Part of the fun of letting my travel companions decide the locations is the fact I end up in even more bizarre places than I would normally. The puppetry museum was definitely one of these! We’d both had an interest in such things but I probably would have avoided being a lone person wandering the halls looking for creepy dolls. Even though I kind of love creepy dolls. And he is particularly endeared to Jim Henson creations. We both appreciate the creativity of this unusual hobby.
Still, neither one of us knew a thing about the museum. As it turns out it’s run by the local college – UCONN which provides classes… for puppetry. I was speachless. I had no idea you could attend college and study puppetry. That seemed soooo…. out there. I could imagine the parents of these kids, “I threw us all into debt to pay for you to study what now?!” What good IS a degree in puppetry? What can you do with that? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS.
Chicken Hamlet puppets.
But first we found ourselves in the city of Storrs, surrounded by campuses, largely empty. Most of the colleges in these parts have been shut down since the pandemic and it’s… a little apocalyptic to look at them so lifeless and sad. There’s a parking garage nearby but I ended up just putting the car in one of the many empty street spaces that I imagine were normally full pre-pandemic. From here we made our way to museum and in typical fashion I decided to make a total scene of myself by diving into the pavement as I crossed the street. I haven’t taken a spill like that since childhood! Ripped a hole in my pants, ended up with two bloodied knees, and two bloodied palms, but I got up without skipping a beat none-the-less. It’s best to do an impression of a cat running headlong into a wall. I did that on purpose! Stop looking at me.
The museum bragged about a collection of 2,500 puppets. Normally I have avoided museums since the pandemic buuuuut who would even be here? I was expecting a tiny little place devoid of human life except perhaps one lonely guy who really loves them puppets and probably hasn’t seen other human life in quite some time… I wasn’t far off.
The museum is free but they do ask who you are at the door and donations are always welcome. Part of me wanted to donate a puppet but I’m sure that’s probably not what they mean.
As we walked in there was a large display of all sorts of culturally diverse creations. There was a Sesame Street character and another Muppet I didn’t recognize that called to my travel companion. I didn’t realize how small they were in real life! Surrounding them was a metal mask of a goat man, a bunch of marionettes, and something called a water puppet which confused me greatly. A shadow puppet also shyly dangled from above. It was a nice display!
Send in the clowns… puppets.
In the next room we found a disturbing display that seemed to be two probably haunted ventriloquist dummies, a plastic baby doll “Cherub” with cheap butterfly wings glued to it, and two partially decapitated dolls, one with no arms, and the other with a sword through it’s head. The plaques didn’t offer much in what was going on other than these were somehow supposed to be puppets used to tell the story of Hamlet. I’ve seen a production of Hamlet before… I remember none of these. In fact the whole room was dedicated to Shakespearean puppets which was hard not to laugh at but I would totally go see Hamlet as portrayed by two anthropomorphic chicken puppets. Who wouldn’t?!
The final room was filled with soulless black dead eyes staring at me from beyond vibrant clown make up. It was the stuff of nightmares. So much so that it threw me off and I didn’t take a photo of the eyes. Those piecing black iris-free eyes…
We were a bit sad this place didn’t have more. But the neighboring bookstore did. They had a bunch of garish giant papier-mâché heads all over the place, spill over from the puppetry museum. The cashier there told us the puppetry museum is in fat larger, that beyond the displays is a performance space used for puppet shows. We made a note to come back to see one after covid blows over…
And so ended our adventures to the day as I left with still-bloodied hands to go wash up with hand sanitizer in the car. Woot woot!
Sometimes I get tired of finding new locations or I just lack inspiration. It’s at these times I like to hand the torch over to my travel companions and tell them to pick a place. I’m always happy to drive and the surprise of these adventures ticks off my ever expanding need for novelty.
On this day the choice was to go to Gay City State Park – a location in Connecticut that came up as a FaceBook suggestion to my travel companion. Let’s go!
Gay City State Park was easy enough to get to but they were taking trees down at the entrance when we drove up so we had to wait for them to move it out of the way. From there there was a really large parking lot for a park. This place was sort of huge. We followed several other people who were already out walking their dogs. They all made their way to a shut off road that goes straight into the center of the park. It had a toll booth and all. To the side there was a campground and signs were up for swimming holes, By Scouts, and various other activities. I am glad I didn’t come to this place during the summer season. It looks like it’d be flooded with children escaping the city. In this sense it was a lot like Rangeley, just bigger. What were we here to see again?
“The remnants of a ghost town.”
OK then! We took what looked like the main trail and began to hike into the woods. It was a pretty easy trail, a few mild inclines here and there but nothing too bad. Since it was gray and threatening to rain on this day the bare trees took on a bit of a foreboding appearance. When we came to a fork in the trail we just started walking down random branches of it. I have no idea how my travel companion can find his way back after doing this – I never could. One wrong turn and I’m screwed. We did eventually come across the foundation of an old house aside the trail. Ferns grew out of the walls and gave it a bit of a Secret Garden kind of feeling. Still, we’re a both a bit jaded at this point having seen quite a few ruins, we had to ask was this it? We continued to hike. Luckily it wasn’t raining yet and the temperature was perfect for a brisk walk through the leaf litter.
Eventually we made our way back to the main path which was supposed to have a ruined mill on it and sure enough it wasn’t long before we found it. I’ve seen lots of ruined and abandoned mills but this one was old! Only part of the foundation remained (after the structure burned down on three separate occasions) and it was not messing around. I’m pretty sure it’ll still be there in another 100 years! It made me wonder what it looked like when it was fresh and new and how many people worked here. I took some time wandering around taking somewhat artsy photos. It was worth the trip!
There’s rumors of a few weird terribly New England-y murders happening here back in the day when the town was thriving. Some people pay for permits to camp so they can ghost hunt at night. We did not… for we had other places to go!
We wandered back to the car to explore a second destination. There was supposed to be an abandoned missile silo from the 1950’s hidden just eight miles away. However the GPS just brought up to a random neighborhood and there was no indication there was a trail, an appropriate place to park, or anything else you might think would go with such a destination. We didn’t even bother getting out of the car. Instead we headed to our third and final destination of the day – the Ballard Institute and Museum of Puppetry.
In Part Two of last week’s Maine adventure I learned about my family history. I was told my great grandmother had spent a great deal of time (more than three years) in a sanitorium where she was being quarantined as a tuberculosis patient. It was called the Central Maine Sanitorium. It was a trying time for the family that clearly had a negative impact but beyond that I knew very little about this particular event… until by happenstance I was talking to a random person on FaceBook who mentioned an abandoned sanitorium in Fairfield Maine. Could it be the very same?
My great grandmother standing in the Central Maine Sanitorium
I did some digging. There was an epidemic of tuberculosis in Maine that resulted in a great deal of people being thrown out into the streets because their family did not want to catch this disease. This resulted in several tent cities being formed, one of which was in Fairfield Maine. At some point the problem became too big for a mere tent city and the state stepped in and built two large facilities for tuberculosis patients. The one built in Hebron was called the Western Maine Sanitorium and this was where patients who were expected to recover went. The other one built over the tent city in Fairfield was called the Central Maine Sanitorium and patients that were sent here were of only the most severe cases, basically expected to die. I guess that explains why she was there for over three years and could not receive visitors in all that time.
This photo was found in my family albums we *think* it’s of the sanitorium. If it’s not feel free to comment and tell me what it really is.
Basically what had started as a vague curiosity during a random conversation with a stranger turned into something a little more meaningful. I had to go but urban exploration isn’t really what I specialize in… though I do love it, it can be dangerous, and so I felt better dragging someone along. And so this became the one most important destination that week as I dragged an equally curious hostage behind me.
Initially I had a hard time finding this place as I once again got the wrong address and wasn’t even on the right road but once that was amended it was an easy drive down a sleepy street. It didn’t look like anyone cared about this place anymore although someone had put a For Sale sign up. I do not know if it was for this property or the neighboring acres though…
In any event a small parking lot was still there and even though two buildings that were still on the site were boarded up someone had unceremoniously de-boarded them. The structure was in perfectly fine condition for poking. There wasn’t any rotting floorboards or anything like that.
We initially started in the first floor but it was all boarded up and so dark we couldn’t see a thing. Our cell phone flashlights barely penetrated the darkness. It was… unusually dark. However light came in through all the windows upstairs and the place seemed alive. Graffiti decorated almost all the walls. A few pieces of furniture and equipment remained along with a sign requesting to keep the door closed. An elevator languished in in a pit but otherwise the structure seemed pretty intact.
There’d been whispers this place was haunted but the only odd feeling I got was when I entered what I think was the nurses’ area. Here I felt dutiful, fulfilled, like whoever was still here was still doing good work for the people. It was interesting. I wouldn’t expect to get that feeling in what essentially was a hospice. Still, it was pleasant. I suspect most of the spirits here had long enough to come to terms with their own deaths before finding their way elsewhere. I must admit though that I was a little heartsick to find a room painted in pastels… was it a nursery? A nursey in a ward devoted to consumption? Surely, babies can not generally recover from such a thing.
I took a bunch of photos with my cell phone having forgotten my camera. It’d already been a long day before we arrived. In any event this place is a photographer’s dream – so many weird angles, lighting, and decay. Just watching the paint fleck off the wall was amazing. I could see whole photo shoots done here – maybe even little horror movies.
Certainly the local teens knew about this place. I was entertained by their graffiti which distressed my travel companion. He lamented it was frustrated with too many tags dissing each other by name and using pretty profane language. C bombs and N bombs danced with lesser slurs of slut, bitch, and whore, you know, the usual sprinkling of misogyny. I couldn’t help but laugh. That’s small town life for ya… when you live somewhere that everyone knows you the only thing of value you tend to have at that age is your reputation. That’s what makes it such a delicious target for others with a chip on their shoulder. That explains the need for such fiercely negative language. It has to be the worst, although these little delinquents miss the fact that two white teenagers slinging the N bomb at each other isn’t edgy, it’s utterly meaningless. As it should be!
The graffiti wasn’t all bad though. Some had some artistic merit or humor to it. There was a very Beetlejuice-like “exit” painted on a brick wall in one of the closets. A cute plague doctor did his rounds nearby. Another room amped up the horror by scrawling “grandma’s house” on the peeling wallpaper while a little ways away another piece of art cheerfully stated, “I am a cat!”
Outside I walked around the building a little bit and came to a second much smaller building that I thought at first was a garage for ambulances or something like that. However in walking in I came across a somewhat unnerving sight – a single chair sat overlooking the door, behind it was a large furnace and what appeared to be a cast iron crematorium with space for four cadavers. You’d think I would be a little creeped out by this, especially since by this time I found myself alone, but it was such a beautiful day and I didn’t feel anything lingering HOWEVER my camera seemed to disagree. This one photo I took came out with a mysterious fog over it for no reason whatsoever.
Onto the galleries! Because I took SO MANY PICTURES!
Up first are my Black and Whites…
Abandoned Sanitoriums always look better in black and white.
When I decided to go to Maine I had a few ideas in mind of what I’d be doing but one of the things that has been on my bucket list for the past few years was going to Aroostook county to finding a set of abandoned locomotives that were there at the end of a mile long hiking trail. The reason I hadn’t already made the trek was because I needed someone to go with me in case things got hairy. You see the trains were so far north that they were only accessible by a series of logging roads.
When I plugged in the coordinates online it said the journey should take me four hours to get to my chosen destination from where I was staying. The original plan was to take a week off and go camping up in those parts but life got away from both of us and that just didn’t happen. So instead it’d be a long haul… in one day.
Imagine how happy I was that morning when after getting up early the GPS claimed the nearest town to the ruins was only two and a half hours away. I was confused but happy. The trains were however beyond civilization. As it turns out far beyond civilization. I knew they were up a bunch of logging roads and “an adventure” but I figured I could handle it.
For those of you who do not know logging roads are not what you’d expect a road to be. They’re exceptionally primitive, only created for the use of giant nearly indestructible logging trucks which carry full size logs out of the wilderness to be processed. As such they are not paved and aren’t even particularly flat. In fact large sharp rocks jut up at random everywhere and if you’re lucky it’s covered in shale for the tires to grip. Shale is gravel. Sharp and unrelenting little rocks your car is not bound to appreciate.
The other thing about logging roads is that because they are generally not inhabited by people they have no need to have names or street signs. In fact they are usually not marked at all so before going on one you really need to know where you’re going and not get lost. This is made all the more difficult since GPS units are useless on these roads unless your aim is to die out there. You see with no street names there’s also no addresses and since logging roads are subject to change (going out of disuse when said area is logged) coordinates aren’t even particularly helpful.
I decided to use these directions to get there. If you click it you’ll notice they’re preceded by a cheerful list of precautionary to-do’s. Things like bring extra water and food, make sure you have a spare tire on hand, and bring spare clothes and blankets in case, god forbid, you get stuck out there.
On this particular day I had the Prius. Priuses are just about the worse thing you can drag down a logging road. In previous occasions I have gotten the Prius stuck in mud, stuck in fields (which is the country’s version of a parking lot) and have been unable to brake going down a hill in winter. It also only stands about three inches off the ground so I have literally driven into hills before. Basically they’re city cars, fond of paved flat roads and smooth driving, and every time I take the wheel the poor thing starts to shake in pure terror. This was not the first time I have taken it down a logging road and likely won’t be the last – this is however not AT ALL suggested. Please, should you be inclined to follow in my footsteps bring a proper truck with four wheel drive. I will not be responsible for your death.
“Are you SURE this is what you want to do on this visit?”
“More than anything.”
“Because we might die.”
“I’m sure we won’t die.”
“I’m not. See this cute little village of Kokadjo? With it’s touristy little main street?”
“Yup.”
“This is the last we’ll see of civilization before we get back.”
“OK.”
I didn’t feel he got the gravity of the situation. So I played a little joke. As I turned onto the first logging road I said, “You’re my navigator now. Got the directions?”
“Shit, no. I’ve got no reception.”
“Yeah, you also won’t be seeing that again until we get back. So if we get a flat we won’t be able to call for help.” And even if we could what would we say? Not like we could give them a place name or address to find us at…
I then pulled up the directions on my phone which I had copy and pasted into my notes the night before. I really did need a navigator because my sense of direction is shit, and my memory for where I have been is even worse, but I had noticed while hiking in previous day trips that my travel companion was actually pretty damn good at this… I just prayed getting up so early would save us from being on the logging roads after dark when things look different and can get confusing.
This trip was supposed to be a sweet little get away. We both desperately needed a break from our lives and we though stranding ourselves in bigfoot country might be kind of fun. I am not entirely certain that he was completely aware or consenting of the fact that what was essentially a date might end in imminent death. Then again what is the point of a date that doesn’t? I mean there’s a lot to be said of a good trauma bonding.
“See that pile of poop in the road?”
“Yeah…”
“That’s moose poop. Moose are like three times bigger than the Prius and if I hit one we’re fucked.”
“Oh shit…”
Aside from the threat of moose the first bit of logging road was pretty decent. It had a name, was pretty flat, and even had speed limit signs which gave a ludicrous suggestion of 45 miles an hour. On its best bits, which there weren’t many, I could only go at most twenty five miles and hour in the Prius but more often I was just happy to be able to reach fifteen! This isn’t to say the locals felt the same. They had huge trucks. You know the sort of trucks you see on the highway with double tires and wide asses and you just think, “My God what is that douche over compensating for?” Well out here in the wilderness they actually have a legitimate use and the people driving them haul ass down these roads. We passed a number of them going the opposite direction and they all gave the Prius a look of absolute confusion perhaps mixed with tinges of horror and concern. Tourists.
Everything was going OK until I found myself tottling down a large hill. I was only going seven miles an hour but I still managed to hit a giant rock which looked like road from where I was perched. By the time I hit it I slowed down to a near stop but it was still under the car and the only thing I could do was push forward. The sound it made scratching the Prius’ metal belly made my stomach churn.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” As usual I was able to sound confident and self assured in such a situation.
It got worse. I couldn’t pull over to check for damage because ahead of me there was about 250 feet or more of jagged rocks which I had to dodge. The only thing is I couldn’t dodge them all, there were just too many! So instead I crawled down this hill going four miles an hour and yelling profanities the whole way. The experience took years off my life.
“Are you SURE you want to continue?” I asked as I got to the bottom. Part of me wanted to turn around and go back knowing the road ahead might be just as treacherous but also knowing turning around meant dodging the same ungodly car killing obstacle course that I just came off of. From here on out the side of the road would be littered with the comforting sight of broken strips of rubber tires and random metal car parts.
He was as scared as I was. Yes. But determined. “Well, I think are OK and we already got this far…”
Not too far away we were both brought to silence by a memorial by the side of the road. A giant cross with flowers. It wouldn’t be the only one and likely memorialized the death of someone in a car crash. Such sights are not uncommon in the country but their frequency on these roads was alarming.
By now traffic went from a car every 15 or 20 minutes to none at all. Until a logging truck came by. This proved a bit much for my unwitting passenger.
Logging roads are for logging trucks who barrel down them taking no heed of who may be driving along in the other direction. Also being so primitive there’s little room to pull over, sometimes no room at all. So when I saw the truck coming I immediately looked around for a spot to do just this and sped up to hit it before the huge monster came down on all of us. I darted to the side in time for it to come through but although I knew I was enough off the road for it to pass my passenger probably didn’t. He was white knuckled and screaming, “Oh my God!”
And I admit seeing that huge truck approaching at great speed while I sat motionless and vulnerable in a tiny tin can was in fact terrifying. The trucker however was super nice. He waved on the way by and left a staggering cloud of dust which caused a complete whiteout condition to me. I couldn’t see my own hood and had to wait for it to settle before getting back on the road. There’d be more logging trucks, each delivering a near death experience which kept my adrenaline pumping.
What proved almost too much for my navigator to bear was when we approached a one-lane stretch of road that seemed to be piled up debris with steep embankments to each side, not allowing for anyone to pull over. Think about what a road must look like going into the mountains of a third world country – the sort of thing far more appropriate for mules than cars. Luckily what remained of the road was decent enough to drive over it as a good clip – twenty five miles an hour – which I did to decrease the chances of getting myself into a sticky situation. Halfway through there was a turnoff which made me feel a little better but still… I’m not sure he breathed at all in the minute or two it took to get to the other side. This was much worse than the multiple primitive one-lane bridges we had to cross. At least you could see who was on the other side of those, not so in this winding part of the road!
By now we were well into the directions but we’d already been on these logging roads for an hour and there seemed to be a long ways to go. The markers this author chose to tell us about were randomly set apart. Some were really close to each other, others were miles in between. We passed a bunch of other logging roads and every T, Y, or intersection brought the uncomfortable possibility of getting it wrong.
There were just miles and miles and miles of trees. Every twenty miles or so we’d see an off the grid hunting camp, a logging camp, or a sign directing people to some sort of extreme tourist camping village. Those were the most amusing because there were signs that would read things like, “moose tours!” and “bear hunts” as if there were a ton of people passing by to read them and think, “Yeah, you know what? I haven’t been on a good bear hunt in a while…”
At one point I came across a clearing with a bunch of RVs and I was confounded. How did those clunkers get all the way out here?! AND WHY?! The best their owners could do was get out of them and walk into the woods… I mean… I guess if you’re looking for some sort of epic send off for yourself I can’t think of a better way to disappear but WOW.
By now the road was getting better and I was going at a steady clip and feeling confident. That’s when a rock appeared in the middle of the road that I didn’t see until I ran over it with another gut wrenching bang. I was able to steer almost clear of it in that split second but almost wasn’t good enough.
“Navigator! Why didn’t you say something?!”
“I didn’t see it either!!”
“Dude! You have one job! Warn me of the fucking icebergs!!”
“I know! But!” now forlornly muttering, “I didn’t see it…”
We pulled over and checked for damage. I checked to see if the car was leaking any fluids. It wasn’t. It was running just fine. I can’t explain why. We were both thoroughly shook. We got back in and continued on, this time with an even more full attention given to the road.
It seemed like days out there. Sometimes we’d come across sharp turn or speed limit sign but they were always riddled with bullet holes. There was little other signs that people were around in these parts. There were no longer any traffic what-so-ever except one confused old couple coming the opposite direction who pulled over to speak to us. They were lost. Their GPS had brought them to Caribou and all they wanted was to go to Greenville. We were of little help to them although I did mention we came from Greenville (which is south of Kokodjo) so at least there was that…
Not too far up the road we came to a breath taking sight. It was a beach filled with more driftwood than I have ever seen in my life, all bleached an eerie white by the sun. There was a tiny parking lot that read, “No PM parkin” complete with accent. We stopped and took a moment to soak it all in. I took photos. This place was amazing. I was at peace here which was a nice relief. But we had to keep making time. We’d already been on the logging roads for more than an hour. We had to make it to the hike and back out of here before dark and I didn’t know how far we had left.
After this we drove up to a T in the road where there were a ton of signs, as if they were all congregating here and multiplying like bunnies. It was an insane sight. We took photos and a local drove by asking if we were OK. Yup, just enjoying the scenery.
Things got a little more morbid from here as I finally drove up to the check in station. I kid you not, civilization is so sparse in these parts that in an attempt to make it a little safer there’s a little station that takes your details and money to keep track of you in case you don’t come out. I was more than happy to fork over my $16 (per out of stater) and tell her my legal name, license plate number, where I was going, and how long I’d be. The woman there was super friendly. She gave me a sheet of paper with the directions on how to get to the trains and gave a dire warning not to deviate from them in any way or hit any moose.
“Did you see the ambulance?” She asked cheerfully. “We just sent one out.”
“Yes! I did!” I was in disbelief when I had to pull over for an ambulance to rush past out here. I mean… where did it come from!? And where was it going?! Turns out it was going to one of the tourist camps and coming back here to this little station which was also a helipad. That made sense as we had to have been at least 2 hours from a hospital of any kind. I hope they had good insurance!
I left that place feeling good that I got this far knowing I would have never done so alone. And already it’d been such an adventure! I almost was OK not even seeing the trains because damn did I already have a story to tell! But we continued on.
We drove six miles up the road to a Y where we found a rugged parking lot of sorts which was set up for boaters complete with an outhouse. There was no electric poles or plumbing this far north. An outhouse was just going to have to do. We took a little break here before continuing on, having no idea we were still more than an hour from our destination.
The woman at the check in told me she’d recently sent four other people to the trains so I should be meeting others out there. I was intrigued. But I was so slow in driving the Prius that by the time we got to what the new instructions called a “perfectly drivable road” (nothing suspicious about that) there was no one in the parking lot. I am pretty sure we passed two of them only minutes before. What happened to the other party is anyone’s guess.
It was desolate and I was ready to leap out of the car. The last road we drove was so ill travelled there was grass growing in the middle of it and it tickled the bottom of the Prius making distressing pinging noises that made it sound like its undercarriage was nothing but shrapnel to be used in this impromptu percussion band. It was making me edgy. So was my plummeting blood sugar. I had not intended this journey to take this long. Thankfully I’d packed a lunch. I ate it like a starved bear and then checked out their outhouse which was not furnished with toilet paper. Good thing I had my own roll – stored in the car for moments exactly like these.
After this little break I was feeling a little better although my teeth were still rattling from the bumps on the road. It was hot but it wasn’t too humid so I was very happy about that and more than ready to take the mile trek down this easy trail which was the most well marked I have ever seen. There was literally a corridor of trees all marked with blue strips. The only way you could get lost on this trail was if you purposely wandered off.
The trail itself wasn’t particularly noteworthy. It was much the same as many of the other trails I have been on – with lots of ferns and mixed trees. Although I must say there was more moose poop than I am used to and I was hoping some of the dog tracks in the mud were indeed dog tracks and not wolves or Eastern Coyotes which are a dangerous combination of wolf, coyote, and domestic dog. Neither of us were packing.
And then we came across something weird. I think it was a boiler? The woman in the check in told me that when I got to the boiler I was to stay to the right. So even though the path diverged here we took the right after poking at said boiler which was rusted, intriguing, and totally worth poking.
It wasn’t far from there when the forest opened up and there in a clearing on the tracks were two full locomotives just waiting for us like a goddamn fairy tale. We both literally stopped in our tracks to stare at them slack-jawed and take a photo from this whimsical angle. This was so worth it.
The trains emerge from an enchanted forest.
As we approached the enormity of these antiquated machines became apparent. They were magnificent rusted beasts just quietly decaying in the woods. A small plaque told their story. And beyond them there was a whole graveyard of rusted train parts covered in moss and being slowly taken over by nature. It was… magical.
We both felt it and took a moment to play. He had brought a steam punky costume and I goaded him onto the actual train and into the cab for a slightly dramatic photo shoot. I was of little help as people photography is not my strong suit but I was happy to oblige and he seemed happy with the results. In return he videoed me reading a chapter from my new book Milking the Cat to promote it but between the heat and exhaustion of getting there I was barely able to speak and it came out poorly. Another time maybe.
In the woods around the two locomotives lay a variable train part graveyard where all sorts of bits and pieces lay quietly rusting under blankets of moss. Beyond that was a beautiful little beach of sorts with a beaver lodge, a family of ducks angrily quacking at me, and a gorgeous view. I took a few photos just to remember it.
We loitered for as long as we could before coming back to the car. I ate some grapes and a cereal bar and we were off. It’d be another four or five hours driving before we’d be home. And it was just as much of a challenge because now we had to go perfectly backwards tracing our steps. The GPS wanted to kill us, you see. I told it to bring me home and it said, “Why not turn onto every logging road we come across?” Every time I denied her this satisfaction she tacked on another twenty minutes to the arrival time until we were hours from home. When we were parked outside of the train trail the GPS showed us floating in air, not even on a proper road. It was utterly confused. Now it recognized the road it thought it recognized many more – some of which were nothing but trees and clearly not real. Hilariously one of these roads it named “useless road” as in, “Take a left onto useless road.” That just about sums up the legitimacy of this little machine at this point in time. Cryptically it told us we were currently travelling Road. Road Road. Think about that for a minute.
Still, we needed to get back to the check out station so no one would be out searching for us! I had my little receipt to pass back in to show I was still alive and whatnot.
On the way we saw all sorts of wildlife – a whole family of grouse crossing the road, a flock of ravens, an ominous circling of vultures, a pileated woodpecker who we saw both going in and going out, a baby fox, and a ton of snow hares. I’d never seen wild ravens or snow hares before so this delighted me. It’s not often I get to check something off my wildlife list! And I am sure my city mouse hadn’t seen these things before either. Curiously we did not see any deer, moose, caribou, UFO’s or bigfoot.
By now I had grown quite comfortable on the road and was going at quite a clip down the good parts of it having remembered where all the damn rocks were. This was important as the road had a tendency to go fine, fine, fine, REALLY NOT FINE, without warning. But even I couldn’t have guessed what would come next.
Just as I was assured all was well the Prius hit some gravel it didn’t agree with and it was just like being on black ice. It flung out of control towards the side of the road and I let my own instinct take over. I did not touch the brake, which would have made the situation worse, but rather let the car swing as it pleased, turning the wheel abruptly when it came to the edge of the road forcing it into a fishtailing maneuver. The first turn I had little if any control, I let the car do the same thing as I forced it into a second fish tail. By now I was regaining control but there was so little time to express this that my white-knuckled passenger had no idea and by now was screaming, “WOAH! WOAH! WOAH!!”
The Prius fishtailed twice more, although with far less vigor and by then I was mostly in control. I was proud how I pulled this off but my navigator was unappreciative having probably just watched his whole life flash before his eyes.
“Maybe we can drive slower?!”
“Oh fine. I just want to be home.” I said sulkily after it was all over.
By the time I pulled up to the check in station it was getting late and I knew I had to keep my time. I got the same woman there and cheerfully told her it was beautiful and totally worth the drive as I passed in my proof of continued existence. We’d be on our own from here on out.
My navigator now was a bit stressed out – partially from having defied death so many times today and partially because I was wholly relying on him to stay on the same exact route as the one we came. I nearly messed up once but he caught me, thank god.
And then we ended up back at the scary beginning of this adventure. Back up the one lane road with nowhere to pass and then back to the original horrific obstacle course which I could now see from this side for all it was. There, stretching up a huge hill was tons of jagged rocks and the weaving trail marks of other vehicles trying to avoid them all. They were like the rut marks you find in old pioneer trails where the wagon trains used to groan by.
“What the fuck. We’re taking a picture of this before I attempt it again.” And so we did. Here it is in all it’s glory.
I drove up to it with massive trepidation. At my fastest I was able to go over it at four miles an hour. Otherwise I was just inching because there were so many rocks I literally could not navigate a safe path around all of them. Some I just had to go over and let me tell you there’s nothing as deadly to a Prius as a combination rock and pothole. This felt like an Olympic feat. Sweat was pouring down my face just trying to get it done but I managed finally seeing the original rock I hit on the way through the first time – no wonder I had missed the frelling thing, although it was huge it was flat and looking down at it from atop the hill it did not look like what it did now looking up at it!! When I finally got to the top I felt insanely accomplished. From here on out I was sure we’d make it to civilization just fine. Up until then I just wasn’t sure of that.
When the logging roads ended and we found ourselves back in Greenville I nearly kissed the ground. We got out to stretch our legs and buy a celebratory ice cream. Two and a half hours later we were back “home” for the night. Looking in the mirror I noticed I had the biggest blackest bags under my eyes that I had ever seen and likely a few gray hairs. This adventure probably took a few years off my life buuuuut I was happy and would totally do it again if I had to and better still this sentiment was reflected in my hostage, er, I mean travel buddy. In fact I was so intrigued by the little camping villages that next year I want to take a tent up there and spend a week giving the whole area a proper look! Maybe not in the Prius though…
***NOTE TO READERS: usually this is where I make separate themed galleries for you to click on. However I have been fighting with writing and getting this blog up for three days now and I am tired. So here are photos from two cell phones and a proper camera, in no particular order, for the whole trip. ENJOY!
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!
I admit most of the time I am a lone hiker wandering the woods in search of spiritual inspiration but on this day I decided to be a little more amicable. I went out, clad in my mask, with a family – two small children in tow. We needed to go somewhere they would not die of exhaustion and need to be carried home so Simmons Pond it was, apparently an old favorite haunt. I was all the happier to tag along.
I admit this was out of my comfort zone because during the corona epidemic it was more peopled than I am used to… there was a large parking lot and it had quite a few cars in it. Hikers passed by at will and some were masked although others were not. But they say Rhode Island is one of only two states to have a decreasing risk of Corona so I tried to relax my newly acquired germaphobia just enough to at least enjoy myself out here in the open air.
It’s been interesting. I wasn’t even 200 feet up the trail before I saw something dark black in color move on the ground at the side of the path. I thought it might be a salamander or something so I looked a little harder. I didn’t see anything. So I shuffled my feet until I saw it again. It wasn’t a salamander. It was a baby ringneck snake. I had a brief discussion with myself, “Should I pick this little cutey up? The kids might find it interesting. This is your first outing with them – for the love of god don’t go all Crocodile Hunter on them. Be NoRmAl. Nooooormaaaaalllll”
Obviously I had no choice but to pick it up and then yell, “HEY! LOOK WHAT I FOUND!” Which caused some unrelated hikers to walk up from behind to check the situation out.
“Oh my God, that thing is TINY. HOW DID YOU SEE THAT?!”
The kids toddled up. I let them pet it before releasing it back into the bushes – forgetting to take a photo. We walked a ways down the path which was quaint and well maintained with all sorts of informative plaques about the local plant life and the various ruined foundations that were smattered about this once-farm. I was told this was the job of the local Boy Scouts to maintain. Wow. Where I am from the Boy Scouts whittle sticks… if they’re lucky. And that’s way cooler than what the Girl Scouts are up to — which is why I always wanted to be a Boy Scout. AH! Childhood memories of disappointment and confusion!
When we got to the pond we all sat down on its banks and enjoyed a wee picnic. The kids seemed to be lethally allergic to food in general so this was a bit of a circus but I was enjoying it. It was the perfect day for this sort of thing. After lunch had concluded mama wanted to stay behind with the kids and read a book so I wandered off with my remaining hiking companion to a little loop trail nearby and explored that for the next 20 or 30 minutes. The farther I went the less people there were and the calmer I became. I enjoyed poking around another large cellar hole that was overgrown with ferns. It provided a nice opportunity for photos even though I’d forgotten my actual camera and only had my cell phone.
It was a nice short walk – perfectly level – impossible to get lost on. When we got back the kids wanted to show me “a really huge scary bug” so I walked with them to a bench next to the water leaving the other adults behind. The bug had gone but the kids were thrilled to have me around. The little one got really close to the water’s edge and I pulled him back the first time but realizing it was only two inches of water and I was standing right there in case he toppled in I just let it go. I save my policing for matches and knives. This is likely why I don’t have children. On the way back the little squirts fought over who got to hold my hand.
“Is this…. usual?” I had to ask. “Your kids wanting to hold a stranger’s hand?”
“Well I mean I haven’t really had any female friends around them in a long time sooo….”
All and all this was a very pleasant place full of history and charm and I would highly suggest it to anyone who needs an easy amble. Or a place to walk the kiddoes. Or perhaps just someone who wants both a nature walk and to see a tiny old family cemetery which sits at it’s entrance.
I can’t even begin to tell you how thrilled I was to get a chance to see the inside of the S K Pierce mansion! I have driven by it hundreds, maybe even thousands of times, and I always wondered what was in it. Of course before 1999 it was basically a giant derelict building only a few breaths away from being condemned. The roof was a sieve, the top floor was completely trashed from water damage, and pigeons had taken residence up there for years. And yet even in that state I still looked at in wonder – having both a weakness for Victorian houses and the broken. I didn’t know then it was haunted but the other townsfolk did… the place had a reputation!
Since then it has gone through three more sets of owners, throwing two into financial ruin trying to repair it. The current owners bought this 21 room fixer upper for a shockingly low $315,000 sight unseen because they wanted a haunted house. WELL. Careful what you wish for, this house seems to chew people up and spit them out… almost everyone whose ever owned it fell into complete financial ruin, at least two people died there, and there’s a rumor that a visiting artist went stark raving mad here – or at least that’s what his painting suggest as they get increasing disturbing over the years. In addition to this the house itself has a turbulent history that includes being used as a hotel and a boarding house. In fact it was when it was being used as a boarding house that another local craftsman and artist fell asleep with a lit cigarette and burned to death in one of the rooms.
Since the millennium the house was so haunted that one of the three sets of owners basically fled but not before making this place infamous! It’s been on tons of TV shows – Ghost Hunters, Ghost Adventures, Scariest Places in America, Chronicle, you name it! So obviously knowing it was haunted my curiosity was even more peaked. So is it? Well, here was my experience…
Upon walking up to the place nothing seemed amiss. And as we were heralded into the house I was not met with any sense of foreboding. If anything this place seemed to have a happy upbeat vibe in the sitting room while we waited for everyone to arrive. I had gone with my mother and her friend who had invited us to this tour. She remembered walking to school every day and passing this house wondering who the man in the window was. Now she was wondering whether or not there really was a man in the window or if perhaps he was an apparition. That was the answer she was seeking knowing there was a ghost boy who ran around and was seen in the windows all the time by people going by. No boy lives there.
As we waited my mother sat next to a fireplace watching the pokers sway. I noticed them swaying too but we were also right next to a register so I thought nothing of it. Probably heat moving them around but she claims this wasn’t’ the case, that she put her hand over the register to see if it was blowing anything and didn’t feel a breeze near the pokers. Well OK, maybe. I still wasn’t convinced.
Now this house was like a giant dollhouse, all decked up with Victorian flair and absolutely insane embossed wallpaper. I was loving it even if there wasn’t any ghosts. Still, the tour guide claimed there were twelve spirits here including a ghost cat in the basement. Well, that’s a little odd, I have to admit..
As the tour started to go through the other rooms it was just phenomenal how technologically advanced this mansion was for the time it was built. It had a dumb waiter that went all the way up to the second floor but not the third – because that was the servant’s quarters and why would making their lives easier be necessary? Similarly there were four fire places and metal panels in the chimney to aid radiant heat but they were also all on the first and second floor. The servants were left to the top floor with no heat source whatsoever which I imagine with really high ceilings it must have been colder than a witch’s tit up there! Finally there was speaking tubes and bells, buttons, and buzzers all to aid in contacting the help. The speaking tubes served as a rudimentary intercom long before such a thing was invented. Another engineering marvel was a cistern that collected a truly massive amount of water from the roof to use for laundry and whatnot. And laundry? It had it’s own heated kiln to make the water warm enough to wash the clothes! I have never come across such a thing… talk about luxury!
Washing Machine with kiln for heated water!
The house maintained a few little wash rooms where basins were kept to just illustrate how bathing was done in the day – via sponge bath. Still… seemed pretty luxurious. We went through the rooms and learned their history. I even found myself in the room the guy died in flames in and I felt nothing out of the ordinary. I was starting to suspect this house was all hype but just as I was thinking that I entered the stairway to go to the third floor, the servants quarters, and I was hit by a wall of anxiety that nearly flung me off my feet!
Earlier on someone had asked why some of the servants stayed behind as spirits, did they just love their job that much? To which the guy laughed and said no, most certainly not, and damn I could really feel that right now! This anxiety permeated my whole being the entire time I was up on the third floor getting worse and worse until I entered a pink room where the whole group of people stopped breathing all at once. You could hear a pin drop. It was the weirdest thing. This room was so quiet, too quiet. It was calming, like a total sense of zen. Our guide claimed a psychic told a story about a teenager who lost a baby in here and how many people feel overwhelmed with sadness entering it but no one here felt sad… they felt…. still. It was peaceful. I could have curled up on that bed and taken a blissful nap!
But then I left the pink room and was immediately assailed with that sense of anxiety and dread again. I was hiding it as best I could but by they time I climbed the spiral staircase to the tower my mother was noticing me acting squirrely. I blamed it on the heights but it wasn’t the heights. By now my legs were shaking uncontrollably. It was just panic… But I was still enjoying it! The tower showed a lovely view all around it and I took a few snaps before descending the stairs again. By now the tour was headed to the basement and out of the area! Woo!
So I headed back down and on that staircase between the second and third floor my little panic attack became too much to bear. By now the anxiety I was feeling was through the roof. Not only was I shaking I was getting that tight chest/can’t breathe feeling. The last two steps down I literally had to pause and tap the wall a few times with my hand to reassure myself to come back to the present. The second I got off the staircase… it was gone. I was back in a well lit house feeling pleasant and normal. What the….
After touring the delightful cellar we were done with the tour and allowed to wander at will for half an hour. I got back together with my mother’s friend who wanted to borrow my eyes to see if I could help determine what the writing on the wall upstairs near the cistern said. It appeared to be a marriage contract with signed witnesses from 1902. Why, I have no idea. But this was the third floor again! And I was back to being wobbly! Meanwhile my mother had wandered off and chosen a room on the third floor to just sit and relax with her eyes closed. She wasn’t right when she came out. I asked what was up. She said she felt weird. I prodded further and she said she was light headed. I suggested we leave the third floor.
All and all it was a great experience. If they succeed in making it a bed and breakfast I’ll be back… to stay the night… on the third floor… because that’s who I am! And you know what? I thought the creepiest place would be the dank cellar but it wasn’t! That cellar was positively happy.
Anyway. I took all sorts of photos. Interestingly a shadow had shown up on the staircase I was having an issue with. Now I can’t rule out that it’s not me casting it buuuut the more I looked at it the more I started to doubt because it does not have any arms outstretched which I would have had taking the photo. HMMM…
Below is ALL the photos I took which I am sure are quite boring unless…. you find something weird in them. If so let me know!
Around the time I started this blog I attended a group session for past life regression led by a certified regressionist at the Life Path Fellowship in Jaffrey NH, an event I knew about because they had posted it on their FaceBook page. I have always been severely curious about these things but I was hesitant to share my experience publically for the fear of it being seen as “a little out there.” I know what you’re thinking – three years later I am making plans to track Bigfoot on summer camping adventures while searching for UFOs and glowing mushrooms in the dark. I am a little out there. I’m an odd combination of scientific and spiritual. I don’t always 100% believe in these things but I keep my mind and eyes open just in case. And since I am now comfortable just being me here I have decided it was time to finally share what went down. It was an intense personal experience, one which I wrote about with more gravity than my other entries. Reading it now feels like a punch to the gut so take it as what it is – if you’re curious, by all means, go on and read. I apologize that I was unable to take any photos of the actual event so visually this is a pretty boring entry. Either way, enjoy!
That morning I was already running late and I was SUPER nervous about attending. I had no idea what to expect but generally speaking I am not one who usually enjoys participating in group activities. Add hypnosis and I was even more anxious but there was something driving me to do this. When I drove in the parking lot was empty. Greeeeeat. A moment of doubt. I still got out and made my way into the building where I was warmly welcomed. There were two other women there burbling to each other, they were cheerful and funny. I smiled and a minute later another woman showed up – an audience of four. Okaaay, little smaller than expected but too late to back out now. I settled in and just listened. The woman hosting this little event had a calming soft voice and explained the whole process of hypnosis and how it’s still a conscious and voluntary experience and can be backed out of at any point. Then she passed out yoga matts and pillows and told us all to spread out and make ourselves comfortable lying on the floor. I pondered if I would fall asleep. It’d been an early morning.. I settled in under the sun coming through the window. Another fucking gorgeous day!
I know it’s supposed to be a demon but I think it’s kind of cute. Hieronymus Bosch painting
I closed my eyes and relaxed. She brought us through the usual relaxation procedure for hypnosis, taking note of every muscle and feeling it all turn to melted butter. This took what seemed ages and I tried not to fall asleep. She then told us to imagine a garden so I did…. It was a big very planted garden behind a stone wall to one side, trees and a mountain to the others. In the center an old marble fountain, a stone bench, all sorts of strange and colorful plants and little imaginary creatures skittering about like rats. Oddly I think most of them I plagiarized from Hieronymus Bosch. Amusing…. Sure, helpful, probably not. I was sitting there wondering what the point of this exercise was and how silly it seemed when she asked for us to reach out in our garden and touch something there. Fine…. I picked up a weird alien flowery cactus-y kind of thing. It was squishy and weird, sort of like those gel beads but with far less form and perhaps a little warmer. Gross. My subconscious has a sense of humor. She then asked us to imagine our garden bathed in light, bathed in the essence of existence, alive with the energy of the creative force, a place of peace, serenity, and safety. OK, can do. We were instructed to return to the garden whenever we pleased. OK… that sounded slightly alarming but hey, another happy place isn’t always a bad thing.
Then she said we’d be going back to a memory of our younger selves. OK. Which one? Oh fuck, I’m in the back of my mother’s shitty little red Nissan driving down that road between Cathedral and Fitzgerald. My brother is in the front seat. I’m five years old fidgeting with the seat belt which is cutting into my neck because I’m too short to wear it right. This isn’t a good memory…. My mother’s pulled over, hysterical, crying, but trying to hold it together. Oddly I can feel her emotions as well as my own, which is absolute confusion, and odder still my brother’s…. He seems….. He seems disconnected, intellectually knowing what the situation is, emotionally putting it away for later. My mother announces my aunt, whom we’d all been very close to, is dead. She’s not coming back. I’m five, I never knew her when she was healthy, hospital visits were just part of life. This death thing made no sense to me.
Back to the garden I’m told to relax. Clear my mind. Fine, just as well, that wasn’t pleasant.
Now I’m told I’m going to two weeks before I was born. Uhmmmmm, OK, darkness? What am I supposed to be seeing? My host’s soothing voice guides me through the experience of witnessing my own birth. Who is there? What are they feeling? Why are you there? Interesting questions with a shockingly clear answer that comes to me like being jolted by lightning. Because I am wanted here – attracted to my mother’s love. My mother is soooooo happy. My brother is here too, age seven, I can feel his emotions – chaos, just pure chaos. What is this shriveled wailing thing we’re bringing home? I feel Flo [a close family friend] too and am really struck by her vibe…… She’s proud, very proud of my mother for doing what she wanted (having another baby) even though it was extremely difficult in her situation. I am struck once again by the lack of a final presence……… My father isn’t here. I find the whole scene fascinating. Never thought about any of this…
Back to the garden. Breathe, take a moment. OK.
Now I am going back to another life. I’m asked to look down, what kind of shoes am I wearing? A utilitarian looking set of old cowboy boots…. What do my hands look like? Manly? Where am I? Out West somewhere, in a shitty little mining town. I try to see the distinguishing features of the buildings but they become blurry especially the more I try to fixate on them. Dammit. From here I was to go to a pivotal moment in this person’s life. OK. The scene changes. I’m on the beach now, the ocean to be exact. Angry waves, dunes, Californian looking plants. There’s a gathering of people here. We’re in out twenties, early twenties, maybe even younger, there seems to be alcohol involved. A woman stands in front of me, long dark hair, her energy is of pure chaos. She’s crying, trying to make sense of it. Who is this memory about? My best friend from childhood. He’s dead, this is an impromptu memorial of sorts. I’m asked why I am at this particular memory? Not sure but I think I am supposed to meet this woman again. Someday, somehow. And now I’m brought to this person’s scene of death. What has happened? Not sure. I feel dirt and gravel under my fingers and feel myself floating upward. Something has happened very suddenly. I do not realize I am dead. There’s a big gray car. Maybe I was hit by it. Maybe I crashed it and flew through the window. Who knows.
Back to the garden. Well, OK. Here I’m encouraged to meet my spirit guide. Things get weird. I wasn’t expecting a spirit guide buuut…. there’s a red Chinese dragon here. Why is my spirit guide a Chinese dragon? It answers it is not, it’s a mask. Cool. Can I see behind the mask? He takes the mask off, behind lies a red European styled dragon. Very funny. Not sure I believe in any of this spirit guide stuff but either way this is oddly hilarious. I’m told to ask any questions I need to know about my life, he will answer. OK. My waking life was in utter chaos at the time so I asked a shitload all at once, the dragon breathes a deep sigh, has a look of impatience and says, “You’re not meant to know any of that yet.” Fiiiiiiiiine. Spirit guide or a reflection of my subconscious, either way I should have expected that.
Back to the garden, now I am told it’s time to wake up. I popped out of it. Felt my heavy body come back to life on the floor. Opened my eyes, looked at the ceiling fan, got up. OK, that was weird. We sat around and expressed what we had seen. All three other woman had done this before. One saw another dimension, another witnessed death of old age in a teepee, and I can’t remember what the last one came up with. I meandered back out to the car, still a bit woozy, struggling to hold back the urge to cry (not from sadness but from an unexpected joy.) This was an intense experience, completely unexpected, deeply personal. I left with such profound gratitude and love of life and the people in it. Each and every one.
When I got home I told my mother about a little of it. She said I looked like I was glowing and I really held back the urge to cry then. I am not someone who cries so this was a bit alarming for us both.
In the end I didn’t see what I thought I would see. I didn’t get any answers I sought. I don’t even have a belief one way or the other of whether this was a real vision or just my subconscious throwing up whatever but because it was so life affirming I stepped away from it changed somehow – in only the best of ways. When asked if I would recommend this to others – yes, I would, but with the caveat that you don’t know what you are going to get.
Well! It’s a new day, a new year, and a new decade! And as such I would really love to give this blog a little more love. I admit 2019 was a particularly pathetic year for travel as I was dealing with a lot of health issues and whatnot but the good news is that I am in an upswing and really looking forward to getting back out on the road. In fact I am practically crawling out of my own skin to get back at it. And on top of this I now have a zoom lens for better wildlife photography as well as a microscope I can attach to my cellphone to take photos! I don’t know what I am going to do with the latter buuuuut I’m sure something interesting.
I’m don’t know where I’ll be going for the remainder of the winter but I do have a an inkling of where I will be going when the snow melts. I am looking at more obscure hiking trails, abandoned buildings, historical sites, cemeteries, and to add to these I would love to start going to more fairs, festivals, antique stores, local eateries, and lesser known destinations like small local theaters, zoos, aquariums, sanctuaries, and museums. I want to show New England as the happening place it is with much to do and see for anyone and everyone.
If you’re reading this and former blog entries I’d love to thank you for joining me on my journey and wish you too a wonderful happy healthy New Year. As always if there’s an interesting, beautiful, or bizarre New England destination I have not yet hit please feel free to suggest them either by commenting on this blog entry or sending me an e-mail.
A few years ago when I was actually trying to sell my artistic creations I was told I needed to attend the Annual Craft Fair in Jaffrey because it was large enough to get ample foot traffic worth my time but I am afraid that October-December are the craziest few months out of the year for me and I never made it. So this year I showed up as a buyer! And blogger…
Granted part of the reason I wanted to go was to say hello to some of the venors I knew so I was delighted to wear this T-shirt there with a pair of metallic silver bellbottoms – because I was feeling punderfully festive, like a Hershey’s Kiss!
Right off the bat I was impressed by how many people showed up. Parking was scarce and terrifying (terrifying because I wasn’t the one doing the parking but I digress…) Although the place was obscenely poorly marked. I knew which building the auditorium was from going to school there but how people out-of-the-know were supposed to find the correct entrance for the craft fair was a mystery to me. No signs, anywhere.
Still the auditorium was packed with vendors and they were quite diverse! I mean there was the usual tsunami of knitting, crochet, and soaps, but there were also photographers, wood crafters, wreaths, stabby-stabby knives, and all sorts of holiday fun. And everyone was super cheerful. I even found some knitting I felt was on par – this sweet little plaid baby sweater – knitted by the vendor’s son whose wife taught him how to knit. LOVE THAT. I’ve used knitting in the past as a substitute for fidgeting and well… I think more people should be encouraged to do this, especially men because there are so few male knitters out of there – despite it being the perfect thing to do for an analytical brain.
I also found these weird little sock monkeys and these… uhm…. probably not haunted at all dolls. My mother liked them. She would.
By the time we got to the back of the auditorium another vendor told us there were two more fully packed rooms, one downstairs and the other in the “exercise room” in the other building. Again, there were only a few signs with arrows pointing to nowhere. I literally had to follow another crowd out of the auditorium and over to the high school through the rain and then AROUND that building to some unmarked side entrance I’d never noticed before despite going to school there for four miserable memorable months.
And low and behold this is where all the interesting vendors were – the truly creative ones. Among them was a guy selling birdhouses covered with seeds – I guess the bird version of a gingerbread house. And my favorite a woman who was frequenting local cemeteries so she could take impressions of the designs on the slate stones and use them for her jewlrey. Loved the idea! But alas I don’t do jewelry and don’t really know anyone who does or else I would have totally bought one off her.
Also in this building were a few kids desperately trying not to make eye contact as they took donations for Destination Imagination. Bless their awkward little creative hearts! I gave them ten bucks. I had been in Odyssey of the Mind, the predecessor of Destination Imagination, in my youth and it was really the only positive thing I remember about my entire public schooling career. I also bought some raffle tickets from the women’s club and was delighted to find a local author here as well. So I came home with this adorable children’s book to add to my collection. It must have been the only book she sold all day because she seemed shocked I was buying it. All the better!
Hilariously I got a compliment on the way in from across the parking lot by a student, “LOVE the hair!” (which is also Conant colors.. pure coincidence) and on my way out an even sweeter compliment came from a woman talking to her toddler daughter, “That’s awsome, you know what else is awesome? Look at that chick’s pants!” In fact my fancy pants were quite a hit. Got no less than seven compliments. I’ll totally be wearing them out again.
And since I was a passenger today I got to snap a bunch of creepy photos while we stalked a mail truck home. It was a weirdly warm and damp day. Feels like May, not December! This may have contributed to the poor turn out at the fair this year, at least according to the vendors.
