Our trip to Cape Cod was one of those last-minute things where we really didn’t know what we wanted to do… so we decided to fill up our National Park Passport with stamps. That being said we ended up stopped in traffic in front of Buddha Bob’s only a little down the road from Salt Pond which was our real destination. And this place looked so bizarre that we decided right then and there it needed more investigation.
It was… a trip. WELL worth the detour! I parked in front of a Bigfoot wearing gold chains and that’s where we started. Have you ever been to a little shop that has no idea what it is? This would have been that. It was part rock shop, part lot for eccentric yard and garden ornamentation, part commissioned junk shop. As such we found everything from a pair of bronzed baby booties, to Buddhas of every conceivable size, to LOTS of pretty rocks inside, to a pair of Turkish looking marionettes (perhaps haunted!) to a rather fetching (if totally rusted) statue of Achilles. Fuck knows my Achilles heel is… Achilles himself. That’s how I ended up writing a whimsical satire about his teenage years but I digress.
Buddha Bob’s was an adventure for sure. No one quite knew what would be around each corner and to my great delight the people running the shop were just as unrepentantly weird as the shop itself. This was my kind of place. And my travel companion lucked out by buying two hematite rings for $1.88. I know in previous entries I have been a little dubious about the whole hematite ring thing but I guess it’s not so bad if each replacement is less than a dollar… This was my happiest tourist trap yet. FEEL THE WHIMSY!
It was one of those days we wanted to go to a familiar haunt so we ended up at Gilette Castle and spent some time enjoying life there before coming home. We had time to spare though and didn’t feel our adventures were quite over so we kept an eye open to antique stores that may be on route and that’s how we ended up at G’s Treasures.
It was a sweet little store right off the street front. I even parallel parked for it! Well… sorta. There were 3 open spaces and just drove in but I’m still counting that because I need a win. ANYWAY, this place was adorable. It was tended to by a young guy who upon reading my companion’s T-shirt “Ninja Turtles don’t do drugs” snickered, “Maybe, but the guy drawing them sure did!” I don’t know if he understood it was supposed to be ironic but I was enjoying his youthfully enthusiastic energy nonetheless.
This shop was well maintained and had everything from antique furniture to a whole double wide case of old wooden duck decoys. Of course, I was immediately drawn to a rum thing(??) that looked like a soulless Pilgrim with no eyes. Touch the dark side, I dare you. There were lots of other scary things in there too – a stuffed duck that could inspire its own horror movie, a mannikin head with a giraffe neck, a cookie jar in the shape of a fat friar and of course more clowns and a single mammie doll that was tucked away in a dark corner all hidden and coy-like.
I sort of feel bad wandering through all these antique stores because I barely have money for gas much less buying anything and usually leave whatever cool things I find behind. A total tease. Today however one of my travel companions had claimed a couple shinies (necklaces) off a jewelry table to satisfy his “magpie brain.” And they were very reasonably priced at ten dollars a pop! So really everyone left happy.
And if you happen to be in the area looking for lunch there’s plenty of options but we went right next door to Deep River Pizza and all got various wraps and grinders which were all goddamn amazing. So well worth it!
We had initially set out to go to a different antique store somewhat nearby but since none of us were capable of reading opening hours on the internet or the signs on the door we arrived to a completely dead complex. Closed except for weekends. Undeterred we asked the Google Gods and they said we should try Sturbridge Antiques so off we went!
They’re coming for you…
I was happy to find it seemed to be a decently sized building but when we first entered it was a little unnerving. This place seemed swank, maybe just an eensy bit out of all our price ranges. However, this was just the front of the store. There were over 80 dealers here and I must say this place had some of the weirdest most lovably eccentric antiques ever. Obviously, this started with a small alligator skin trunk labelled “doll trunk” that had all sorts of cool compartments. And the dolls… this was THE most doll infested antique store and every one of them was creepier than the last. I was THRILLED. Just two dolls in and we came across these beauties straight out of someone’s deepest nightmares:
I thought there couldn’t be anything more hair raising than those little beasties but I was delighted to find that just around the corner the dolls started getting decidedly more terrifying. Because the only thing creepier than a potentially haunted doll is a basket full of doll heads and a few limbless torsos spread about. There was even a disembodied doll head that had three faces. And if that wasn’t bad enough there were clown dolls and whole circuses to accompany them. They even had monkey dolls attached to what looked like torture devices (which I think probably allowed them to do flips or something.) And this was the first time I ever found a deflated rubber doll! Creepy! Eventually I even found an old cardboard photo depicting a family in a living room with a dastardly doll walking across the floor seemingly on it’s own, no one batting an eye. Meanwhile I found myself once again playing What’s the Most Racist Thing You Can Find with a new participant this week and low and behold the dolls got in on this too as there were mammie dolls spread like confetti through a great number of booths. And this place seemed to keep going and going and going…
I was on a mission to find some marbles because I have been told I need to “start doing the marble thing again” where I take photos of marbles on the trails that I review for this blog and leave them there in the hopes whoever finds them will find a little joy in it. I haven’t done this in ever – mostly because pretty marbles are hard to find! But most antique stores usually do have jars full marbles next to their jars full of mismatched buttons. We did find one big mason jar full for $18. I held out because they were mostly cats eye and I really favor the solid colored ones. Eventually though we came across a stash of “uranium marbles.” What the…? You mean someone thought radioactive marbles were a good idea?? Yes. After a quick consult with my phone I learned that when uranium is mixed with glass it can be used to make marbles that fluoresce under the black light. Intrigued I took a little baggy of them to play with later.
Other fun finds were a porcelain violin that looked like it could actually play, a children’s accordion, TONS of ladies hats (probably more than even dolls!) a glowing radium clock, a mange-addled teddy bear, a cool homemade marble slide that looked like it was 100 years old, a trove of nice fur coats, a goodly smattering of fancy hand mirrors, entirely too many nightmare inducing clowns, and a weirdly lecherous Buddha. By the end of the day we awarded a cast iron piggy bank as being the most racist piece in the shop and we were gleefully taking pictures of it when the woman working the counter burbled we could take as many photos as we wanted. She was really sweet and rang up my marbles after a 20 minute detour to play with what was clearly a haunted ventriloquist dummy. He was $45 and came REALLY close to coming home with me but he had no hands or feet and the mechanism to make his mouth move was busted and I have been having some insane problems with mice lately so I was hesitant to purchase anything I’d have to keep safe as it were. Still…. he was so perfect. Even came with his own little coffin for some reason.
This antique store was super fun. I would definitely go again. My only complaint was that later on when I got home I put my marbles next to a black light and they didn’t glow at all. They were just regular marbles. And I was sad. But maybe another visit for a haunted ventriloquist dummy could solve that…
Before setting out for Plymouth Rock earlier on in the day we had a brief discussion about where the oldest gravestone in New England was. Did we have gravestones that dated back to the original Pilgrims? I mean… it’s not like they packed the boat with a gravestone for each passenger before they set sail. If they did that would have been super ominous.
“Should we bring more food?”
“No, Prudence over here still needs room for her gravestone.”
See, that just doesn’t track.
“The oldest graves would have been Native American.” My companion tries to argue.
Well yes and no… I mean yes, there were as many indigenous peoples here when the Pilgrims landed as there are people all together now. But the natives weren’t into marking their graves with anything. From what I gather most of them in the area merely brought their dead to sacred spaces and allowed them to be eaten by the animals they worshipped in life. A way more beautiful and nature friendly good-bye if you ask me but what do I know.
But back to the pilgrims… what were they doing with all their dead?! According to Google the oldest gravestone in New England goes to one of the original Pilgrims Myles Standish who died in 1656 and is buried in Duxbury in what is claiming to be also the oldest cemetery in the US. However now that we were on Burial Hill in Plymouth a lot of the plaques were claiming they had the oldest grave markers. The oldest still standing was of Edward Gray who died in 1681. And here’s where the nit picking begins because even though the gravestones were originally made with wood and have long since decayed several of the plots here potentially predate old Myles there. Do I smell a pointless small-town feud??
All quibbling aside the cemetery was indeed on a very steep hill which was… fun… to climb. And there was a pretty nice view up there which makes sense because before it was a cemetery it was the site of our first fort. I guess it didn’t take that long to piss off our neighbors and we went from, “Can we borrow some food so we don’t die?” (probably mimed as we didn’t have any way to speak to these people) to “Oh, by the way, since you’re all heathen savages and all have you ever heard about the one and only true God?” in what, fifteen minutes? Something like that. Yeah, I’d build some thick goddamn walls too.
ANYWAY. Back to the present. Many of the original stones have been re-backed and preserved with startling efficiency. There’s also a number of monuments and plaques and the most beautiful carvings of death heads, skulls, and cherub heads. Some were VERY unusual. And I took ALL KINDS of photos… but my camera lens decided to crap out so none of them are even remotely sharable except for a handful I took with my cell phone. I apologize for that but here they are.
We were once again trying to figure out something to do when Plymouth Rock came up as “the most underwhelming school field trip ever.” Would it be less so in adulthood? Or would we find… a rock, an ordinary rock? It was time to find out!
I didn’t really know what I was heading into. My school wasn’t swank enough to cart our little asses to something like this so I’d never been. When we pulled up there was a truly pathetic little parking lot fit for two cars or so (OK, slight exaggeration but not by much!) that was entirely parallel parking. Nooope. Not going to do that. So I turned around and parked at the beach a few feet down the road which did have proper parking thank you very much. We put money in the parking meter and made our merry way into Pilgrim Land.
Obviously, we went to check out the rock first. I’d seen it on TV before but what I hadn’t seen was the absolutely enormous structure built over this sad little rock. The thing was penned in on all sides with iron bars like it was some sort of ferocious beast.
“Is it a dangerous rock?” I asked. “Why is it in a cage?” This is the sort of humor you’re in for if you travel with me. Grade A dad humor. Even though I’m childless and I guess technically female.
An older lady, who must have been a local, actually answered me. Well, this was new.
“See that camera there?”
“Yeah…”
“They put that in a few years ago. Someone came in and spray painted a bunch of things. It was a mess.”
“Oh no…”
“And people keep throwing their kids in there to get the change.” I looked into the pit and at the change in the sand. Was this some sort of lucky dirt fountain? Having no idea what to reply she went on. “I can’t imagine that. I mean look at how they must come out! Through the bars. You know how many 911 calls we get because some kid has tried to cut their nose off trying to go through them? All for what? 20 cents? Hope it was worth it!”
OK, now I really didn’t know what to say. I was just smiling awkwardly and wondering where this was going. Not that I am unfriendly I just have trust issues when it comes to random strangers telling me things… was she a tourist guide? Or just a lonely old lady? You never can tell.
She went on. “So you from around here?”
“No, we’re just visiting…”
“Well, you see that stairway across the street?”
“Yeah…”
“If you want to climb it there’s a crypt up there with the bones of the pilgrims and a really nice place to sit. Plus it’s a great view!”
“Ooooh… thank you…. We will definitely check that out…”
This we did. But before I get to that part I’d like to take a moment and talk about the rock because it is, and was, for all intent and purposes – just a rock. Not only was it just a rock it was a rock that’d been bust in half and glued back together after they attempted to move it to a better spot. Even more despairingly it says all over the place, on every plaque, that we think this is the rock the pilgrims adopted as their mascot but in reality we have no idea where they actually landed. It could have been 5 miles down the beach for all we know and this rock might be – get this- just a rock. And here’s where it gets really funny. Nearby there is a gift store and I swear to God – it sells rocks. Tiny polished rock babies so you too can have a Plymouth Rock. This is capitalism at it’s best.
There is also a replica of the Mayflower floating out there in the bay. We didn’t go on it. I’m a bit sketched out by boats and have kind of decided the only time it’d be worth getting on one would be if someone was kind enough to bring me to a good shipwreck to poke at. New England has to be littered with them. Shame the visibility is probably slim to nil with sharks and whatever cruising through the darkness looking for a snack. Oh well. Maybe someday…
In the meanwhile, we did climb the stairs across the street and found all kinds of historic goodies up there. Just as promised we found a terrific view of the building the rock was in as well as the bay and a big rectangular monument with the bones of some of the original pilgrims. Apparently, they’d been discovered at various points through archeological digs and were carried back to be buried here. Some of the plaques stated these original graves were forgotten because they had wooden markers which decayed but this monument said most of the graves weren’t marked at all because the pilgrims didn’t want the locals to know how many of them died and just how easy it’d be to kill off the remaining. It’s hard to say if this was paranoia or just karma biting them in the ass for treating the indigenous peoples like converts for Christ. It is super telling that one of the first things they built was a fort.
Here too was a statue of a local Chieftan, probably the one they first met. I couldn’t help but feel uneasy in his presence. For one he was wearing a loin cloth. In cold-ass New England. An unhelpful completely historically inaccurate stereotype put up by “the improved Red Men” some years ago probably in an attempt at inclusion. Cringe. To top it all off he looked forlornly across the bay – at a bunch of boats and white tourists. OK, now I’m uncomfortable.
There were plaques everywhere talking about all sorts of things – even the first women who don’t really get mentioned a lot. And then a few weird mentions of things like a bridal tree planted in the 1800’s which… didn’t result in a wedding… and honestly I’m confused why we were still talking about it. Maybe it was to add flair to the rock. Look, now it’s a rock and a tree. We ambled through a nearby park/garden and read even more interesting tidbits before walking up the street to Burial Hill which was by far my favorite part of the day.
After somehow managing to escape alive from cookies shop antiques we decided to move on and see if we couldn’t land something better. And so after a quick consultation with the Google gods we ended up driving to Countryside Consignments. Before we were even there I was yelling at the GPS, “BULLSHIT. There isn’t an antique store .2 miles away, this is a residential neighborhood!” And a nice one at that! But it was true, there in what used to be a house was a swank little antique store filled to the brim with lovely furniture I’ll never be able to afford. All of it finely polished and without a single scratch. You’ll have to take my word for this because still reeling from the trauma that was Cookies I apparently forgot to take any photos of said furniture. Instead only stopping momentarily to dig a giant bucket of fine silverware and yet another creepy Easter bunny.
But anyway… if you happen to be looking for great antique furniture this is the place to go.
Since we were already antiquing we decided to move on from Jules Antiques and find another little shop nearby. That’s how we ended up at Cookie’s. Now, just to be clear, not all of my adventures end up somewhere magical, sometimes we just end up in these weird little places that smell of electricity and feel like you’ve entered the Twilight Zone.
Cookie’s was like that. It was a ramshackle little place with parking for a handful of cars. When we drove up we immediately noticed a big sign reading, “cookies” over an open barn door. It was dark and it didn’t seem like there was anyone around. We both wondered if this wasn’t some sort of trap and if we weren’t about to bumble into some serial killing mastermind just beyond, you know like whoever drives around the big black van that reads, “free candy.” This place reminded me a lot of central and northern Maine. It was for all intent and purposes a glorious junk shop – the kind any hoarder would be proud. As we walked into the barn we realized there was barely any place to walk. From floor to ceiling there was junk piled high and even hanging. Random. Strange. Often totally useless crap. We still scrambled through what we thought were isles before they too ended abruptly at a total impasse. Towards the window there was a selection of pretty bottles and lamp I was only halfway convinced wasn’t made of human skin.
Walking further we got into the actual shop and it was cramped and had that familiar smell of musk and mildew. There were two other customers, and we couldn’t get by them. Everyone except one guy and the woman running the place seemed vibrantly uncomfortable as we stared down at boxes full of VHS tapes, none of them anything good or memorable. And who the hell is buying VHS tapes?! We stayed long enough to be weirded out by the male customer who was obviously a familiar in this haunt. He seemed off. Maybe he was trying to woo the missus. Who knows.
As we beat it to the car (sans cookies as there wasn’t a baked good within miles) we giggled what an experience that had been. For me it did bring back many memories of the junk shops in Maine as well as a number of hoarders I have had the *ahem* privilege of visiting. And don’t get me wrong junk shops can be surprising. Sometimes you find some crazy things in them for a few cents. It’s always a complete toss up but if I were to ever find a forgotten million dollar painting it’d probably be in a place like this sitting next to a pile of dog chewed rubber duckies.
We’ve been really getting into the antiquing lately, mostly because it’s like a little treasure hunt. We go to strange new locations and we never know what we are going to find. On this particular day this spirit was especially strong. We started in Richmond at the Jules Antiques and General Store, picked at random by the fact the photos made it look large enough to be worth combing through. We weren’t disappointed!
This was the perfect place to go on a hot summer’s day. The parking lot was vast for such a place which is always a good sign, and the building was no shrinking violet either. Several other people had already had the great idea to come here today and right after getting out of the car I was already enamored by the decrepit stagecoach rotting off to the side.
Inside it was a well-organized place with lots of different nooks and crannies and I am guessing different venders. We were greeted almost immediately by the strange cartoonish head of a moose on the wall. It wasn’t long before I had toppled into the strange and morbid when I found a Lizzie Borden themed paper doll book. I guess it’s good fun for the locals… to add to our macabre little jump rope rhymes about poor Lizzie. But it didn’t stop there. This place was absolutely swarming with terrifying Easter bunnies hidden in every little crevice, their soulless eyes staring into the void. We even found a Halloween skeleton dressed up as Uncle Sam! Fun for all the holidays (especially if you only want to shop for decorations once.) There was also the usual assortment haunted dolls and evil Donald Duck statues. A more endearing find was a rooster shaped glug glug jug! If I lived in the sort of place it wouldn’t be immediately broken I probably would have taken that sucker home with me. I also didn’t end up bringing home any of the dolls. I’m looking for just the right one. Preferably one that giggles at three in the morning as it’s rearranging the living room furniture.
It’s time to really get back into hiking – amidst a slew of technical difficulties because that’s actually the best time to go. This week we decided it to was time to poke around Chepachet again, not to the antique stores that are our usual haunts but to a simple hiking trail nearby.
First of all it is still the Spring so we went during the off season and there was only one other car there. When we drove in it brought us by several little turn offs that I am not sure were for parking or not before leading us to a gate asking to pay for camping fees. We weren’t camping so we stopped in anyway and asked if we could still hike for free and yes, you can, as long as the car is parked somewhere before the camp check in. So I parked next to the only other car I could find and we headed in. The camp register had a map of the trails and they were somewhat nearby. We had to walk to the lake first which looks like it might be a swimming hole in the summer (and a very pretty one!)
This looks like the kind of place that’ll be absolutely busting at the seams with excitable children in the summer. Between the camp sites and swimming hole there are also a few cabins smattered about and three trails at this particular trail head that were respectably 2, 6, and 8 mile loops. They were well marked and looked heavily travelled. There was however no indicator if these were flat trails or uphill. Their level of difficulty would be a complete surprise.
Since this was one of our first outings and we’d already had a fairly busy morning we decided to go for the two-mile loop. It’s best not to die when you’re first getting back out there. And it was just the right length and difficulty for us on this particular day. It was a pretty mild trail. There was a little bit of an incline through most of it but it wasn’t too bad. There was no need for scrabbling but being spring there were a few soggy patches, one which almost took a shoe as a sacrifice.
I have been trying to do the Harriskat Trail since Easter… but it was pouring rain on Easter (with just a touch of hail for good measure) and when I tried to climb it a couple weeks ago I didn’t get very far… As I am very out of shape and apparently the entire trail is uphill because, get this, it’s a mountain. I didn’t know that until I was back in the parking lot today. Leave it to me to accidentally climb a mountain.
ANYWAY, today was attempt number two. I found the place really easy this time having been there only a few weeks before but the trails are… oddly located… across the street from the Harris Conservation Center. Earlier on in the day I was feeling pretty damn good seeing all the Black Lives Matters signs out here in the middle of nowhere… but that’s not to say my guard was entirely down. I was still quite cautious when I was crossing the road to get to the trail when a truck pulled up and was debating whether to talk to me. I figured it was safe enough as I was on the opposite side of the truck as the driver.
“Is this the trail up Skatutakee Mountain?”
Errrr…. Luckily, I had taken a map from the bulletin board at the head of the trail. I looked at it and said, “Yep, there is a Skatutakee Mountain on here!” And I handed him the map. He was clearly an old hippie out here on his own, looking at me like I was a little nuts for also being out here on my own. I get that a lot. The last time I attempted this trail a whole chorus line of elderly folk came by and the last woman in the queue, who had to be in her 80’s, stopped for a second to look at lonely little me and tell me to be careful. Sadly, it’s still very unusual for a woman to go hiking alone in this day and age. Especially after news of a couple being slaughtered on a similar trail about an hour away not so long ago. This is another tidbit of information I did not have at the time. Not that it would have stopped me. That couple was in their 60’s and I suspect got on the wrong side of same racist asshole (as they were a biracial couple.) Hopefully they’ll track down whoever was responsible and make sure they never get to mingle in society ever again.
That’s not to say I don’t ever get scared. In fact not far up the trail I spied what looked like a very large and very not native snake sunning on a fallen tree and I have to admit it made me jump! Turns out it wasn’t really a snake, it was a carved sculpture of a snake just making use of the local resources. Across from it lie a giant newt. Together I guess they are doing pretty good job guarding the woods. I have no idea who left them there or why but I was endeared to the whimsy which continued when not far up the trail there was a dragon! Or at least a dragon’s head coming out of yet another fallen tree.
I want to say that on this second attempt I made it to the end buuuut… I did not. I made it maybe halfway up the trail and after numerous long breaks I was still winded and embarrassing myself as I watched others hike past me including children and the elderly. Those fuckers… just can’t keep up with them! And I mean usually when I go out in groups I try to take someone who’s fat, or a chain smoker, or something so I can at least feel good in keeping up. This always backfires when I can’t but I haven’t learned yet. Unless you count going alone. I haven’t done many solo trips in the past couple of years and I have come to realize I need them. I need to trek deep into the woods on a regular basis, all by my lonesome, so that I can feel nature to it’s fullest and quench this desire within my soul to be totally balanced and at peace. That’s what this trail represented even as I was huffing, puffing, and heaving.
Mark my words I WILL BE BACK AND I WILL CONQUER THIS TRAIL! Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but definitely sometime before it snows this year. Meanwhile I learned there’s a ton of other trails on the opposite side of the center that do not appear to be mountain trails. If I were one for researching, or just generally being better prepared, I would have started there….
All and all this is a great trail if you are in shape and especially if you like scrabbling over glacial rocks. It’s a beautiful and serene trail and well worth it.
