent brains the idea of seeing another state from New Hampshire seemed so exciting and exotic, at least to our peers. We two didn’t quite comprehend what the hubbub was about. Maybe we were just jaded. I’d spent many long weekends hauling ass to Maine, a 4-6 hour journey in a hot car with my older brother and a little lap dog with breath so bad we practically hung her out the window to escape it. It was dreadful but my friend fared even worse. Her extended family lived in Pennsylvania which meant that she got to spend twelve hours in the car with her brother. Neither of us would ever quite grasp what small town life was like for the other children who rarely left town. Seeing Vermont over a river was so passé.

Nothing like living behind a jagged timber fence.

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.

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Willard Pond – Antrim NH

So after spending a nice bit of time at Sarah’s Hat Boxes I took my mother out on part two of today’s adventure: Willard Pond. It wasn’t that far away and was super easy to get to. I’d heard about Willard Pond many times but hadn’t made it out there. I was told it was however beautiful – it’s a small protected lake in Antrim NH which has no houses on its shores and does not allow motors of any kind on the trails or in the water, basically a preserve.

The entrance to the lake is located at the end of a long dirt road that drags you pretty far out into the middle of the woods before it just ends at a dirt parking lot. It was here that I found a portapotty which I thought was a bit odd until I realized it appeared to be a popular swimming hole or if I am being more accurate a series of swimming holes which would explain the squealing delighted child running towards the parking lot – towel flapping in the wind until he lost it, a gaggle of women all giggling over the little scene, a series of other small children taking no notice.

We passed two trail heads before reaching the lake itself and yes, it was beautiful. Today was a gorgeous day out, not too hot, not too humid, and there was a most refreshing breeze coming off the blue-blue water. I took a couple snaps of the swimming hole before deciding to check out the trail to the right which I figured must go around the whole pond. It went up a small hill where a nice rock outcropping was before leading us through a wild blueberry patch and to small dam. There was no bridge across but the two people ahead of us just walked right over it, splashing in an inch of water. I figured I’d try going across with my shoes on. That probably wasn’t the wisest idea… As the trail went on we discovered a series of smaller more private swimming holes, many of them occupied by small groups of people. As we hiked deeper into the woods the trail got increasingly hairy. Personally, if I were alone, I would have kept trucking right through it until I couldn’t anymore. My mother on the other hand said something about not getting her somewhere where I couldn’t get her out. I sighed, she’s probably right, and so we headed back. I will likely be back to check out the two named trails between the parking lot and pond.

I took a long winding nonsensical route home and passed a bunch of other things that I am going to put on my list to check out later – everything from other quirky local businesses to hiking trails and farms. Mother wasn’t as keen on going 4 wheeling with the RAV as I was and twice yelled at me to not listen to the GPS and just stay on main roads. Her sense of adventure isn’t as deep as mine, clearly. I did however pull over to read a random historical marker in Stoddard – I guess the town used to be known for glass. Who knew!

This area was so sweet and rich in things to see and do that I know I will be back soon.

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Sarah’s Hat Boxes – Hancock NH

When life gets too chaotic sometimes it’s nice to just set some time aside to enjoy the whimsy of the completely random. Today I decided to return to the place that sort of inspired the second beginning of this blog a few years ago. It’s a quirky little place called Sarah’s Hat Boxes. I had stumbled in there out of curiosity one day wondering who in this day and age was trying to make a business out of selling something as antiquated and obscure as hat boxes? I mean I knew what hat boxes were but there aren’t too many Jackie Kennedys running around in dire need of such a thing. I was as happily surprised then as I was today even though the location has changed.

Currently Sarah’s Hat Boxes is located in Hancock NH, which and of itself is a beautiful area to explore. It sits alone in a somewhat hidden location but with a very obvious sign out front to greet visitors. I had brought my mother with me to enjoy today’s outing because I figured as a crafter herself she might enjoy this little gem. Upon entering we were surrounded by all sorts of colors and patterns of fabric boxes in all sizes. Everything from the delicate to the gigantic which I had mum stand next to just to show how grand the largest really were. A few new things adorned the walls – fabric memories of some of the more notable customers who had bought from here in the past. I got to have a long chat while I was there and got the whole history of the place. It’s a 35 year old business that started as innocently as buying a kit to make a single hat box. From there it grew and gained a reputation at craft fairs before settling in a brick and mortar store.

I know what you’re still probably thinking – but who is buying these hat boxes and why? And the answer is pretty simple. These hat boxes are gorgeous, really well made with a love and attention to detail and on top of that they weren’t all for hats. In fact the business really seems to have evolved with the times. Here were boxes used in tiers for wedding donations and cards, boxes with padded covers to stick pins and needles into for all the seamstresses out there, boxes made to fit two different sizes of wine bottles (accompanies by two glasses) and of course my favorite were the knitting boxes which had 4 compartments and holes for separate yarn. I WILL be back for one of those if I ever pick up my knitting needles again! And they were very decently priced – the knitting boxes were $38 each which I found more than reasonable considering the size and sheer quality. They were made from chipboard and fabric – really made to last.

Knitting box – four holes lead to four compartments for easy yarn use.

And some of the boxes had little histories. Several displayed images from Norman Rockwell paintings, yet another well known New England personality. Another had a map on the top dedicated to the adventures of Indiana Jones. Apparently the guy responsible for his hat came here for boxes. And the funny and strange thing about all this is just the amount of people and arts that crossed here. I would not have thought musicians, other artisans, prop designers, photographers, and other famous individuals would have ever come out to the boonies or known about this place but there it was – a pedigree of customers that spanned over seemingly every artistic field. It was fascinating and a bit inspiring to know that sometimes these little mom and pop shops that really do care about the products they’re creating can survive in the age of WalMart and Amazon.

Sewing boxes with padded covers for pins.

Of course I couldn’t really leave without taking home one of these charming little creations and so I chose the one that had caught my eye immediately upon entering the store – a little 70’s chic box with geometric designs and colors only weird people like me would probably appreciate. Even here among so many different styles it seemed a bit out of place nestled next to all the more traditionally pretty designs but it’ll have a happy home with me and should anyone need a present for a wedding, anniversary, graduation, birthday, or Christmas I’ll be sure to recommend this lovely little place.

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Bridge on Cross Road – Sharon NH

So I realize with the chaos of my current life and my tedious health I haven’t been able to go any gorgeous faraway destinations but sometimes I can find immense beauty practically in my back yard. When I had to run some errands in Peterborough I decided to take a long meandering route home and of course this meant ending up in Sharon NH for no reason whatsoever. I wanted to spend some time riverside so I parked aside a bridge I chose at random that happened to have a place to pull over and park. According to my GPS I was at “25 cross street.” I took a photo of the coordinates if that’s not good enough.

Initially I was just going to take one quick snap of the river from the bridge, maybe a little video, but when I saw a path going down to the water I grew curious and decided to see what was down there. As it turns out there was a delightful little scene. There was of course the customary graffiti under the bridge, a suspicious lack of a troll, and of course a beautiful river scene. I couldn’t tell for sure but this slow moving river seemed to have a few somewhat deep parts and I got the sense this might be a swimming hole for someone. It was certainly hot enough to enjoy such a spot but of course I did not have a swimsuit on me so I had to linger mournfully along the banks. Just kidding. I sat down on some rocks and just enjoyed the sound of the river gushing by me as it echoed under the bridge and as I did so I started to notice all sorts of tiny wonders. There were two incredibly chill frogs I took a shoe selfie with, a starter swarm of of newts just doing their little newty thing, a school of minnows so small I could barely see them, lots of water skaters, and a bubble popping at the surface every few minutes suggesting a turtle was somewhere in the weeds. I was so relaxed I stayed there just observing for probably forty-five minutes – even taking two short films, one of the water on one side and one of the little newts on the other. In that whole time only three cars passed by. This was a wonderful little detour and I hope to go on a proper road trip very soon!

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Casalis Marsh & State Forest – Peterborough NH

I know I have gotten a late start in my traveling this year, suffice to say my body has not been happy with me lately so it’s made my little adventures quite difficult but I desperately needed the tranquility of the woods so today I went for a drive and meandered around until I found a trail head at the –  Casalis State Marsh in Peterborough NH. As usual I have never heard of it and had to drive by it four times before I actually managed to get my car in the parking lot! The driveway was pretty damn hidden by foliage and there was quick traffic always behind me… but I made it!

I slung my camera over my shoulder, packed the extra lens in my new kick ass hip bag, and headed in. It seemed to be an old access road or maybe even a current one. The first part of the trail was beautiful but typical – just a lot of trees. Still I cannot tell you how good it felt to be out there again! I found a little garter snake sunbathing on the path and stopped to take some macro photos. It was 73 degrees out today, plenty warm enough, but he was in no hurry to get away from me, in fact besides a curious flick of the tongue he allowed me to get super close with my camera and take a few really lovely snaps.

And from there I came upon a small marsh with one bird house seemingly inhabited by a red winged blackbird. Despite being a marsh there weren’t too many bugs about and I was at complete peace here as I took photos of dead trees, dark waters, and the reflections of clouds on gently rippling water. No one else was on the trail today and I was thoroughly enjoying the solitude. When I finally picked up and continued on the trail I wasn’t sure where I’d end up or how far I’d go. I’d already passed one fork in the trail shortly after the marsh (I went straight and ignored a left turn.) Before long the trail was bisected by a gorgeous gurgling river. Another path ran upstream. Should I wade in and cross the river? It looked as if the water would be a little above my knees and I knew river rocks have a tendency to be insanely slick. Decisions. I usually don’t take any turns but I decided the photography would be stunning just following the river upstream so that’s what I did but not before playing in for a while!

Since I forgot to bring my marbles I instead took a couple shoe pictures on the banks before stripping them off and wading in barefooted. The water was cold and so refreshing. I splashed my legs and arms and muttered my usual prayer, “Please wash all negativity away from me and bring towards me only positivity.” Going on walks into the woods is a sacred ritual for me especially when I come to a river – it’s sort of like going to church. Maybe this is why I forsook my socks and shoes and when I left the river’s banks I continued to hike barefooted. Feeling the often muddy and mossy earth underneath my feet felt so right, so calming, and I once again was utterly connected to this place and moment in time. I was transfixed which is probably why I didn’t notice two joggers coming off another trail. They seemed alarmed to find me. Their black lab bounded in the water, an older German man made a precarious crossing over the river from stone to stone, and a younger American man tried desperately not to make eye contact with me which just wasn’t going to be possible when we were both heading the same direction! He was panting, trying to catch his breath, and I was refraining from making a joke about running away from bears. Instead I just said a cheerful, “Hello!” and went on my merry way. The German was far more entertained by me, he said hello back, smiling. I know, I must have been quite a sight, my hair now completely orange wearing psychedelic orange bellbottoms most people would not chose for hiking, a hip bag, and bare feet dragging my shoes at my side. I realize I must have looked ridiculous, possibly insane. I laughed. The two jogged ahead of me and I didn’t see them again. It was a wonderful little stroll back to the car. Today’s outing has made me feel whole once again.

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Redemption Rock – Princeton MA

I am finally back to traveling! Yesterday was my first little adventure of 2019! It’s been raining every week for almost a solid year here, even in the dead of winter when we should have been getting snow. This has not been helpful in making me want to go anywhere or do anything but yesterday was beautiful and I had volunteered to drive a friend to Rhode Island so I figured it was a great excuse to find my first destination of the year.

The GPS brought me to Rhode Island through the back roads and while I was ambling through Princeton Massachusetts I passed Redemption Rock. I said, “On my way back home I am stopping!” I mean how could I not with a name like that??

Even though it was the perfect day for hiking it was still May and in the middle of the week so there was only one other car in the tiny dirt parking lot. And just as foretold there right next to it was indeed a giant flat rock which apparently held some historical significance as it was once used to exchange a hostage in 1676 but we’ll get back to that.

I stopped at the kiosk for a map hoping there was a loop trail here but there didn’t seem to be any maps or mentions of loop trails. I shrugged, slung my camera over my shoulder, and headed into the woods in what looked like a pretty well kept trail. It led me about 250 feet into the woods where it eventually led to the road. Not wanting to cross the road and thinking this was very weird I back tracked. There were indeed trails here, a ton in fact, and there seemed to be about 100 four-way intersections just everywhere. Some looked better traveled than others and I couldn’t be sure which were for humans and which were just deer paths. Below a ledge I found a path that led over a little gully. I found a complete rat’s nest of trails here going in every direction. Half were labelled Midstate Trail with yellow triangles. The other half weren’t marked at all. I was getting uneasy because all these trails couldn’t be the Midstate Trail and even if I could find the one true trail the Midstate Trail is not a happy little day loop – it’s a 92 mile route that ends in Douglas MA. I didn’t want to be stuck on that! So I admit – I didn’t go very far. After so many little turns and then fucking up my knee by tripping over a root on a steep incline I limped back to the parking lot feeling insanely inadequate. It was a beautiful area but I really wouldn’t suggest hiking here – it’s just way too damn confusing.

Which brings me to the history. What’s so amazing about a big flat rock? Initially nothing (although it was fun to scamper to the top of!) Apparently in 1676 the wife of the local Puritan minister Mary Rowlandson along with her three children and twenty other people were kidnapped by indigenous peoples during the King Philip’s War. She was held for six weeks and marched through the woods to raid English villages and evade capture before a ransom was worked out and she was handed over atop Redemption Rock where an inscription still tells the tale. Now this story in and of itself is not particularly unusual – in the early days of New England taking Puritan captives, especially female ones, was pretty common as were hostile interactions with indigenous peoples but what marks Rowlandson’s story as more interesting is the fact that she wrote a book about her experience The Sovereignty and Goodness of God: Being a Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson which was published in 1682 and is now considered a seminal work of captivity narratives and is still available on Amazon at the link above. Not bad for a woman at the time!

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Ice Cream “Lady” – Douglas MA

Imagine you have just moved to a tiny idyllic town in rural Massachussetts and you’re settling into your new happy home when you decide it’s time to see what the town center has to offer besdes the inexplicable six pizza parlors. And you’re driving along Main Street when you see this terrifying and weirdly confusing roadside attraction just standing there outside a gas station.

That was exactly how I met “the ice cream lady,” who if I may respectfully say gives off more of a queen than a lady vibe. She’s gloriously bizarre to the point you’d almost expect to see her in a David Lynch film. And in case you want to bring some of that kitsch home the gas station/ice cream parlor sells T-shirts with her image!

If you live near by she’s a must see and the ice cream is also great. The perfect way to wind down after taking advantage of the many hiking trails in town.

Sadly, I no longer live in Douglas, but when this came up as a FaceBook memory I just had to share anyway. She’s still there I’m sure, has been for god knows how many decades. Meanwhile I am very much looking forward to this year’s travels as I am preparing myself and my Sharpie doodled car Daisy to take advantage of this deliciously snowless season. See you around fellow trekkers!

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Dummerston Apple Pie Fair – Vermont

Today I was supposed to go out to lunch with a friend and meet a different friend at the Apple Pie Fair in Dummerston Vermont, however things didn’t go as planned. My lunch friend got sick and couldn’t go and my apple pie buddy ended up double booked. None-the-less I decided I needed to get out anyway so I asked my mom if she wanted a day out and off we went!

I’d never heard of the Dummerston Apple Pie Fair until I was invited. From what I could gather it was some event held by the local church there… looked quaint and adorable so I figured why not? New England is THE best place to get Autumn apples, cider, apple cider doughnuts, and apple pie… I was going on an empty stomach for a reason!

Yesterday I spent the day helping my mother sell soap at a local craft fair and it must have drained my energy more than I thought because today I could NOT get going! So it was 2:30 before we go there… The listing online said it ended at 4:20PM, which is obviously a joke for the herbally inclined… so I thought maybe it ended at 5? I was hoping anyway. I found parking in a field down the street. There was no charge. We walked past a big house that was taking the opportunity to host a multi-family yard sale since so many pedestrians were walking by… The people there were super sweet and talkative! We moseyed on towards the church. SO MANY PIES – sold whole in front of the church or by slice down aside the church. There was also apple cider and apple cider doughnuts. I grabbed a doughnut to snack on as I walked. Apple cider doughnuts are the best doughnuts you can get, absolutely delicious, and perfect to nibble on as you walk across the street to a craft fair in another church. Sadly we got there just as everyone was packing up. Guess it ended at 3. SO MANY ADORABLE VERMONT CRAFTY THINGS! Wish I got there sooner! There was the usual knitting, crochet, quilting, home-made ties, and then just an assortment of odd things… like these adorable troll like creature sculpted by a pair who call themselves The Widow and the Spinster (nancyb63@svcable.net and bunny@svcable.net). If I’m honest I probably would have taken one home if I had anywhere to put it. My life isn’t that… organized… yet. Across the way Backwoods Vermont had its own assortment of woodland creatures – another collection of trolls, this time in magnet form, caught by eye but they also had felted creations and water color paintings. Downstairs I found someone selling wooden birds who I did not get the card for (so sorry!) and a woman selling goat’s milk soap – Four Kyds Farm – who talked to my soaping mother kindly about how farmer’s markets were really a waste for soapers to go to for the most part (and having attended too many myself I have to agree…) Craft fairs were her thing. Thanks for the tip!

Before we left I was able to buy a gallon of the SWEETEST apple cider I have ever tasted and a pie for later just as they were selling out and it was starting to rain. Perfect timing!

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