Today started with delightful little detour. It’s not like we hadn’t already talked about going to check out the synagogue but it really wasn’t on the agenda until we started walking past it and realized tours were open today. They were $14 per adult and included a self-tour of their little museum which had some lovely audio/visual displays upstairs relating to the colonial history of the local Jewish community. I found them kind of cute in a way. A frail but intense child stood at each display soaking in every drop of information she could. I smiled. I used to be much like her.
We still had a few minutes before the tour began so we wandered around Patriot Park outside which was small but very well-manicured and full of gorgeous flowers. An oddly peaceful plot in the middle of so much traffic. In one corner there was two historical plaques – one was a letter written to George Washington from the Hebrew Congregation here at the time and the response of George Washington was on the other. In it he basically assured these people they’d be free from persecution here in this brand-new country.
The group before us had quite a few people. Our group was just us two and the intense child’s family. I think we were in there for about a half an hour but WOW, the lecture we received from the tour guide was VERY information dense. She didn’t just tell us about the synagogue she told us about the Jewish community who fled actual persecution, fleeing several countries in Europe, Africa, and South America before ending here in Newport, as well as who was around them – who were their allies, how many of them were here, who was their leader, what was the town’s response to them, what was their role in the revolutionary war? And the history of the building, its architecture, and history. We learned it was more or less built for free as someone went down to NYC on trade ships and requested free broken bricks to use as ballast which were then brought back to Newport and used to build the building. I loved the ingenuity of this!
I learned not just about the history of the Jewish community here but also about the entire political climate. I didn’t have any idea that the Pilgrims and Puritans were separate groups of people! Or that Baptists are American grown and came from the Puritans. It was explained Puritans were people who were formerly attendees of the Church of England who felt their religion needed to be tweaked to suit their standards while the pilgrims were former members of the Church of England who were like no, we can’t live with a little tweaking, we need to completely separate from the church, found our own and settle our new colony so we can ramp up the level of religious fervor to our content without the state (The Church of England) telling us no. So, the first people for a separation of church and state weren’t people looking for a place where people could practice any religion, they were looking for a place that people would only practice their religion by their far stricter rules. They sound like the most insufferable kind of know it alls… but whatever. This is America.
Then came this group of refugees that happened to be Jewish, around 200 of them, who settled in Newport and apparently impressed themselves upon the established population as not a threat. Somehow. Honestly don’t know how they managed but I guess they got along OKish by befriending Christian religious leaders at the time. Then the American Revolution came and Newport was so heavily occupied that British soldiers more or less destroyed the entire town – but the synagogue still stood because someone had suggested it should be used as a hospital for said soldiers in an attempt to keep it safe. The bid worked. But the congregation didn’t last much longer. Over time they dispersed or died off. It wasn’t until the modern era where it was reclaimed by a different Jewish population who still run it today as a synagogue.
Obviously, the lecture had a lot more details about specific people and their roles as well as more precise dates and whatnot but that was the gist of it. My brain was reeling, but that’s what I like about going to different places like these. This is a story I would have never known otherwise. I would highly recommend checking this place out if you’re into local history, colonial history, or Jewish history, it checks off all these boxes and was well worth the visit!
Having failed to find any aquarium plants that tickled my fancy at Forest Wonders I decided to continue down the street to find Pet Supplies Plus which is a larger store – a chain store – though I think one that might be locally owned (but don’t quote me on that.)
Walking in it looked more or less like PetCo or Petsmart – big, open, a sort of Wal-Mart for pets, though I don’t know about the pricing! There were a few cashiers and one of them warmly greeted me as I came in. I went straight for the fish isle which was labelled critters for some reason. They had a nice assortment of tanks, especially ones on the smaller side. At the end were the bettas. Just a handful, all looking as pitiful as bettas in little plastic tubs always do. There was one really small one for five bucks. He looked half dead but then again that’s how they normally look in these places. I talked myself out of it. I don’t have the right set up for a betta. Next to the bettas was two small tubs of plants. One read cryptically, “assorted plants” and had only one dried up brown plant in it. Aquarium tumbleweed? The other tub was java moss and looked almost as bad.
Within the fish department there were rows of tanks with the usual assortment of glo fish and whatnot. One tank had a few plants in it. $7 for a little pot of dwarf baby tears actually was a super decent price. Too bad the plant itself was yellow as fuck and I didn’t feel like I knew enough about rescuing plants to bring it back to life. Not yet anyway. Seems I struck out once again.
I stayed a little longer only to see what they had for critters – a furless guinea pig, two ferrets, and some miscellaneous fuzz that were probably hamsters – before leaving. The staff flagged me down again and asked if I needed help.
“No, I’m good, but thank you!” I smiled. At least the personnel here were super friendly. I give them that!
The North Burial Ground in Providence Rhode Island is a very large cemetery that merits a lot of exploration. Previously we had tried to check out this cemetery one fine afternoon only to realize that it closes at FOUR PM. This is by far the earliest closing hours for a cemetery we have ever come across so that initial visit was literally just us jogging through it for 30 minutes. And it’s HUGE with a ton of ornate and often bizarre slates and more modern stones running up to the current day. On this particular misadventure we learned there are a bunch of self-guided tours ranging in topic that can be obtained online.
So we went back and the first tour we tried was the women’s history tour. I wasn’t real sure what we’d find on it – as it was hobbled together by the local college – but we checked it out anyway. Fortunately there was a map and it wasn’t nearly as bad as some other cemetery maps I have attempted (and failed) to read. There were twenty women of note to see which I have listed below. And if you’re here just to look at pretty cemetery photos feel free to scroll to the gallery at the very bottom of the page.
First up was Eliza Brown Gano Rogers (1800-1877) Born to a pastor into wealth and great social standing Eliza first married a prominent manufacturer Joseph Rogers before finding her calling in life. She was to devote herself to the wellbeing of marginalized women. Along with fifteen other women of good standing in Providence she was integral to the creation of The Home for Aged Women which sought to aid the unmarried, widowed, and homeless elderly women of Providence. This project was so passionate an issue that she had raised the funds, built the organization, and opened the doors only two months after having discussed the issue. Today it still exists and is called the Tockwotton on the Waterfront.
Phebe A Hathaway (1822-1886) was up next. She was an ardent defender of the temperance movement as the vice president of the Women’s Christian Temperence Union. She remained a teacher for the entirety of her life and never married nor lived long enough to see the inevitable downfall of her cause.
Hope (power) Brown (1702-1792) was known as being the mother of Providence because she bore six children (five sons) who went on to become the intensely influential Brown family. Born into high standing her sons would grow up to be shrewd businessmen in iron ore, the China Trade, and the Slave Trade. They also founded Brown university. She died at the grand old age of 90.
Avis Binney Brown (1731-1807) was a wealthy widow in her elder years which allowed her in 1800 to co-found the Providence Female Charitable Society. Its aim was to help needy women and children by giving them food, clothing, shelter, and other necessities.
Caroline Ashley (1824-1884) was born to some of the original families of Providence. She was a teacher but was more well known for her work in the Providence Ladies Anti-Slavery Society. She was a fierce abolitionist and a suffragist.
Freelove Whipple Fenner Jenckes (1751-1780) was known for being a member of the Daughter for Liberty which was a group of women who encouraged everyone to buy local products and boycott British goods to strengthen the colonies. Sadly, she did not live to see the resolution of the Revolutionary War.
Lucy Haskell (?-1812) was the wife of Charles Haskell a black revolutionary war soldier. They were married only ten months before she died at the age of 31. Her husband would go on to own a house that probably was destroyed during the Hardscrabble Riot of 1824 that followed a few months after his purchase.
Christina Bannister (?-1902)– was one of those women you couldn’t keep down. She was of mixed African American and Native American descent but despite the obstacles this would have caused her she still managed to accomplish more in a lifetime than most! She started a series of hair salons which doubled as information centers on the Underground Railroad. She fought endlessly for the rights of former black Civil War soldiers and disenfranchised working black women. As president of the Boston Colored Ladies Sanitary Commitee she helped raise funds for disabled veterans and their families. She even married what was one of the most prominent black artists of the day – Edward Bannister. She helped establish the Home for Aged Colored Woman which she would sadly become a resident of sometime later after leading a life of poverty and gaining dementia in her old age. This however only lasted eight days before she was tossed to the state asylum in Cranston for being “violently insane.”
Sarah Helen Power Witman 1803-1878 was probably the most eccentric woman on this list. She was among many things a poet, a suffragist, and beloved figure among the intellectual elites. She even caught the eye of Edgar Allen Poe who asked for her hand in marriage. This is not really that surprising when you learn of her frail Gothic charm. She was a spiritualist who claimed she could speak to the dead and wore and eclectic outfit always topped with a veil which she never lifted, not even to eat.
Martha Aramian 1934-2014 – Martha was born to Armenian immigrants who had fled Turkey after the Armenian Genocide of 1915. Here she became a prominent member of the community creating the Armenian Heritage Park and monument which you can see to one side of the cemetery (it’s HUGE, ornately carved and impossible to miss.) Dedicated to the 1.5 million who lost their lives in the conflict and those that survived them.
Zouvart Seloian Alexanian (1909-2006) was a survivor of the Armenian Genocide of 1915 as a child and ended up immigrating to the US in 1931 with her new husband. Their family owned and ran the Gaspee Restuarant in Providence for many years.
Sarah C. Durfee (1838-1915) was a somewhat wealthy heiress who served as president of the Women’s City Missionary Society. The goal of the organization was to reform the destitute and help uneducated girls and women to get respectable employment and homes.
Sally Goddard(1792-1872)– was a prominent member of the Providence Ladies Anti-Slavery Society and served to further her abolitionist message with pamphlets, lectures, and anti-slavery fairs.
Rhoda Carver Barton (1751 -1841) – was a mother of many. Nine to be exact. Starting with a pregnancy that overlapped her wedding day and running through many years of raising her brood almost by herself as her General husband fought several wars and served a good deal of time in prison – apparently only coming home briefly to sire more children. She died at the age of 91 – probably thoroughly exhausted.
Kady Southwell Brownell (1843-1915) was a woman who wouldn’t take no for an answer. When her husband enlisted to fight in the Civil War she insisted on coming too and was one of a remarkably few women recorded to have served active combat duty during the Civil War as a sharpshooter during Bullrun (Sharpsburg) and New Bern. Perhaps even more scandalously she was said to be as good with her sword as she was with the rifle. After coming home she pursued a career in acting but eventually died in destitution. She wouldn’t have even had a memorial if it weren’t for her husband fundraising from friends and acquaintances.
Annie Smith Peck (1850-1935) was what could be best described as an adventurer. She was an archeology and Latin professor who loved to spend her free time climbing South America’s deadliest peaks. She raised the money for each expedition on her own and hiked out of pure spite with the men who thought they knew better. She was after all also campaigning for the right for women to vote.
Natalie Curtis Burlin(1876-1921) was at her essence an archivist. She campaigned for the rights of the indigenous people and after winning some favor with Theodore Roosevelt she then spent a good deal of time on reservations recording the cultural practices of several tribes which she published in two books. After this she moved onto publish two more books about “negro folk songs” before moving to Europe to spread the word about the cultures she was studying.
Sarah Goddard (1700-1770) and Mary Katherine Goddard (1738-1815) Two sisters who were integral to the running of Providence’s first newspaper. Sarah ran the shop and her sister Mary became a journalist, typesetter, and printer. Eventually they’d run the business on their own as Sarah Goddard and Co. Mary served as the postmaster of Baltimore Maryland from 1775-1789.
Eliza (Cranston) Cole (1793-1891) – just lived to be very goddamn old. Outliving both her husbands and her only daughter (who lived to be 80!)
Alice (Smith) Page (1733- 1772) is another illustration of the bleak reality of early colonial life. She married at the age of 20, bore ten children, and only saw four of them survive into adulthood before dying just short of her eldest son’s 19th birthday.
This week’s adventure brought us to Umbrella Factory which FaceBook has been suggesting for a few weeks before it was again suggested by my hiking buddy that explored the Freetown State Forest with me. I admit I didn’t know what it was… but just the fact it came so highly recommended was all I needed.
My travel companion was even more confused. He thought we were going to an actual factory that makes umbrellas. Not quite. It was another one of those quirky little places nestled in what seems to be a residential neighborhood. There were No Parking signs half a mile up the road so this place must get craaaaazy busy.
To be honest I didn’t know what to expect either as I was just given the vaguest idea of what I was going to. And when I drove in and saw a sign reading “general store” I was like oh boy, here we go again. The general store was more of a gift store. It was small, in what looked to be a repurposed house, but boy did it have the best selection of random funny things I have seen in a long while, if ever. Far from the usual Live, Laugh, Love signs this place had everything from jokey bumper stickers, to ironically named soap, to classic rock inspired Tarot cards, and the perfect assortment of gag gifts for anyone with an off sense of humor. There was even a series of angry candles with scents that included Fuck Around & Find Out and Fuck Your Abortion Law. When the candles start getting pissed maybe it’s a sign old white men should stop legislating uteruses. Just a thought.
Upstairs seemed like a totally different adventure. Here there was a whole floor dedicated to simple musical instruments like thumb pianos and thunder tubes. Beyond them was a room full of various African art. LOVED the rooster by the way. And my companion? Well, he blew through the duck caller and when it quacked he jumped so that was funny all around. And I got to play with a wooden xylophone which always makes me stupidly happy (even though I have exactly no musical talent.)
After this we went outside and out back there was a little courtyard type thing with a flower garden, a booth for a silhouette artist, a little cafe, and some free-range chickens. Oh, and a paddock of emus. Which were thumping away. I love the weird drumming noise the females make. It’s something else. Really rubs in how much of a dinosaur those birds are.
“Where are their arms?”
“…They’re birds they don’t have arms… you mean wings? They have vestigial wings. They’re only like half a foot long though.”
I forgot how much I enjoyed free range chickens. Their behavior is so different from penned ones. So much more relaxed and happy.
Out here there was also a bamboo forest. Now I have fought bamboo my entire life. Once that shit starts growing it’s nearly goddamn impossible to kill it and it spreads and uuuuugggggghhhhh. However, I’d never let my patches of bamboo grow into a forest, nor even seen a bamboo forest before. It was… really weird. Almost like climbing through grass if I were an ant. There was a little maze out here in the bamboo with a rudimentary shelter of sorts made of stacks of the stuff. I must say it was a unique experience.
Also within this veritable little village of weird house shops there were a few hippie boutiques as well as a shop for indigenous art that seemed to be run by the local tribe. That was cool. I always like to see that.
Throughout all this we found a lot of weird things but no umbrellas for sale (‘least we missed them.) It was an adventure best summarized by my companion’s comment, “I wasn’t expecting emus today.” No, because no one expects emus.
I admit that conventions are not part of my world. And a horror convention seems even more out there but I like being a wild card and having someone share their special interests with me which is how I ended up here. And as an added bonus I LOVE weird people and this seemed like it might have a whole den of them.
Really my usual companion wanted to see the live radio show. He’s super into them. So on Saturday after he got off work we drove directly the convention. It would leave us plenty of time to catch the radio show. I was excited to see it too but I had to take a few days to prepare for it as I am not one for crowds. Or city life. Or people really. Got off to a bit of a bad start when we spent a TON of time in traffic which was acting insane. Usually, I can deal with this just fine but on that particular evening it put me on edge.
We parked at the mall as it was cheaper but that did mean we’d have to walk through the mall on a weekend evening and holy crap was it swarmed. I’d have trouble with this even before Covid. I carried on and did the best I could but then I had to ride an elevator, walk through one of those weird human hamster tunnels over the street, and ride several escalators – the last of which was ungodly narrow, steep, and claustrophobic. Escalators had been my nemesis since childhood and everything was setting off my sensory overload tonight.
Eventually we found a big room full of vendors with a $5 per person admittance fee. We forked it over and looked around. There was all kinds of weird betenticled art everywhere. Paintings, prints, giant plushies. It was an odd rabbit hole to fall down but a fun one. Still, this was not what we were looking for. We asked where the general admittance was and was told we’d have to walk over the Biltmore down the street which we did.
The Biltmore itself is supposed to be haunted. In fact it has such a reputation it was on my list of places to poke at even before this convention but tonight wasn’t the best night to be doing so. I walked in and there’s all sorts of absolutely garish 1920’s art nouveau architecture and design which when done well can be stunning but this place? I dunno, it just seemed so tacky to me. And disorienting. I can’t even describe how I was feeling at that point but it was almost like I was wearing those shitty drunk goggles they give children to make them not want to drink. Just everything seemed somehow off. It was a weird energy for sure – whether I can blame this on the place being haunted or just my own sensory overload I don’t know but that’s where I was at that moment.
We found the people at the take in register for the convention but they said they’d already packed up hours earlier and were no longer selling tickets or making allowances to see the radio theater. My companion was deflated. I was too. I had struggled mightily for this one and now it was a no-go. I asked if the radio theater would be there tomorrow and yes, it was a different show, but they would be there performing something. We decided to come back the next day. Let me tell you I was happy to be home after that.
Sunday came around and we headed out fairly early so we could see at least some of the short film festival at the library before the radio show. We got out on time and were able to buy tickets and even better I was feeling much less over stimulated!
We walked to the library but we were a bit early. There was a sign on the door saying it was closed on Sundays except for the convention and then in small letters that it’d be open at 12:05. it wasn’t 12:05 yet so we stood politely at the door with another man who claimed to have “just rolled down the hill” to get there. A librarian popped out and happily burbled, “Thank you for reading the sign! Everyone else has just tried to come right in!” She then highlighted the part about opening up at 12:05 before replacing it on the door. By now several more people had gathered and were now chatting about how far they travelled and then all about cats. This would be an ongoing theme on just about everyone I eavesdropped on. Who attends horror conventions you might wonder… Cat people. That’s who. I mean yeah there are those decked to the hilt in Goth gear, the heavily tattooed, those who look like they’re suffering existential dread, the odd rat enthusiast, some queer rebels, a large swath of neurodivergent peoples annnnnd amateur mycologists otherwise known as mushroom lovers. That last one caught me a bit off guard.
Finally we were allowed in and made our way to the theater – an actual tiny theater, in a library. This was new for me. And it was cute! And cozy! And Old Timey looking. And to their credit the first film they showed was suitably distressing. It was about keeping a living consciousness in a computer which is always a little unnerving but they seemed to make it over the top uncomfortable. Maybe that’s a good thing, I don’t know.
From there the films ranged from familiar old tropes, to psychological horror, to comedy horror. I was having a good time with it. And it was interesting to see just what people were doing to make these little films which had to be a shoe string budget but most you couldn’t tell. Afterwards one of the film’s creators came up to do a Q & A and my companion got into it by asking a question. I was happy to see him involved even if I myself would rather die than ask a question in a public forum. That’s just me and that’s OK.
We stuck around for block two which started with a claymation short which obviously tickled my own special interests. And there was one some time afterwards that was really low budget – just one dude sitting in front of a green screen playing with a plush bat, that actually was still amazing somehow?? And hilarious! I don’t know, I was impressed. Actually most, if not all, of the shorts kept my interest for the most part. There was a couple I was hazy on but I guess that’s just part of the experience. It was hard picking a favorite.
We decided to skip the last block of short films and instead go to grab a bite to eat before listening to a dramatic story reading before attending the radio show. So off we went. I’d read over the program schedule for fun and I was amused with a lot of the offerings. Cthulhu prayer breakfast, a lecture on missing persons, and weirdly enough a group therapy session. I guess in acknowledgment of the fact if you were here you might be the sort to benefit from a little group therapy sesh. Actually, a lot of the lectures looked super intriguing, but they were from the previous few days. They were the sort of things I could plunk myself on a seat and just spend a day listening to random lectures. Yeah, OK, maybe the crazy ticket price was worth it. There was a lot going on.
Making our way out of there I met a woman on the street who had the same cutesy baby Cthulhu T-shirt and we laughed. She asked if I’d seen the Craft-thulu T-shirt and I said I had it. It was just a weird, sweet moment – two oddballs recognizing each other’s oddness.
We ate at the mall and I picked up one of my books from the car which I’d leave on a bench in the park to be found. Part of my book bombing/book crossing campaign. The dramatic story telling was actually The Willows by Algernon Blackwood read by Robert Lloyd Perry and let me tell you – it was indeed dramatic! I was expecting a nice little relaxing story time, just sit in quiet and listen to someone read to me like I’m a child. No, not quite. It did start off nice and soft but the deeper into the story we got the more impassioned and loud our narrator and the music behind him became. This in combination with the fact they dimmed the lights set my brain off. I basically forgot where I was, immersed completely in the story, seeing it in vivid detail in place of the very real surroundings around me. I started to fidget and scratch at my skin just to keep myself grounded in reality. My companion too really enjoyed this piece. Curiously so too did a young woman wearing noise reducing headphones. She hadn’t been the only one wearing some sort of deadening device. Even I was tempted to put in ear plugs as a lot of these events were getting a bit loud for me. I wondered if these people were also somewhere on the spectrum enjoying a day out the best they could. So far the diversity of each crowd was keeping me quite happy.
And when it was all over we were in the right place to just stay for what we came for – a performance of Curse of the Yig performed by the Dark Adventure Radio Theater. I should probably note that going into this I have not been a huge fan of any kind of radio. Yes, I listened to War of the Worlds and got a good giggle in my youth but that is where my interest in this activity ended until I met my companion who has on numerous occasions shared his love of these performances by playing them in the car on our many trips. And it’s been pleasant but I still didn’t fully comprehend why seeing it live would be any better. It’s radio after all.
It started with a lot of fussing over the projector and an apology to the audience that the cast they had painfully ensured was diverse for this adaption of an H P Lovecraft story was down to a skeleton crew and just looked like a buncha white people again. It might seem like a strange thing to say but H P Lovecraft unfortunately was even a hardcore racist for his day and although there are lots of people who love his wild and whimsical style of writing there’s a lot less of us who agree with his politics. But white supremacists being who they are probably would find a good ‘hero’ in Lovecraft which is why the rest of us decent folk have to try so very hard to take the good and leave all the bad. It’s a noble effort.
Anyway, the radio drama started with just four people voicing all the parts (including the dog who barked intermittently at various scenes.) Every once in a while the projector would show something to the audience asking them to make a noise for the background. Oh, so it’s audience participation that’s different, I see. Granted all the noises were the same…. wind, the rattle of a rattlesnake, hissing… these are all the same noise. None the matter I found it adorable and quite fun. By the end I got it. It was worth coming to see live. Even better they gave the hardcore fans a ‘clue’ with which to decipher a code. My companion of course got up and asked for a code card at the end and brought it home to happily solve it. Again, it was nice to see this sort of involvement.
It was getting late when we left and my companion was concerned I’d had enough activity for one day but he did mention there was one last film showing 4 miles away at a theater. I said it’s OK, we can go check it out, and so we did. And the parking gods must have been smiling on me because there was a parking spot right near the theater that was next to an intersecting street meaning all I had to do was drive into it without properly parallel parking which I STILL have not learned how to do. No matter!
That’s how we ended up at the Dunwich Horror Picture Show. We knew this was a screening of the 1970 movie The Dunwich Horror, which is a terrible movie, but we didn’t really understand the Picture Show part of that. Rocky Horror mashup? Hard to say.
I did what I always do… looked around the audience. And that’s where I found them – a group that had been remarkably absent most of the day despite my theories they should have been everywhere – the gay men. Oh sure, I’d seen a couple adorable lesbian couples here and there but this seemed to be the hub where all the men were. Scores of them. Which made little sense to me as the Dunwich Horror is CLEARLY a film about one straight white dude’s rape fantasies (which is very in step with horror from the 70’s.) If you’re wondering why I thought such a large portion of the queer community would be at this convention it’s because I grew up in the 80’s and 90;s when every villain was still queer coded and although that was supposed to be a bad thing I also knew this backfired and many still LOVE queer coded villains. Honestly, how can you not? They’re fucking hilarious. Also so much of the crowd today seemed neurodivergent and again there’s a disproportionally large cross section of people who are both queer and neurodivergent. I was just happy my amateur psychology worked. I was comfortable here now the world made sense again. Also the theater was dark so it was kinda perfect for my nerves.
So, what was it about the Dunwich Horror that was so great? Well, it had a live band playing the soundtrack and an announcement at the beginning saying, “We know this film is terrible. Feel free to heckle it. Just make your comments funny.” And the audience complied! But that wasn’t even the best part. The best part was the wildly gesticulating people in Cthulhu costumes who’d come from the sides of the theater to do a crazed interpretive dance to distract you whenever the dream sequences got too rapey. How cool would that be just to have that on standby whenever something triggering comes up? Like no, you don’t want to look over at something potentially distressing, look over here AT THE DANCING TENTICLE MONSTER! WOOOOO!
It was all a very happy and positive experience. My companion even got to take a break to enjoy remembering some other happy memories at this theater. While doing so he tried to thank me for coming with him today to enjoy the weird things in life and I…. would have replied it was no problem if I wasn’t distracted by the John Waters Christmas poster. Now that’s a whole other brand of weird (and I’m all for it!)
All and all I am super happy we did the Dunwich Horror as it was the perfect way to end the evening and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Maybe a little too much if I’m honest. So, was it worth going into the city, a place I normally avoid? Oh yes, absolutely. And it looks like someone picked up my book that I left sooo… there’s always that.
The other day I passed the Fish Hatchery Lands and made a note to come back some morning when it wasn’t 90F [32C]. And today was that day. Granted I had a hard time re-finding it because I thought it was near the Fish Hatchery. It’s not. It’s across from 554 North River Road. Now that I have made that easy for you here’s what it was like:
It had initially caught my attention because the parking lot is HUGE and there was a bulletin board at the end of it that looked like the same thing you’d see on a hiking trail as well as a sign across the road that denoted a hiking trail although oddly there was no name other than Fish Hatchery Lands. I parked next to a huge pile of garbage that was nestled under a sign reading, “no dumping.” Clearly this place was forgotten enough to be used as a trash pile but not forgotten enough to be abandoned. Or as I like to see it – a possible hidden gem.
The billboard had a plaque stating this place was set up in 1992 and honestly it looked like everything had been left just as it was then. A trail map hung lethargically; its trails having been completely bleached out by the sun. I didn’t know what we were walking into…
Once you get past the bulletin board there’s a big field to either side and what looks like a path big enough for cars to go down so we started walking. We ended up passing two little brown outbuildings as we made our way into the woods. Here we were greeted rather strangely by a little basket full of rocks sitting on a concrete column. We were inspecting this when an angry crow flew up to a nearby tree and screamed at the top of it’s lungs. It also had a very large snake (or something snake-like) it it’s beak. Now I know what you’re thinking – this is the beginning of a horror movie and we should have left before the serial killer got to us – but I was not about to be scared off by an irate bird. No siree.
Here it looked like there were three paths – one to the right, one to the left, and one straight ahead, although all of them looked ROUGH. They weren’t marked and were badly overgrown and we weren’t even sure if they were human paths or game trails. I decided to go right and see what was out there. The path was rocky but not in the way trails around here usually are. The rocks were all smooth and seemed out of place. The drought this year must be hitting hard because not only did it dry up nearby Purgatory Falls it also left this riverbed dry. That’s right, we weren’t even on a path at all but a dry riverbed which explained the concrete columns. They must have made a makeshift bridge to get over what used to be water.
I took a few snaps and we returned to the columns and readjusted our travel plans to go straight. This path was almost not a path at all. We even had to climb over a dead tree and then maybe 250 feet in we reached a dead end at the riverbank. I imagine when the river is high this was probably a sweet fishing spot or maybe swimming hole (depending on current of course!) But as it was now it was just a nice view to reflect for a moment before going back.
From here we noticed another woman with her dog was going behind the little building. Was there a path there? Did she know something we didn’t? We decided to check it out. Sadly, this seemed to greatly annoy her because the dog went ape-shit and wanted nothing to do with the walk anymore, just wanted to see us as we trailed quietly behind. Out here there was indeed tiny loop trail, maybe a quarter of a mile if that that wound close to the river and gave one lovely scenic view before looping back. Still, that was… not much…. certainly not enough for that huge parking lot.
To add more mystery when we left we met a nice young couple pushing a baby in a pram heading towards the “trails.” Where were they going?? Nothing we just explored was pram friendly. If anything the vast overgrowth of plants was probably a great way to roll your baby in ticks like nuts on a soft serve ice cream cone. (OK OK, I should be fair, although this place was GROSSLY overgrown I did not pick up any ticks but boy did it look like there should have been a swarm of them!)
As we found our way to the parking lot we noticed there were suddenly 5 other cars here. WHERE WERE THE PEOPLE?! I have no answers. I think this place may have been on the outer edges of the Twilight Zone (I mean there was a cornfield right there…)
So I was in Wilton today to revisit the Vale Cemetery but also to check out their many little free libraries that live there. I had decided these would be great receptacles to get my name out there if I donated my own books to them. It was one of those days though – one little library was defunct and the second one I couldn’t find. And somehow as I got lost I ended up behind an old wool mill. There were signs everywhere for “artists” and I… wanted to fall down this rabbit hole to see what it was.
As it turns out there’s a little community of artists and practitioners over there. There’s artist studios, massage parlours, tarot readings. Somehow, I had found the hippies in this town. I knew it. I knew they had to be somewhere providing a delightful counter to the tightwads who made the cemetery so… rule bound and uniform. And were they ever!
I walked in and immediately noticed a few cases full of miniatures. I don’t know what it is about miniatures but the well-done ones can really suck you in. And these were definitely that quality. There was also a few racks of gorgeous hand sewn hippie dresses, a display of glittery resin planchettes and mini spirit boards, and a table full of postcards and of course a rock shop vendor that was the only one I could see that was peopled. The woman at the counter was hilarious. She told us this was her last day until September as she was taking her goods on the road before “spooky season” hit. She lamented she was trying her damdest not to have a “real job” and doing every gig she could find vending but that she had learned her lesson that “some gigs are just not for me.” She described for twenty minutes one such event which was laden with country music that “compared women to trucks.” She just had stories to tell about drunk frat boys, terribly formulaic country music, and Christian fundamentalists who probably thought she was peddling Satan’s goods. And she did have some really nice new agey rocks. Pendants, spheres, polished rocks, natural rocks… and one that looked like a bowl of marbles. OBVIOUSLY I had to come home with the orange marble. And an orange fidget rock. But I left the orange pendent and a much bigger orange rock behind for next time. Most people are attracted to shiny things. I am attracted to orange things. Every. Damn. Time.
While talking to this delightful woman she told us there was actually a lot more here. There were three floors to check out as well as more studios on this floor. She pointed at the miniatures and joked, “I HAVE to show everyone the cat poop. It’s super realistic, absolutely perfect tiny little spiral of cat poop in a perfect little cat box. She does amazing work. Intricate tiny lace with such details! But I can’t get over the cat poop.”
ANYWAY. I did move on and met another lovely artist in a studio full of paintings and little scrap book type things. She’d just moved here from the south and was starting to offer classes on how to make different things. She shared the space with someone else who had some terrific Americana tattoo flash on the wall which I was again very attracted to. It was interesting.
The only other studio open was a jewelry maker at the end who’d been there the longest but I didn’t go in. It just seemed socially odd to wander in (there was a doorbell.) The three floors above… no one was in today. So I got some great exercise and took a photo of their gorgeously utilitarian spiral staircase but that was it for that…
This was a fun distraction. I really enjoyed it but I think you have pretty offbeat to find this sort of adventure worth finding this place. It’s… unique. Perfect for the eccentric.
Since we were in Bangor anyway poking around the Central Maine Antique Exchange I thought it’d be fun to go three miles down the road to see the Paul Bunyan statue that stands proudly outside the Bangor Civic Center in Bass Park. He’s a 31-foot-tall local icon that has been greeting tourists and looky-loos since 1959. Why? Because Maine believes he was born out here. They even have his birth certificate on display in the city hall. This fact is not undisputed though as there’s been an ongoing quarrel with Akeley Minnesota who also claims to be the birthplace of Paul Bunyan.
Now I didn’t throw myself too deep down this rabbit hole. I just think the controversy is funny and it’s a bleeding shame the artist who designed him, Normand Martin, was only paid a paltry $137 for his contribution. A further $20,000 was raised to actually manufacture this beast of a statue which has been a great place to take selfies for anyone in need of a chuckle.
Also you’ll note he’s holding an ax in one hand and a peavy in the other. I learned what a peavy was after stumbling on its inventor’s grave last year at the Mount Hope Cemetery. I apologize the photos are so bad but we showed up when the sun was DIRECTLY behind him and well…. that doesn’t make for good photography. SIGH.
That all being said this is a beloved monument to a quirky American tall tale and it’s just all-around good fun for people of all ages.
This week we took our adventures to Maine where I had previously promised to share a few old favorites. One of these was another visit to Fort Knox but I neglected to mention this also would include a bonus ticket to go up to the observatory at the top of the bridge overlooking Fort Knox. It’s only a few dollars more to the purchase of a Fort Knox ticket and it never disappoints. But first I had to drive by the entrance and find myself parked at a roadside overlook of the bridge. I hadn’t taken the time to check this part of it out and it was really quite interesting! It had plaques with the history of the bridge and its predecessor as well as a few photos and a segment of bridge complete with wires which if you could walk up to from the observatory’s parking lot below. Also accessible from this point is a little access road which you can walk on to get under the bridge for an even more unique view.
Apparently, the original bridge replaced a ferry in the 1920’s and was a toll bridge. It was replaced with the current bridge in 2006 which now houses the tallest bridge observatory in the world and the only one in the US. Even better is that most of the journey upwards to see this fantastic view is by elevator. There’s a handful of stairs to get to the last level but that’s it. No gasping for air or clinging to the walls from vertigo as some of my other adventures have been! I was however surprised there was quite a line that day. It was a mix of locals and tourists, adults and children. I was happy to re-do this adventure with an actual professional camera this time and not the tiny cheap-o pre-cell phone digital camera I had at the time. There was even a boat heading up the river leaving quite a wake behind. This proved to be “a happy bonus” for the both of us. Looking directly down at the Prius parked below though… that was probably not the brightest idea but I was able to maneuver my cell phone in a way to catch the moment. Now I have photos of the Prius from every side except its underbelly!
I really needed more trees but when the weather is 89 degrees you tend to want to do things indoors… so this week I tepidly pointed towards Providence and said, “Why don’t we poke around there until we find something weird.” And we did.
The John Hayes Library is a big beautiful library set up mostly for the nearby Brown University students which is rumored to have not one but three separate books bound in human skin. Morbidly I was hoping they might have one on display so off we went!
But first I have to warn you that if you use the Brown University visitor’s parking don’t pay in cash unless you have exact change. There were NO signs up saying the machine didn’t do change so when I gave it a $20 for a $15 day pass IT ATE MY FIVE DOLLARS. That’s just super not cool you guys.
The library wasn’t too far away. We walked through the college campus to get there (trying to take the shortest route possible since it was so miserably hot that day.) When we arrived it was another ornately decorated building with an entrance befitting a castle. We walked in and noticed there were displays everywhere so we wandered around, quietly looking at them and trying not to look too much like tourists. We’re both WAY old to be students although being baby faced no one would know that.
Somehow we ended up on a different floor in a big room that seemed 100% dedicated to tin soldiers in historic battles. And I don’t just mean American ones either. There were a lot of British Empire type things going down as well as armies consisting of elephants and people from far off lands. It was… fucking surreal if I’m honest. Like how exactly did we topple down a rabbit hole and land in the middle of a bunch of toys reenacting military history? I have no idea. This was not in the pamphlets.
Other art was scattered about – paintings of very posh looking historical figures adorned the walls in the hallway and there were also a lot of illustrations and photos of the library back in the day. No human skin books though. However, before we left we did ask about the H P Lovecraft letters that were supposed to be here.
“We have a lot of his letters here. He wrote a ton to his… pen pals?” I had to laugh at this poor young librarian in search of a better word. “Anyway, the main collection is huge but we can show you the samples if you’d like.”
And so we were handed a box full of what I can only describe as mad scribblings. A few full letters, a bunch of little doodles, lots of notes…. just absolute and utter mental chaos. There was even maps and schematics to imaginary locations. As a fiction writer myself I found this refreshing. And slightly horrifying. Please don’t scrutinize my To-Do lists after I die.
ANYWAY… I did not muster the courage to ask about the damned tomes but I suspect they’re hidden somewhere safe only to be seen by appointment and I…. do not have a legitimate reason to be asking strangers about their human skin books. Sad Sigh. I can tell you that at least one of them is an anatomy book probably bound in the skin of a cadaver – to which I say – that’s a really fucking bomb way to go out. Can someone make me into a book after I die? Almost makes me want to get a tattoo that could also work as a book title… *whistles*
