Mushroom Festival Laconia NH

I was really excited to go to the mushroom festival today. It’s a two day event way up in the White Mountains that is gaining popularity. I found out about it through a FaceBook ad and decided I needed to go wherever my people are. Who are my people? Weird people. People who would find mushrooms far more interesting than flowers. People who would appreciate my favorite punderful T-shirt that reads, “Amateur mycologist with questionable morels” which I had no choice but to wear today.

Unfortunately I don’t live in the area so I missed the Early Bird Mushroom Walk which sounded like fun. However I did manage to get my sorry carcass up there in plenty of time to enjoy some other events and I had a great drive up listening to local artist Holly Brewer’s new album Medicine of Time Travel. As usual it was absolutely beautiful and put me into a spacey sort of mindset – perfect mushroom festival mood music.

When I drove in I was greeted by a young woman who tried to tell me where the parking was in the most alarming way possible, “HEY! So the parking is over there… see that row of cars out in the field? Like there’s tons of parking… but also a lot a holes! But we marked them with red flags so you don’t ruin your car!” Another woman in full steampunk regalia cantered up, “Why are you giving her a full song and dance?! Just go out and park! And avoid the holes!” I immediately regretted taking the Prius. It stands only two inches off the ground and is known for getting stuck in fields. But we did OK! The holes were very well marked!

And then I checked in. The festival is free but for a $10 donation I could get a cute mushroomy lapel pin or $15 I could get a glass and fill it with lemonade. I already have an odd fascination with pins so I figured why not.. and trotted off with something shiny.

I was happily surprised by everything here. The weather was GORGEOUS, there was a food truck and even a bar outside. Bathrooms were in a nearby restaurant. And unlike most of these weird little fairs and festivals I go to there was quite a few vendors and a delightful mix of things being sold – lots of jewelry, grow your own mushroom kits, some amazing sculpted art, incense and hippie things, some clothes, fresh honey, mushroom tea, and even a woman selling Fiore artisan vinegars and olive oils – three of which were mushroom varieties. She let me try them with a little bread. I asked her what her favorite was – she said lemon so I tried that first and I must say it was nice, bouncy, and fresh. Very lemony. But Obviously I was here for mushrooms so when in Rome… I requested the White Truffle because I have never eaten truffles and was curious to know what the fuss was about and HOLY SHIITAKE that was some AMAZING oil! I think I made a face because she gave a bit of a laugh. It was very strong but not at all unpleasant. I’m notoriously stingy when it comes to these things but I forked over $21 for a little bottle without a second thought. AND I WILL DEVOUR IT.

All the vendors here were super sweet and chatted pleasantly with me. They all seemed to be doing well. I learned this was the fifth such festival and it started with only four vendors that first year. It had grown so much that the farthest visitor to come by was from Washington DC! And I thought I drove the farthest! ha!

After this I stopped by the end of a cooking demonstration and was able to try mushroom “bacon bits.” Apparently if you marinate dry mushrooms in something you like, something bacony, you end up with these somewhat crunchy little chunks of flavor. I mean I wouldn’t mistake it for bacon buuuut it was closer than I thought a mushrooms could get and sure as hell beats the slimey canned mushrooms I was used to seeing on pizza – you know those rubbery gray bits that have the texture of a drool sopped dog toy? They were the reason I thought I didn’t like mushrooms all these years!!

But hey, I had an hour to kill before the thing I came for so I decided to get a bite to eat. Today they were serving Black Truffle Bisque, Chicken of the Woods soup, and something else mushroomy I forgot. Seeing as I am really good at finding Chicken of the Woods that got my curiosity first but then the idea of bisque took my imagination… It was $8 a cup and yet another totally worth it thing. I sat at a picnic table in the sun and just enjoyed the day, eating this lovely earthy combination of flavors.

Eventually the mushroom dying demonstration started and that’s what I wanted to see… Here another young woman had an assortment of yarn and wool all dyed with mushrooms she found locally in the woods. She was displaying tie dye silk scarves in yellow, orange, green, and wine. I bought a little silk scarf for $15 so I could try dying one. WELL! This poor woman was having a day. Her entire set up with hot water and several heated dyes went flying over and drained on the ground at the beginning of the demo. And water has to be hot for dyes to take… So she went into the restaurant and hauled out some hot tap water and tried to heat it up further on her burner as quickly as she could. Four of us had scarves and a fistful of rubber bands to make it tie dyed. Two women wanted the wine color, I chose yellow as the orange had dumped on the ground, and the last girl went for the green. Well… it takes 30-45 minutes for the scarves to set and this poor woman did not have nearly enough material to keep us occupied that long and all of us had already visited the vendors and the food station so there was a half an hour awkward wait…

I wandered off to check out their little information station. I flipped through their binders they had there and got to learn quite a bit about what mushrooms are around and what they’re used for. I guess those Chicken of the Woods were good for Cancer and Type 2 Diabetes in some studies. Interesting! And it went on to tell me about how mushrooms often have symbiotic relationships with trees, that they are some of the largest and oldest organisms on land, and that some of them even glow like jelly fish! Also there were recipes, most of which were to be expected, but three others made me really scratch my head: Chocolate and Toasted Shiitake Scones, Pear and Toasted Shiitake Jam, Blueberry and Black Trumpet Crisp.

So after learning all this and talking to more vendors I decided to check back in on the scarves. They weren’t doing too good… Mine, the yellow, was very very faint since the water didn’t start off hot enough and I had only been away 25 or 30 minutes… She actually wrapped up some dried mushrooms and alum to go home with me so I could try it again. And when I do I shall post pix! The women who chose the darkest color seemed to have made out pretty well though…

I had a wonderful day. So many strange and charming people – all super friendly. I’m glad I pushed myself to do it. Granted I was burping up soup for hours and had Black Trumpet flavored heart burn the entire way home. What can I expect with no gall bladder…. And of course my GPS thought it’d be hilarious to make me go on a pointless detour around the police station with a bag of dried mushrooms in my lap… Thank God I wasn’t pulled over. That would have been hard to explain… “No! They’re to die a scarf! I SWEAR!”

All and all I would definitely go again. This was 100% worth making my entire digestive system cry.

September 29, 2019 0

Today I am Giving Away my E-Book FOR FREE!

I can’t believe it. It has been one whole year since I released Honoring Echo into the world. It was a book I based on this blog – or at least the beginning of this blog when I decided to take a 74 day journey to see all the Lower 48 States. It was a wild and exuberant time filled with enthusiasm of youth and many many little life lessons. Of course the story of my life is much more complex so there’s many other interesting tidbits in there – how I dealt with juggling chronic illness, life settling a heritage farm, and a toxic relationship with a narcissist. I hope it can provide something of worth to my readers – be it hope, or joy, comfort, or just the courage to keep on being true to yourself.

On this touching occasion I have decided to celebrate by offering free downloads of the e-book (filled with superfluous travel and chicken photos) on Amazon here for the entire day of September 25, 2019. And if you love it, or even if you hate it, please consider helping a hapless wanderer out by leaving an Amazon review.

Thank you all so much for being part of this journey with me,

Peace, Love, and Strange Travels,

Theophanes Avery

September 25, 2019 0

Sheiling Forest – Elizabeth Yates McGreal Wildflower Garden – Peterborough NH

I had to go back to Peterborough today to pick up either my medical records or the first draft of Moby Dick, I can’t tell you for sure, point is once I finished this chore it occurred to me there was a trail nearby I had passed the last time I was up here. So off I went to check it out!

Now the sign denoting this little forest path is HUGE but it’s oddly located outside what appears to be a hall of some sort and an orchard and some other random houses. Once you’re in the parking lot you’ll see a bench, a big green field, and a bulletin board type thing describing nearby trees. The entrance to the path itself is past this big board and over the field out of sight of the parking lot. It feels…. awkward…. to get there…. but I did it anyway.

I don’t know if many people use this place. The path was a bit gnarly from the get-go but it is fall and I suspect less people go out hiking when the weather gets cooler. I don’t know why. It’s way more pleasant to hike now than it is in the 80 degree heat of summer! But hey, if you want to dissolve into a puddle of sweat be my guest…

The path started to diverge into dozens of other smaller tributary paths. All of them were marked as trails but there seemed to be no logic or deeper meaning to the markers which were spread like confetti randomly through the trees sporting every color for no reason I could tell. Normally this sort of thing would make me head back but it was a small area surrounded by roads and since I knew the roads I figured I was safe enough to wander.

This was a somewhat unusual hike for me as it was straight into a pine forest. Most of the places I hike are decidedly deciduous or at least mixed. They’re arguably prettier but pine forests are definitely creepier… and I am not the only one to say so. It’s no surprise to me that years ago when I was chasing the Jersey Devil he was said to live in the pine barons. Today wasn’t disappointing either. Once I got to the river I could sense the presence of a teenage girl but I couldn’t see anyone at first and then at three separate points I noticed in the corner of my eye someone in an ankle length historical dress darting behind the trees 100 or so feet away. I know what you’re thinking, this seems like a great reason to head back to the car and pretend nothing was out there. I however am not that easily swayed. Whoever it was seemed to be watching me, yes, but they seemed to be doing so in a playful manner so I took a different option – I just started to talk to them. “Hello there! I can see you and I don’t have a problem with you if you don’t have a problem with me…” And maybe she just wanted to be validated because I didn’t feel or see her again. I have no idea if this place is known for such encounters or if today I witnessed something special.

I spent some time sitting on some rocks over the little brook but there were also picnic tables nearby and despite the trails being a total rat’s nest this did seem like a sweet little nook in the woods, perhaps a great place to take a date for lunch. Although you might not want to take dating advice from me considering my idea of a date involves far more death than desserts. Stroll through a cemetery? Sounds like a Gothic dream to me. Winding down unexplored “roads” with a Prius where you might be attacked by Bigfoot or get mired in a mud puddle and die? AWWWWE. Going to an abandoned asylum at midnight looking for ghosts? Fuck, if that’s your idea of a date I’m marrying you! This is probably why I’m single… I mean I think it’s hilarious I have the audacity to bum rush a bobcat without thinking (to protect my bunnies) but most people find this at the very least intimidating. SIGH.

ANYWAY, back on track… This was a lovely little outing. If you happen to be in the area with a bag lunch by all means check it out… otherwise it’s tiny. I guess historically these paths used to go everywhere in Peterborough but they’ve been chopped up by the purchase of private property. Some of the trails did lead to longer ones if you didn’t mind crossing the road (I wasn’t about to do that…) Anyway, here’s the photos I managed to take – including a couple of a FUZZY CATERPILLAR, the perfect distraction!

September 6, 2019 0

Taste of Steampunk – Riverside Park Fitchburg MA

One of the things I have not been able to explore as much as I have wanted to is the local music scene – both what’s up in Boston as well as all the weird and unusual things going on in Vermont. Problem is I don’t like going to these shindigs alone (for reasons of safety) and none of my local friends are uh… as enthusiastic as I am about avant guard music. Soooo…. when I learned that a band I actually really adore out of Boston was showing up in Fitchburg for an open-air gig in the park I couldn’t say no.

If I’m honest it’d been a tough week for me but that made me all the more determined to get out there and enjoy this. Problem is there was pretty much no information anywhere. All I could find is it started at 4PM and tickets were $10 online (with no link to buy them) and $15 at the gates. Oooookaaaay. Right from the get-go I thought 4PM sounded weird as fuck for such a thing but whatever… I can still roll with it.

And I showed up at 4PM to a pretty empty park. In fact it was so empty that I wondered if I had the right park! Turns out I had accidentally bumbled into it from a rear entrance. And it was soooo Fitchburgy. To one side a plaque read about how this park was here because the river was soooo beautiful that it was determined it must be a park. And indeed there was some pretty impressive masonry holding up a flag whoosing over… a VERY overgrown and completely unkempt riverbank. Even hiking into the middle of nowhere I hadn’t seen a thicket of weeds so ferociously thick. I took a photo – and then was asked by a man if I was a volunteer. No? He told me to check in and pointed frantically towards the other side of the park. I shrugged and did as I was told.

Approaching the ticketmaster I asked what was up today, pretending to play dumb for a moment. She told me it was a Steampunk Festival and that there were vendors, food trucks, beer from a local brewery, and live music but they wouldn’t be starting for an hour. I knew 4PM had to be wrong! She didn’t even have tickets or anything so I bid her adieu and wandered the streets like a common urchin for a while. Until I got tired, found a bench, and just sat people watching. Problem is there seemed to be just as many people watching me, including a shuttle bus driver who kept passing and giving me the dirty eyeball. WHY? Is it the orange hair? It’s the orange hair.. or perhaps my general ne’er-do-well appearance. Two parked cop cars were also watching me sit idly by myself. I promise I wasn’t dealing. Seriously. Just minding my own!

Does this look like a face you’d trust? At least I had an excuse to wear the granny glasses again…

Eventually 5PM rolled around so I got off my duff and wandered back to the park, said hello again to the ticket master, and gave her exact change because she didn’t have a change box yet. I did however learn that this whole event was an attempt to raise money to buy the park a permanent stage. There’d been a folk festival the month before (which I wish I knew about) and next month they’re holding Fiesta Latina (Saturday 9/14/19 from 5-9) I could feel good about supporting such a cause. Music and art are a wonderful way to vitalize a community.

I wandered around looking at the vendors for as long as I could muster, said a happy hello to them, but really… there was one guy signing people up for a raffle, the beer guy, and two craft vendors. The food trucks were still amiss. I felt bad for the two crafters, this was the saddest turn out for such a thing I had ever seen. Obviously this meant I needed to shower one with praise for her art (which was actually nice, mind you!) and stop to get a Henna tattoo from the other. I’d always liked the idea of letting someone doodle on my skin… I mean this isn’t quite as involved as checking “volunteer sorry carcass to be full body painted” off my bucket list but it was close enough. Did you know Henna smells really weird? It smells like a head shop. I wasn’t real fond of it and kept smelling myself the rest of the day. SIGH. I did however listen intently to the care instructions – should last 24 hours before starting to fleck off leaving a stain. Don’t bash it against things. That last instruction may have been too much for me – someone who has consistently failed at being refined and dainty since birth. And yes, I saw the exasperated look the artist gave me as I then wandered off and sat on the ground in what I can only guess was the least feminine manner possible. Shockingly I did not smudge it in the grass! I did however pick it all off later that night because it was driving me nuts. Can’t win them all. TO NEW EXPERIENCES!

By now I wasn’t the only one in the audience but I was pretty damn close. A row of local older hippies sat in camping chairs up near the front. Damn! I had two of those in my car if only I had the audacity to lug them through Fitchburg and into the park. Nope, nevermind. I’m nutty enough a scene without a damn chair. I plopped my ass down a little behind them and off to the side.

AND SO THE SHOW BEGAN! First up was The Dirge Carolers. To me they had a typical steam punk sound mixed with a lot of murder ballad type lyrics. I relaxed. Gallows humor will always be a hit to me. By now some people were filing in and out and I was starting to enjoy the people watching. There were a lot of costumes, corsets, top hats, bustles, goggles, that sort of thing, and flashes of unnaturally colored hair abounded. I was home here. However this was not the feeling everyone got as I witnessed one old black dude just wandering aimlessly, staring wide-eyed at everyone with an unmistakable impression on his face, “Uh-oh, the crazy white people have taken over the park again.” He wasn’t wrong.

I was sitting directly in the sun which was glaring in my eyes bad. I couldn’t see a damn thing but I knew the stage was probably populated by oddly adorned individuals – how? Well by the amount of amateur photographers who seemed to be floating around taking snaps with great glee – captive bizarre human subjects!! I’ll admit, I had thought about doing the same but I didn’t bring my camera, just my phone. One particular photographer was college aged, seemed to think a lot about each capture. She kept circling me, taking photos of everything around me. And then she worked up the nerve to take a photo of me, just me. There was NO WAY she could hide this so I just looked up from my reclined position on the grass and smiled broadly. Sorry. Better luck next time getting a natural shot of me. She seemed embarrassed. I just laughed and nodded.

As the band continued to play the most Fitchburg-y thing happened. A train rumbled through right behind the stage completely blocking out all music for a good three minutes or so as it dragged car after car after car behind it. I thought it was a terrific piece of ambiance for a steampunk festival! The band played on like they were on the goddamn Titanic. That’s dedication there. They eventually left off with some song from a B-rated horror movie they wrote it for, sullenly leaving the stage with this odd lamentation, “Sorry, no Zombie Llama today.” Though I’d never heard of this band I suddenly wanted to hear Zombie Llama.

The first intermission was fun. The park was still pretty quiet. There were people around but it seemed like they were just here for the food truck (ouch.) I considered getting up and buying myself a nice shwarma but I’d been struggling with bad nausea all week and wasn’t really hungry. Maybe in a bit. In the meantime I was being kept well entertained by a human blockhead running around with a long nail and power drill – an act I have seen many times before but this one was way more fun because the audience he was playing to – those nice old hippie ladies- were WELL GROSSED OUT, turning their heads in abject horror and audibly gagging. Sorry bud, it’s just not your day. He wandered off a smidge sullen.

Once everyone settled back down with their assorted dinners the second band went up to bat. They were the Busted Jug Band a strange assortment of heavily costumed, utterly bizarre, peoples carrying rubber chickens. And some instruments…. which were very… DIY… They also introduced every one of the members, not by name, but by aggressively odd nicknames which I am not entirely certain weren’t made up on the spot. My favorite was Root Boy which just… brings up SO MANY QUESTIONS. Like what kind of root? And whhhy? Do you aspire to be a turnip? Because you’re giving me a root vegetable vibe. Even better one of the other band members was wearing translucent angel wings… which during the last intermission freaked me the hell out because all I could see through a halo of sun glare was a top-hatted silhouette and angel wings. For a second I thought I might have died. No such luck.

But anyway, the music from this band was… different for sure! And perhaps a bit familiar? I think I may have seen them before… This had a much more silly feel to it. No one up there was taking their life even the tiniest bit seriously. And of course that intense whimsy was all the more adorable to me. I was pretty happy on my little patch of grass though my knees and back weren’t so much. I contemplated lying on the ground and staring at the sky for a while. I could always tell people walking by I was on acid and watching the pretty clouds (there were no clouds) as I knew in this crowd that’d be a perfectly acceptable thing to say… I held it together.

By the time the second band finished up I was just really loving the vibe of everyone here. The old hippies were randomly getting up, wandering, and dancing, and hugging each other – I’m not going to lie, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were on acid. They were warm and lovely bunch. Most of the lookee-loos had wandered off but more and more steam-punky looking people were showing up and I’ll be damned if that old black dude didn’t pull up a chair behind me with his daughter and her friends. Shout out to all the cool dads out there who don’t get their kids hobbies at all but still support them! I can’t tell you how much I respect that. His daughter and her friends were in the maybe 12-14 age range. She was sporting a dark purple mohawk and was giving me some strong Aspie vibes but I couldn’t be happier with that. Be your weird self. She stuttered to me that she liked my hair. I told her I liked hers too and then she blurted out, “But it BURNS!” What? “Bleaching it! It burns so bad!” Ooooh, I don’t think you’re supposed to keep it in that long… “TWO HOURS! AND I CAN’T HAVE MY NAILS DONE EITHER!” Why? She held up her nails, two well done fake nails still remaining with all the others hacked the hell off. I grok that. I held up my own in solidarity and laughed. She asked if I liked music. I said all kinds and asked what she liked listening to. She listed a bunch of 90’s bands and I suddenly felt really old. I felt only somewhat better when I recognized the one modern band she did mention – Panic at the Disco – but if I am brutally honest I only have heard the name in passing. I haven’t the foggiest idea what they sing.

Meanwhile as this intermission dragged on the human block head came out with fire. Ah, fire eating. How dual purpose. But he wasn’t having a great time with it. No one here seemed impressed, the kids were vocally not entertained, and eventually when he couldn’t get his last trick to go right he gave this exasperated expression and wandered off, leaving the stage to a chick who worked at the local eatery across the street. Her fire came attached to hula hoops and she wasn’t fucking around. I was actually quite impressed! We’d see her intermittently for the rest of the night doing different acts – all with various things in flames. It was probably at this time one of the girls wandered off and cornered the blockhead/fire eater and somehow elicited his entire life story from him. I got to hear all about it a few minutes later and had to struggle really hard not to laugh. I’m not eavesdropping, no siree.

The last band up was the one I came for: Walter Sickert and the Army of Broken Toys. They were having some issues setting up with unwanted feedback loops and were taking awhile. I had already seen them perform two or three times before – never thought I’d see them again. That last time I went they didn’t come on stage until the establishment was nearly closed. The pamphlet said they were unpredictable and I had heard rumors that they were hard to work with because of these issues but even with all that they have to be one of the best experiences of my life. They really truly believe that art, love, and music can cure all the world’s ills and their audience is so vibrant, creative, and accepting that in each of those instances I got the hugest contact high just from all the warm fuzzies in the air. That’s what I came for! That and the music. This band… raw fucking talent. And this was obvious when they finally got to singing and the whole audience which had been fidgety and complaining behind me just went, “WOW!” And the grumpy old dad? “I guess this WAS worth waiting for them to set up!”

It had started with sweet sad violin music, not a note out of place, that lulled the audience before walloping them over the head with strong passionate vocals and more traditional instruments. Absolutely amazing. And some of the band members had young children whose birthday it was so they all got up on the stage and danced in a cloud of bubbles as a few songs were dedicated to them. That was certainly different than the body positive burlesque dancers and drag kings I was used to surrounding this act but it was so…. sweet. And seemed so right, all at the same time. Maybe with time everyone grows up – but the smartest among us clutch tightly to the passion and whimsy that brought us this far. I was overjoyed to get one short video of the madness, one of my favorite songs – a cover of I am Sam Hall (Best. Version. Ever.) which I will post below. As the music came to an end I slinked silently back into the night where I found comfort in the darkness and drove quietly home, a smile on my face.

August 28, 2019 0

East Hill Cemetery Peterborough NH

Yesterday I passed this cemetery and noted that I had to go check it out because of all the slate stones I could see from the road. Had I not been running errands I would have stopped right then and there but alas I had to wait until today to satiate my curiosity.

The cemetery is easy to find. It’s on Old Street Road between East Hill Road and Glen Drive. It’s marked by a large green historical marker and has space for a few cars to parallel park in the front of it. The numerous plaques and markers denote this is the resting place of a great many Revolutionary War soldiers, including a famous drummer by the name of William Diamond. It was also Peterborough’s first cemetery and wow, did I hit the jackpot here! This had to be the largest gathering of slate stones I have ever seen. This was a sizable and old cemetery. I would have never guessed Peterborough was this bustling so long ago!

But first I had to get in. A sign out front said the hours and a few limitations (no pets or stone rubbings allowed) but when I got to the gate it seemed to be welded shut. It was weird. There was already a car here so someone was already in the cemetery but I couldn’t see them. How did they get in?? I tugged at the gate. Nothing. I contemplated jumping over the wall but there were too many cars going by and I am rather recognizable with neon orange hair and psychedelic bell bottoms. After getting frustrated I said, “OK. I will be back!”

Later that day I was talking to my mother about all this and she said there had to be a way in. “I bet you that gate opened somehow.” So I put her up to the task and we both headed out for attempt number two. As it turns out the gate isn’t welded shut it’s just stuck – quite stubbornly. With enough wiggling and pulling it finally opened.

By now I had gone online and realized that this cemetery was only 77% photographed and there were five open requests out to find five separate grave markers:

William Wallace (1698 – ??) Jane Mitchel (1721-1791) Jane Chamberlin (1820-1822) Benjamin Chamberlin (??-1819) and William Robbe (1692-1791)

Two of these were babies during their deaths about a hundred years ago. Who is searching for the grave markers of long dead babies!? I mean I understand the adults – it’s probably a genealogy thing, but babies never grew up to have descendants and with almost a hundred years since their death there’s no one in living memory to want to see their memorial either… It sounds really crass but often times the memorials of infants and babies are… ephemeral. They’re small, often lack a lot of information, sometimes they don’t have any writing on them at all. In the case of stillbirths they’re frequently buried without a name. Today the death of a baby is a tragedy but a hundred, two hundred years ago? It was just another every day event.

Still – knowing someone was looking I was determined. I WILL FIND YOU! EVEN THE BABIES! I looked to see if there were any more information on any of these individuals and came up pretty empty handed. In fact the information online about everyone here seemed shockingly scarce for what I felt to be quite a historic place. But alas even the revolutionary war soldiers had only the shortest and most cryptic of descriptions online – birth place, birth and death dates, time of service, if they were married or had kids, and nothing more. Pretty basic stuff. I also found no pennies here. These historical figures were…. completely and utterly forgotten.

It was weird. The cemetery seems like it’s kept really well. Some of the stones were repaired or replaced but most were still in pristine condition. This made the missing stones all the more confusing. It was a bright hot day and almost the whole cemetery is in full sunlight with no shade. I started in the corner and made a beeline for the back where I figured the oldest stones may be. And sure enough I found the Robbe family plot which spanned two centuries and seemed to have all the Robbe’s… except for William. Where are you hiding William? Do you even have a stone here? Or did you ever get one? Or did it somehow get destroyed? There was a rock in the ground which I couldn’t tell if it was just another random rock in the ground or a part of a gravestone that no longer had a top. Hmmmm. The mystery thickens!

And by now the mugginess and heat where getting to the both of us so I had to call it a day. I’m not done yet though. I will be back… perhaps with a map of plots in hand to help guide me. And in the meantime I joined Find a Grave and will offer my photos and finds as they are warranted since I am already touring these places anyway. Might as well make myself useful!

There’s also a two trailheads on the same street and well… I am going to need to check those out too…

TO BE CONTINUED…

August 21, 2019 0

Festival of Fireworks 2019 – Jaffrey NH

The Festival of Fireworks is something that almost everyone I know has attended at least once because it’s so goddamn amazing. Normally it’s 45 solid minutes of fireworks perfectly timed to well loved music like Pink Floyd and Queen. Seriously, you’ve never heard Queen until you’ve seen every note set to colorful sky explosions. It’s AMAZING. And it’s put on by Atlas Fireworks – the same hometown company that does the big displays at our nation’s capital on July 4th. Dare I say there’s no better firework display to see in the US!

This year the theme was Woodstock so I knew I had to go no matter what. I may have been born in the 80’s but it’s the music of 67-69 that really ignites my passion for music. And the 50th Anniversary of Woodstock? Are you kidding me?! I’M GOING.

It’s pretty normal for locals to have parties and gatherings the night of the fireworks and to attend them in little groups. We had done much the same and invited a bunch of people. However things from the start weren’t going right. Mother was anxious to leave early, although she didn’t know why, her friends weren’t responding to text messages despite having planned to meet up, and the one person already at the house had a headache so severe she decided to stay behind. By the time our other guests showed up my mother was in a tizzy.

We arrived in Jaffrey and parked a ways away before walking the rest of the way. There had been threats of rain and it was looking pretty gray but I continued walking. I didn’t care. It rained at the actual Woodstock, who says this wasn’t nature’s little tip of the hat to authenticity? However what we didn’t know is the fireworks were starting early and by the time we got to the gates we had already missed the first third of the show. Still didn’t care. Still kept on walking! Our guests on the other hand didn’t want to pay the $10 a head to see something that’d already started so they stopped before the gates.

As we walked up to the ticket booth I caught the tail end of Jefferson Airplane’s White Rabbit and by the time I was setting my chair up Joe Cocker was belting out With a Little Help from my Friends and I nearly cried because I was just so happy. Ear to ear grin. And when Santana started playing I felt like I was goddamn flying. I was in my element. There’s something about that music that just makes me feel so…. alive. And I wasn’t the only one grooving to the good vibes. People all around me were singing along to the choruses and giving off this wonderful sense of connectedness.

As soon as we sat down it started to drizzle a bit. People were already leaving. I brought a hoodie and an umbrella, planning for the worst and just staked it out. I took a few videos. They had a lot of the favorites – Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Credence Clearwater Revival, Jefferson Airplane, a little Blood Sweat and Tears and then when they got around to The Who’s Pinball Wizard things had really heated up. By now it had started to POUR and people were fleeing in droves, practically no one was staying seated. But the fireworks were going off by now with more vigor than all the songs previous and I was just having a blast! Was I cold? YES. That rain was icy. Was I wetter than a gym sock during a field trial? Fuck yes I was and it was just adding to my pure joy about the whole thing. It just felt right.

After this the rain started coming down in sheets even harder than before which aside from drenching all the people left behind it also drowned out any music I could still hear. A white water rapid formed aside us whooshing a four inch deep stream down into the storm drains. People were running out en masse, soaked through and through. It was like watching a hoard of drown rats fleeing a sinking ship!

Still I managed to video the finale anyway. As usual it was bombastic – just nonstop flashes of colors and chest rattling booms. My mother and I were laughing. I took a selfie to remember the night. By the time we got back to where we left our friends they had already walked back to the car and driven home. We spent the next half hour wheeling around the back roads because my mother got lost. To be fair it was PITCH black and raining and I probably would have done the same.

All and all, despite everything that went wrong, I am sooooo happy I went. I really needed that! And the free ice cold shower was actually a bonus to me. Below are the videos I took.

Janis Joplin – Piece of my Heart:

Bad Moon Rising – Credence Clearwater Revival

You Made me so Very Happy – Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Rolling on the River – Credence Clearwater Revival

All Along the Watchtower – Jimi Hendrix

**having some technical difficulties uploading this one**

Pinball Wizard – The Who

The Finale – Song Unknown.

This blog brought to you by me and my super chill mom.

August 18, 2019 0

Phineas Gage Memorial – Cavendish Vermont

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

August 9, 2019 2

Fort at Number Four – Charlestown NH

The tower from whence you can see Vermont.

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

Nothing like living behind a jagged timber fence.

It was this and several other little memories that brought me back today as I found myself once again on the road. The Fort at Number Four is a reconstruction of a wooden fort that stood in the fourth plantation of the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1735. It was the North Westernmost British settlement in the New World. By 1745 ten families lived within the confines of the fort behind big fortified walls. There were living quarters, a saw mill, gardens, a barn, a black smith shop all nested in the woods like some sort of antisocial wooden castle blockading itself from the rest of the world. Why was such a thing necessary? Well because diplomacy apparently wasn’t one of the settlers’ biggest skills and the “Indians” (which are still referred to as such in the pamphlets they were handing out today) were a little testy about the new neighbors claiming their land as their own. And from there it appears there were some dust ups involving the British, the French, the occasional Spaniard… to me this seems like lunacy. For ten families to live in what amount to the wilderness – thirty five miles from the closest settlement. But OK.

Oh today’s tour was going to be good if this is what I went in there thinking. I am happy to note it was a really easy place to find and on a Thursday pretty much no one was there except a woman taking admission fees ($12 per adult) and one melting tour guide in period garb who I found playing Hoops with some children. He offered everyone else guided tours but myself and the older couple who came in at the same time as me politely declined to go wander on our own. I like allowing myself time and space to take photos from odd angles and such.

Here’s a photo of my knees giving a solid “fuck you” for climbing to the top of the tower. These stairs have to be climbed down backwards like a latter. Fun.

First off I should remark that you shouldn’t revisit places form your childhood that you once thought were so grand because when you get there and realize just how tiny and insignificant they are your perceptions will be RUINED. I headed up the tower, which by the way is only three stories high, and looked out over the river. Yup. There was Vermont. Looking all green and sleepy as she usually does. The view was sooo…. unspectacular, but I guess it would be for someone who has flown in planes, peered down from the Penobscot Bridge Observatory, and nearly died of exhaustion dragging my sorry ass to the top of the Empire State Building. Life and experience had dampened my reaction.

I remembered literally nothing else of the fort from those sweet early days and I was actually happily surprised how expansive the place was. Plus it smelled like old barn wood which made me deliriously happy. Of course being unlit it was pretty dark in spots but that made it all the more fun. Coming into the kitchen I found a number of herbs hanging to dry. One of them brought me straight back to my childhood. It smelled SO FAMILIAR but I don’t know what it was… something from my days in the first house I lived in. I was grinning from ear to ear. The fort seemed to have a lot of personality even with very sparse furnishings. It was indeed the perfect space to play with my photography – the lighting, the architecture, the odd artifacts, all lent themselves beautifully to this task.

Yup, those would be two child-sized coffins int he rafters. Daring motif.

Then I got to looking around – and having a bit of fun with the artifacts. being as this was basically set up for children many of the exhibits were hands-on like the series of pelts that lined the walls of one of the buildings that made up a sort of macabre dead petting zoo of sorts. It wasn’t the most morbid thing by far, there were two child-size coffins in the workshop, and another plaque telling the history of the place said something about “murder holes” being needed to protect the families in their bedrooms. Murder holes. To protect the family. In their beds. Just let that sink in. But the weirdest thing I found was a diorama of the place. There were soldiers reenacting a battle all around it, which I get, but why they were wearing Scottish kilts and who they were fighting…. fuck if I know. Maybe there was a sale on figurines that day. Kilted ones. Or maybe there’s something the brochures aren’t telling me. Quite frankly I left a bit confused and only took one feeble shot of this weird scene because I didn’t feel like being that person taking photos of the diorama. Seriously. That guy. We all know that guy. I still have pride. I wandered off to fondle the zombie pets.

Besides the mystery Scottish militia there seems to be a vaguely Turkish looking dude in the back swinging a bayonet at nothing. I have no idea who they’ve killed.

I spent maybe an hour or so poking around. It was a sweet little way to spend an afternoon. After this I allowed the GPS to try and kill me leading me through increasingly narrow dirt roads on the search for my next destination – the scene of Phineas Gage’s fateful railway accident.

August 8, 2019 0

South Cemetery – Wendell MA

My final stop today was in the South Cemetery in Wendell Massachusetts. It was really weird. I had a moment of deja vu when I saw it. I don’t know when it was but I know I have passed this cemetery before and I knew then I wanted to see it but if I remember correctly it was another hot summer day and I was coming home from somewhere else, again enjoying the back roads. I didn’t stop then but I knew I had to today. Something there was calling me. So I parked badly on the little grass hill in front of the cemetery and headed in with my camera.

The cemetery is located at a fork in the road. There was traffic going by but I have no idea where they were going. This place was sparsely inhabited. Still, the two cars that drove by slowed down to see what crazy person was out here, alone, in an old cemetery in the woods.

For some reason I was being drawn to the back right corner exactly the opposite of where I parked. I passed by an old crypt, took a quick shot, and then noticed something very odd. Here sitting quietly in the shade were two of the most unusual stones I had ever seen in New England. In fact they weren’t stones at all. One was a wooden cross with another chunk of wood sitting at its base, the appropriate details burned into it and laying atop a circle of random rocks. It was a burial that wouldn’t look out of place in the Old West but here in New England it was odd. Even weirder still was the plot next to it which held no cross, just a lump of wood, again with all the usual data seared into it. This was the first time I’d seen a wooden memorial. It seemed so… impermanent. Was that the point? To be remembered and then forgotten entirely once living memory was lost? A dead bird sat in front of them, perhaps left by a cat. It was a bit eerie, certainly the first time I’ve found a headless animal sitting atop a grave.

I couldn’t stop staring at the memorial. The more I looked the more weird details came to the surface. There was a tiny purse hanging from the cross. Why? This was the last resting place of a man. Was it left by an old girlfriend? I don’t know why but I was very saddened by this particular plot. Whoever was here was young when he died – too young. And it was recently. Only 2015. The epitaph read, “Live life real.” I could have seen him alive and never have known it. And the plot next to him read “matriarch” and was only three years later. Was that his mother? Did she die from a broken heart? My own grandmother outlived two of her five children who died in adulthood and… she was never the same.

I sat staring at these two plots for quite a while. So many questions. There were a lot of other Stebbins here. Clearly the family has been buried here for a long time – but they all got stones. It’s odd. The purse seemed to hint someone was still around who cared. Who visited. But the fact that the marker was so… cheaply made and impermanent just didn’t settle right with me. I wondered if they couldn’t afford a stone. It happens sometimes. I looked them up when I got home but none of my questions were answered. If anything their obituaries just brought up more mystery. I eventually pulled myself away.

Not to far away in the same back row another stone caught my eye. It looked pretty typical until you looked closer at it and realized instead of any of the usual motifs it was a hammer with angel wings and an odd inscription, “In peace, through work; joy” And then I realized this was another person who died young. This just made me wonder more. However this person had literally no traces online having died in 1977. So recently and yet not enough.

By now I was feeling pretty strange. Usually as I walk through rows of stones I do have curiosity but this odd sense of being pulled, this mystery, and the overall sadness was new. I don’t know what or who was there but I don’t think I was alone. I wandered through some of the older markers and made note of some of the prose. One was short and cryptic, “Death sure will come, the time unknown.” That is certainly true of Alonzo Granger who “..died from shock from railway accident when his chest was crushed and his feet were cut off.” Brutal. This mixed with my previous experience here today just made me feel like what I was doing right now – living my life to its fullest, exploring, traveling, learning, meeting new people, it’s all the right thing to be doing. I had a moment of gratitude before I finally left and decided to call it a day. I shall be back to this area. It was far to beautiful and poetic to leave behind forever.

August 3, 2019 0

Federated Women’s Club State Forest – Petersham/New Salem MA

Taking a jaunt through the Northwest Cemetery was fun but ideally I was out for a hike today. All the cemeteries and fishing holes were just a distraction. Really I wanted to find a nice trail and enjoy the somewhat moderate weather. It was only 79 degrees out, in the past week it’s been 84 and although that seems only a slight difference it really isn’t when slogging through the woods!

I’d passed by a number of trailheads which weren’t marked. I wasn’t sure if they were private property and was really on the lookout for something that I could park in front of without being towed away or reported. That’s always a plus. So when I started seeing a few feeble signs for the Federated Woman’s Club State Forest I couldn’t help but wonder what that was. I turned in and it was…. completely vacant. I am not sure any cars have been down here since spring. The roads were ROUGH. The potholes were so deep that the undercarriage of the Prius got a bit scraped up despite me trying desperately to drive less than ten miles an hour and go around them. The GPS was also no help. According to my map I was driving into nowhere. The roads weren’t even showing up.

Finally I drove up to a little parking space which looked like it was at a trailhead although nothing was marked at all. I stopped and tried for the fourth time today to type in “Where am I?” into my cell phone and for the fourth time it told me I was out of range for any kind of internet connection. SIGH. So unfortunately I have no idea which trail it was that I took or where it was… only that I was somewhere within the boundaries of the park.

There were signs everywhere warning that hunting and trapping were allowed here. I guess it’s a good thing I have neon orange hair. I don’t feel like being shot today. The trail at first seemed like an old road and someone had probably driven up it somewhat recently but before I knew it the path narrowed and started looking more like a hiking trail. It was SO QUIET out here that all I could hear was the birds. I don’t think there was a soul around and I don’t think many people aside from trappers and hunters must use these trails because it wasn’t long before it went from a pleasant stroll to “Hmmm, there appears to a be a bridge which I am not sure if humans or beavers built and the trail…. doesn’t seem very trail like anymore…” Plus it was getting hot so I turned around at the weird log bridge.

I had on the way discovered some weird mushrooms, the likes of which I had never seen before. I’d also scared a few frogs, tangoed with a dragon fly or two, and spotted and old stone which I could not prove or disprove may have been a burial for someone. It’s not unusual to find stones in State Forests – often the land is donated by people whose families have lived on it for a long time and back in the day cemeteries were frequently tiny family plots of only 1-20 individuals basically in the back yard of the family farm. Over time trees grow, houses crumble, and people forget.

I was pretty melted by the time I got back to the car but I was having such a wonderful day. This was the ultimate introvert’s retreat. I really felt like I was so far from civilization that I could have turned feral at any moment. I drove down the road some more to see if I could find any more trails. There was one that was badly hidden that I passed by accidentally and then the road basically stopped at a T. To the left there was a big sign reading, “Road closed, bridge out!” and to the right there was a gate across the way. There was a small parking area fit for maybe four cars and I was tempted to check it out but I was still pretty overheated and decided this might be best for another day. Besides I had one more adventure – to the South Cemetery in Wendell – to go to before going home.

August 3, 2019 0