I am just writing this quick entry to announce that this week I will be doing something a little different with this blog. Since I was invited to attend a wedding in Maryland I decided to take a few days off and poke around Baltimore and Fredric. I had a lot of fun with great people and destinations and took enough photos to make you cry. We ended up everywhere – at museums, battlefields, escape rooms, some fantastic diners, antique shops, record stores, parks, and of course cemeteries. So buckle and stay tuned as I post a flurry of Maryland-based entries!
Since my brain hasn’t been working full capacity for A WHILE now I have been allowing other people to pick my travel destinations – which by the way keeps things interesting for sure! I end up places I wouldn’t have even thought of and that’s great! But this time around when the location was mentioned I was far less than enthusiastic about it. You see it was the tri-state marker in Douglas MA, a small town I used to live in, and the only town I can say I never wanted to step foot in again. It’s not the town, which is quaint and idealistic, but the fact I built my dream life there and then had to leave it quite suddenly and under extreme duress. You can’t really blame me for not wanting to re-traumatize myself.
But that got me to thinking that maybe avoiding psychological triggers wasn’t the healthiest way to move forward in life. And why should I? Just because someone else made my life miserable why should I let them continue to have any power over me now? I shouldn’t. Because I have every right in the world to take a peaceful hike through the woods. So I did and I am super happy with my decision because it was awesome!
Into the muck I go!
Hell, if I knew when I lived there that there was a gorgeous HUGE state forest just a mile or two from my house I would have been there every day! Of the off season anyway. I guess it’s $9 per head for Mass residents and $30 a head for out-of-staters to get a day pass there during the on season. Little too rich for my blood but that’s only because I’m poor. Luckily for all of us we went during the off season when it’s free to everyone.
This place was whimsy central. The fall foliage was almost at it’s peak and everything was yellow with bursts of red and I can’t tell you how many mushrooms we found. Hundreds. All different kinds and colors – purple, red, pink, yellow, white, brown, and even some that looked like full sized pancakes on stalks! There were even mushrooms in every stage of life – a great deal of them having melted into gooey black puddles. I was just happy to be out with a party that seemed just as impressed with them as I was. And there was wildlife too. Before we even reached the proper trail I found a little red bellied snake just off the parking lot and there were salamanders and birds galore. And interestingly enough we also found a bunch of old foundations to what I am guessing were houses at one point. They were a delightful surprise. I have tried to look up information about them but no one’s been forthcoming and all I could really figure out was the forest was created in the 1930’s so the foundations had to have predated that.
We were all having a lot of fun but that’s not to say the journey wasn’t without it’s troubles. For one we didn’t have good directions at all and the 5.4 mile loop to the tri-state marker that we were promised was… how shall we say… not as straight forward as it seemed. It took several turns onto different trails and somewhere along the way we must have messed up because when we did find a marker it wasn’t the one we were looking for… it only marked the Massachusetts Rhode Island boundary. But we thought we found it and headed back to the car after many miles of hiking. By this point I decided I didn’t feel like dancing around the flooded parts of the path so I took off my shoes and went straight through the water. This was fine until I went through one puddle that went for quite a stretch and the water came almost up to my knees at points. Of course being a puddle and not clear water I couldn’t see where my feet were going and it was a rocky bottom making navigation challenging. Still, even though I was painfully slow, I didn’t regret my decision at all. That ice cold water cooled me down and indulged my inner child who found the splashing hilariously fun. By this time our party of four had whittled down to a party of three and I was struggling to keep up as my energy was going down to 3%. I’d pay for this dearly in the days afterwards but I still think it was worth it. My hiking companions were also not unfazed as the mosquitos were so thick on this day they nearly sucked us all dry. Little bizarre for mid October but OK! I don’t think my camera appreciated the trek very much unbeknownst to me it was throwing a fit the whole time and all my photos came out blurry. I apologize they are not as crisp and professional as other entries.
All and all this place was beautiful and I would happily return – maybe even finding the right marker this time! I highly suggest it to anyone who loves hiking, swimming, boating, or even horseback riding (as there was much evidence other horses had been through here.)
This week I returned to the Eyrie House ruins.. and I know you’re saying, “Returned? When did you go the first time?” I went early in the summer months and it was such a bad trip I decided not to write a blog entry and deter anyone from going up there. Suffice to say my super unfit ass had a HARD time getting up there and overheated so badly that I ended up horking up my lunch in the woods. From there I met a sweet old hippie woman on a break coming down that I spent an hour talking to and then we got locked in the park… because we reached the gate five minutes past closing… And in all that time I took almost no photos because I was too concentrated on not dying.
I promised we could return when I was in better shape and to be honest I was a little iffy when it came up again. Not that it wasn’t nice… just… you know, when things go that badly the first time it doesn’t really give you much motive to want to try again. However, this time we were bringing two friends with us – one with a fucked up leg and another who by their own admission had let the quarantine weight we’ve all gained go a little too far. Now that there was the possibility of not being the weakest on the team (for the first time ever!) I was feeling hopeful.
So we got there earlier this time, lunches already in hand, and met the hill.
“This is the hill? This is nothing. It’s maybe a 30 degree incline.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said… but IT KEEPS GOING.” [and going and going.] The sign at the beginning claims it’s a little more than a mile. The Internet on the other hand says it’s a 2.4 mile trail.
Sure enough that little hill didn’t stop. And despite being the middle of goddamn fall the temperature was SEVENTY-FOUR degrees out. But at least it wasn’t muggy like the first time! Still, our guests needed a break. A few breaks really. Until we hit a little turn off trail called the Goat’s Peak trail. It led to a nearby viewing tower.
Of course my usual travel companion wanted to take this detour and see what was there. Claiming the usual, “It has to be just right there… how far could it be?!”
Not surprisingly to me it wasn’t just right there and it was a mini hike all on it’s own. The Internet agrees it was a mile and a half added to our trek. In any event only three of us made it to the tower and of those three I was the only one to make it all the way up. Fatigue and vertigo had taken out the others.
I’m not going to say it wasn’t scary climbing up there – because it really was. The steps and platforms were all see-through grates which gave the uneasy feeling you were climbing into the air. And it was four sets of stairs before the top. I took my time and got there. And I must say the view was GORGEOUS. I could see for miles and miles. There were houses and churches, a water tower, a ski slope, some farm land and just as I was fucking around trying to make a panoramic photo with my cell phone a turkey vulture flew right by me at eye level only a few feet away. It was HUUUUGE. Like watching a pterodactyl in it’s natural habitat. But of course by the time I got my real camera untangled it was far away again. Shame, would have been an awesome photo! Instead I took a photo of a helicopter in the distance and one snap straight down to show how high up I was.
When I was ready to come down I was a little unsure how I was going to manage. I think the reality of being so high up was just starting to hit me and I was unsure how to go about this – do I go down backwards like a ladder? Or forwards clinging onto both rails for dear life and hitting each step with both feet like a toddler learning to walk? I chose the latter. And I was OK… until I hit the ground and got full on jelly legs and was barely able to stand.
“Uhhh…. I need to sit for a minute!!” My hands were shaking a bit from the adrenaline. Oh, how I missed these little random adrenaline bursts I get while travelling. When I could reliably put my legs under me again we continued on, gathering the whole crew back again and taking a few more breaks… the most amusing of which was when an 84 year old man and his dog jogged by us without so much as a drop of sweat on his brow.
Finally we made it to the old parking lot where cars used to be allowed. It was now a scenic overlook. And from there… the test really began because it wasn’t far to the ruins but it was at a much steeper incline. Even I had to bulldog this portion of the hike and I was doing really well until now!
But there at the top there is indeed the ruins of a swank hotel that burned down in 1908 after a botched horse cremation. And it’s beautiful! And it has quite a view looking out as well. We all gathered, ate our lunches, and I ran around taking photos – most of which came out super washed out because I had not intended it to be quite so glaringly sunny on that day and my camera didn’t take well to this. It’s a shame too because some of the nature shots were so pretty I was going to put them on my RedBubble shop but alas, they’re all blurry!! Foiled again!
On our way down I also found the world’s tiniest Eastern Garter Snake hatchling and picked it up. I was told this little buggar “HAD” to be in this entry so here he is in all his tiny glory. Sadly we didn’t get a photo of him with his tiny gummy mouth open yelling, “I So ScArY!!” but he totally did that too. And it was ADORABLE. I let him loose in some leaf litter of the trail.
If you’re looking for a hike to some nice ruins this is a winner – just make sure you’re in shape first!!
Thursday was my birthday but I really didn’t feel like celebrating. I have been in a stress-induced haze for a year and didn’t make my goal of publishing another book on my birthday as is the tradition I set for myself. As such I was feeling less like my birthday was about celebrating surviving another year of life and more about marking down I was another year closer to death which seemed a bit grim. And because of this I didn’t give anyone any warning it was my birthday.
I did try to figure out something cool to do but I was coming up short so I did what I always do in these situations – I left it up to the Universe – “If you want me to celebrate my birthday, you figure something out.” And it did! Sort of out of nowhere we ended up getting together with another friend who suggested we go apple picking. I haven’t been apple picking since I was just a wee one so the thought of it definitely tickled my brain. Yes, this would be the perfect way to spend my birthday – and was it ever!
We ended up going to the Wittle Willow’s Spring Farm in Mystic Connecticut. They had a lovely little farm stand set up and both an apple orchard and a pumpkin patch to pick from. They handed us some brown paper bags and off we wandered into the vague direction they were pointing. We were told there were lots of McIntosh, some Granny Smiths, some Red Delicious, and a few Golden Delicious somewhere out there. And so we wandered out into the orchard which was… not marked in any way and the trees didn’t even grow in proper rows but seemed to be dotted at random. We found some Granny Smiths but they too were not in a cluster but rather smattered about in between all the McIntosh. It was pure chaos and only about to get more chaotic.
For here in the middle of the orchard was a neatly groomed stone wall with a tiny old family cemetery within it. There was even a sign dating it to the 1700’s. How ironic is that that we went to probably the only orchard with a cemetery in it?! Obviously I was charmed. Meanwhile my companion was charmed with a singular pair tree just hanging out and chilling.
“They’re just funny looking apples.” My dry sense of humor is sometimes lost on those who have to endure it.
When we all had our paper sack loaded up we headed back to weigh and buy them. It was $1.50 a pound and we all made out like bandits. I’ll be making apple butter and probably apple sauce. There was talk of apple juice, pancakes, and pies.
And then we finished our little adventure playing with some pigs sleeping in a wallow. There were three big sows and maybe a couple dozen piglets and the farm stand was selling lettuce and corn to feed them as treats. The second they heard the first lettuce leaf being plucked off they all woke up and ran to the fence. From there it was just a feeding frenzy with the big mamas grunting in disapproval whenever the treats ran dry. The largest one seemed most insistent nuzzling the fence and grunting. She reminded me of a dog with weirdly human looking eyes. The whole scene reminded me of the happy days I lived on a farm throwing one grape at a time into the chicken pen and watching 50 or so hens all make a mad dash for it. Someday I will return to this life but for now I found it very cathartic to just visit.
Our adventures were just starting for the day because after this we wanted to go to nearby B F Clyde’s Cider Mill where I was hoping to score an apple cider doughnut in lieu of a birthday cake.
Did you know there are numerous airplane crash sites in the woods you can still hike to all over New England? I have wanted to visit one for a long time now but most of them are pretty intense hikes into the mountains which I knew I couldn’t physically do… but the B-52 crash site in Greenville is practically right off the parking lot so it was the optimum amount of difficulty for me!
And the story surrounding it is more exciting than an Indiana Jones adventure. On January 24, 1963 a B-52C Stratofortress flew out of the Westover Airforce Base in Massachusetts. It was a training mission for six crew members and three observers to learn how to fly at low altitudes over rugged terrain to avoid RADAR detection in the Cold War effort. All was going well until the turbulence became violent enough to rip off the vertical air stabilizer which sent the plane careening into Elephant Mountain. The pilot gave the order for everyone to eject but it’d only be ten seconds between this and the plane hitting the ground. Almost everyone on board died on impact but the pilot and navigator managed to eject in time but there was a big problem here too – the pilot’s parachute didn’t deploy after ejection and he landed without it’s aid the five feet of snow below. Remarkably he only suffered a broken ankle and is the only one in US history to survive an ejection without a deployed parachute. The navigator survived with only minor injury but this was only the beginning of a miserable situation because they were six miles beyond civilization in the thick and untamed wilderness. If that wasn’t bad enough the temperature was at -15 degrees that night with a wind kicking up at 40 knots. With the added wind-chill factor this would have felt like -51F or -46C respectively. They somehow survived the night and were rescued in the morning when they could be reached.
Currently the wreckage is still six miles beyond the borders of Greenville up a series of logging roads. Having learned my lesson from my last logging road adventure I left the Prius behind and took the RAV4. This was the right idea! Several parts of the road were nearly washed out from recent rains and it got rough at points but unlike the abandoned trains the journey was relatively short and very well marked. There were signs pointing to the B52 memorial site all along the route and afterwards there were signs to guide us back to Greenville which was great because the GPS is useless on logging roads and shouldn’t be relied on in such a situation.
We weren’t the only ones there that day as several families with an inordinate amount of children were bounding out of the woods. They were respectful though, everyone was. I was shocked at the sheer carnage. You’d think that after so many decades in the wilderness that there wouldn’t be much left but actually there were pieces of metal and rubber everywhere, scattered over a disturbing distance, some pieces were still in trees. We could identify some of the wreckage but most of it was just lumps of shrapnel at this point. And that’s where the deeply unsettling thought comes to mind that airplanes are basically just tin cans we’ve convinced to stay in the air for a while.
I found the memorial to be as interesting as it was sobering and would definitely recommend it to anyone with an interest in these things. It’s near Moosehead Lake and there are a bountiful number of other things you can do in the area – hiking, camping, kayaking, and that sort of thing.
I told you we’d be back to take another shot at Cliff Walk. This time we almost accomplished the whole second half! But I’m getting ahead of myself…
First we figured out where we’d left off and then parked as close as we could to it in a spot that neither one of us felt was legal but you know… sometimes you just have to take the chance with the meter maids. We started near hiking point 7 – The Breakers. We’d already seen a lot of this on our first crack at it so we basically speed walked our way through all the sights and the cool egg-shaped tunnel in the rocks. This end of Cliff Walk was MUCH less populated than the other end and we were more or less alone for most of the journey with only an old hippie woman ahead of us – again beating my ass at this whole exercise thing. Damn she could ankle! SIIIIGH.
It was a hot day but there was a refreshing sea breeze coming off the water that for the most part kept me going. At other points it just smelled of rank and rotting seaweed. We were horrified to find some hikers had wandered off the path at one point to one of these little mini beaches and were swimming in the same fetid seaweed water that was giving off such an ungodly stench. It was two young women, one with a cigarette, each almost waist deep in the water squealing whenever the sea vomited up more half fermented seaweed to tangle around their legs. The chick with the cigarette raised it above her head every time the crashing tides came in. It was… a sight. And a smell!
“Oh man, they’re going to smeeeeeelllll when they get home…” Even the many dogs we had seen hiking with their masters weren’t rolling in that water – in fact they were panting off in the opposite direction – which really says something.
Newport is FULL of beaches. Most of them do not smell. In fact there were a couple other little semi private inlets on this walk alone that would have provided a better option… but to each their smelly own!
This stretch of the Cliff Walk was definitely more intense than the first half. There was a lot more scrabbling, a lot more rocks, a lot more antiquated staircases crumbling under the stresses only salt water can provide. But with these rocky stretches came new and beautiful sights. We could still see the sea angrily rushing towards shore, sometimes bringing with it piles of rocks that clacked and rumbled in the most whimsical way. There were a lot fewer birds but in their place we found a whole host of tide pools which are fun in their own right. I didn’t see too much life other than algae in them but I’m sure if I spent the time I may have found some periwinkles or itty bitty crabs or something. It’s been a dog’s year since I have gone tide pooling. It’s like looking into a little micro world you knew nothing about.
My hiking companion asked what the sea birds were. I hadn’t a clue. He’s the one that lives next to the sea! “But all I know are sea gulls and they suck.” Google later answered the question of what the big black birds having a meeting on a rock were – cormorants. Here ends all knowledge I have of said birds. They seemed chill. Certainly more so than sea gulls which let’s face it – are indeed the mosquitos of the bird world – being both obnoxious and somehow everywhere.
Meanwhile we were having fun with the more decrepit parts of the walk. We kept finding crumbled walls, bricked up stair cases, a few flits of graffiti, and random broken pipes and metal bits jutting out of the rocks off shore. It was an interesting contrast to the mansions which continued to line the path.
“Who owns that one?”
“I don’t know. I think Jay Leno has a house out here somewhere.”
“OK, I’m officially picking that one as the one the town witch lives in.”
“Why?”
“Every town needs a witch and that place looks old and beaten down.” (It did however have far more character than the better manicured mansions.)
It was wild out here – who knew that so much landscaping went into having a mansion next to the sea. We both got a good whiff of moo doo. But hey, it sure was green!
I was super proud of myself for only having to take a few very tiny breaks – and those were all due to overheating which was a vast improvement over exhaustion and pain. I still drank like a camel on leave but hey I made it! When we found ourselves at another street we decided to turn back even though the end of the trail was probably within spitting distance and you KNOW we’re going to have to go back a third time just to finish the damn thing. Point was my car was still illegally parked and we sorta needed to get back so whoosh! We waved to our new hippie friend (who had met with her family at this little cragged beach and was joining them fishing) and turned around.
All and all it was another lovely walk – this time a little better for an introvert such as myself as there were less people out here. I would still strongly suggest it if you’re in the area… just uh… be mindful of the parking situation. (And if you’re wondering – no, I did not end up with a ticket. We managed to ninja our way out of there without so much as a fuss.)
This week we went out to the Cliff Walk in Newport RI. I’d never heard of it but then again I have done a shockingly little amount of research on the city I keep finding myself in. That’s why it’s good to have a local on hand. A local who was so used to seeing the sites in these parts he didn’t even think this walk would be enough for a Catching Marbles entry! Nonsense! It was beautiful! And others should know about it!
I didn’t really know what I was in for – besides a good view of a great deal of seaside mansions and of course the ocean. I was not disappointed in this regard. We decided we wanted to do this particular adventure at sundown. This was particularly convenient because parking was easy to find at the nearby beach at this time of day since most beach goers were already packing up and going home. We put enough coin in the parking meter to last two hours. This would not be enough. Google says it’s a three and a half mile walk that takes on average two and a half to three hours and I am guessing that is going from the beginning to the end, not counting the return back to the beginning! So my advice? Feed the meter for AT LEAST 3 hours if you intend to do the whole stretch. More would be even better.
The beginning of the path seemed to still have a great deal of tourists from all over the world happily taking selfies and whatnot. There was a sign that clearly marked out the various sites and how far it was to each one. This was one of those paths you just couldn’t stray off of without knowing – and it was massively discouraged both by path signs and Private Property signs. But I was most amused by the warning signs which seemed to be every 50 feet or so and depicted a stick figure falling off and into the sea as if this is a super common experience. I half-way expected there to be guards armed with fly swatters thwacking anyone who went off the path. Believe me it was a lot more difficult to lob yourself off the side than the signs seem to imply.
“Are there a lot of suicides here or something?” I asked with one raised eye brow.
“I don’t know. I think it’s more just stupid people doing stupid things.”
At this point I looked up and saw a hawk so I pointed it out to my companion. There were also two sea gulls so he had a hard time at first distinguishing them. This lasted until two smaller birds started dive bombing the hawk making it obvious which predator was lurking too close to their nests. And they were serious! They eventually ended up with reinforcements and after there were no less than four small birds brazenly taking shots at him the hawk stopped hovering in place and started to move as effortlessly as a kite down the coastline and out of sight. Ah, drama.
After a half mile we came to 40 Steps which as it’s title would imply is a set of 40 steps that goes down to the rocky shoreline allowing for a wonderful view. Tourists gathered here, some looking out at the houses on the coastline on the opposite shore, some looking at the waves splattering over the rocks, some just seemingly in a moment of contemplation. I was enjoying the fresh smell of salt water – something I don’t come across too often and not too many of my adventures have involved the ocean.
We wandered briefly off the path and up a little road onto the campus so I could get a better look at those towering iron gates. They looked like the entrance to Hogwarts or something. It was amazing. By now the sun was setting behind the mansions (not the sea which I think my companion was hoping for) and my camera was struggling with the unusual lighting.
We continued on wondering what the signs meant when they said most of the path was easy but there was a few hard stretches. Neither one of us could imagine this paved and flat path being in any way difficult but sure enough we eventually came to a couple parts where we had to scrabble over some rocks. However this was still SUPER easy, the easiest scrabble I had ever come across. The rocks were part of a breaking wall and were large, flat-topped, and fixed in place. The only bad thing about them is the beach they were protecting which reeked so badly of decayed seaweed at one point that we were both getting sick from the smell. That was however short lasted as we made our way towards the tea house. When the tea house started to peek through the vegetation it looked like it was straight out of China. It was a bit… disorienting, if I am honest. In fact this was only one of two spots which had me questioning where I was – we also had to climb through a little alley that looked remarkably like something from the residential neighborhoods of Amsterdam and that’s not including one or two buildings we passed with unexpectedly Bavarian architecture. It was like we were going around the world!
There was a tunnel going around the tea house that was longer than expected, dark, and went around a corner. I love that sort of thing and was doubly entertained to find the other side of it came with a warning sign wrapped in barbed wire – again warning us not to stray off the path (and climb the tunnel and teahouse?!)
We decided to keep walking to the second tunnel which charismatically called from the distance like a little rabbit hole in the hillside. After a little more scrabbling we made it there and it was much quieter out here. We’d walked past most other hikers and now we were in this second tunnel alone. It was egg shaped and short and we could see the ocean through both sides of it. The wind was condensed in this tunnel and fairly violent but damn did it feel good.
At this point, probably 3/4ths of the way to the end of Cliff Walk we decided to turn around and hoof it back to the car to beat the parking meter which was ticking away like a doomsday clock. Apparently the meter maids here are fierce and getting fined is crazy common. So I let my companion walk ahead of me as I dragged my ass behind him – getting hotter and hotter and starting to get blisters alongside both feet from heel to toe. Eventually I walked past the point that my muscles hurt but I wasn’t as fortunate with my feet. Every step was PAINFUL and by the time I made it to the car I was halfway hoping there was ten minutes or so in the meter so I could dip my feet in the cold ocean water at the beach we parked at. But no, the second we got to the meter to look at it the thing timed out. Well if that isn’t a sign I don’t know what is… And so I left. I’ve been paying for this power walk into oblivion for the past couple days now… but it was well worth it and maybe one of these days I’ll be fit enough not to let these crazy easy flat paths kick my ass.
How is everyone out there today? Chomping at the bit and going a little stir crazy? Yeah, me too. I’ve been working super hard on my writing and have been churning out one novel length manuscript a month since January but this sedentary life has not done anything good for my body. Time for some exercise and a little fresh air!
Since the Stay-at-Home orders were put in place a lot of the more popular hiking destinations were forcibly closed because too many people were gathering there. Now they are thinking about opening them back up again which is a horrendous idea. Please people, keep yourself and others safe there are a TON of hiking options that are far less populated! And it’ll be those destinations I will be bringing you along as we hit these warmer months.
Today I asked if my mother if she needed a little time out of the house and when she said yes I hopped into the car and just started driving. I had no destination actually planned. For me it’s fun to just drive in a random direction and let the Universe guide me to wherever it is I am to go. That’s how I ended up in Greenville NH, a town I’d never heard of, taking up the single parking space outside of an obvious trail that looked like it might have been a road once. I had no idea where I was and my GPS decided to take that moment to croak. Luckily I googled, “Where am I??” and my phone answered thusly:
The trail didn’t seem to have a name or anything like that but there were a few signs up saying it was not for “wheeled vehicles” which I don’t think the locals took very seriously because there were tracks from bicycles, dirt bikes, and probably a four-wheeler or two… These were clearly visible because HOLY MUD! It was just flooded!
It’s been an unusually wet spring. I guess I will start travelling with my trusty galoshes… Despite the mud this path was gorgeous at the beginning. Cascades of tiny droplets were coming through the mossy rocks and twinkling in the noonday sun. It was actually kind of magical. I wish I was able to get better photos of this but I am 100% inexperienced taking photos of droplets and apparently it is very hard to catch those little buggars! Clearly I needed to change the speed of my camera’s shutter or something… but I guess that’s a lesson for another day when I am not towing my mother behind me while standing ankle deep in mud.
The rocky outcropping was to both sides of the trail and had a lot of trees growing out of it allowing for some pretty gnarly roots and terrific scenes of erosion as a few toppled down the embankment. There was even a few pieces of graffiti hidden in some of the rocks going back to ’89!
We didn’t walk too far before the trail just ended at what looked like maybe piece of bridge? Luckily the path was to either side of the road where I parked so we just went back and took the low side. It was a brisk walk from there that passed one house and had signs reading “gate ahead” but we never found a gate as I tuckered my poor mother out and we had to head back. It was a nice little jaunt, a well needed one at that. If you happen to live in the area I’d suggest checking it out, otherwise it’s a little muddy and the prettiest parts were literally at the beginning so I don’t think I’d suggest travelling too far to see it… but you know, it looks like a good option for an easy solo walk…
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.
When life gets too chaotic sometimes it’s nice to just set some time aside to enjoy the whimsy of the completely random. Today I decided to return to the place that sort of inspired the second beginning of this blog a few years ago. It’s a quirky little place called Sarah’s Hat Boxes. I had stumbled in there out of curiosity one day wondering who in this day and age was trying to make a business out of selling something as antiquated and obscure as hat boxes? I mean I knew what hat boxes were but there aren’t too many Jackie Kennedys running around in dire need of such a thing. I was as happily surprised then as I was today even though the location has changed.
Currently Sarah’s Hat Boxes is located in Hancock NH, which and of itself is a beautiful area to explore. It sits alone in a somewhat hidden location but with a very obvious sign out front to greet visitors. I had brought my mother with me to enjoy today’s outing because I figured as a crafter herself she might enjoy this little gem. Upon entering we were surrounded by all sorts of colors and patterns of fabric boxes in all sizes. Everything from the delicate to the gigantic which I had mum stand next to just to show how grand the largest really were. A few new things adorned the walls – fabric memories of some of the more notable customers who had bought from here in the past. I got to have a long chat while I was there and got the whole history of the place. It’s a 35 year old business that started as innocently as buying a kit to make a single hat box. From there it grew and gained a reputation at craft fairs before settling in a brick and mortar store.
I know what you’re still probably thinking – but who is buying these hat boxes and why? And the answer is pretty simple. These hat boxes are gorgeous, really well made with a love and attention to detail and on top of that they weren’t all for hats. In fact the business really seems to have evolved with the times. Here were boxes used in tiers for wedding donations and cards, boxes with padded covers to stick pins and needles into for all the seamstresses out there, boxes made to fit two different sizes of wine bottles (accompanies by two glasses) and of course my favorite were the knitting boxes which had 4 compartments and holes for separate yarn. I WILL be back for one of those if I ever pick up my knitting needles again! And they were very decently priced – the knitting boxes were $38 each which I found more than reasonable considering the size and sheer quality. They were made from chipboard and fabric – really made to last.
Knitting box – four holes lead to four compartments for easy yarn use.
And some of the boxes had little histories. Several displayed images from Norman Rockwell paintings, yet another well known New England personality. Another had a map on the top dedicated to the adventures of Indiana Jones. Apparently the guy responsible for his hat came here for boxes. And the funny and strange thing about all this is just the amount of people and arts that crossed here. I would not have thought musicians, other artisans, prop designers, photographers, and other famous individuals would have ever come out to the boonies or known about this place but there it was – a pedigree of customers that spanned over seemingly every artistic field. It was fascinating and a bit inspiring to know that sometimes these little mom and pop shops that really do care about the products they’re creating can survive in the age of WalMart and Amazon.
Sewing boxes with padded covers for pins.
Of course I couldn’t really leave without taking home one of these charming little creations and so I chose the one that had caught my eye immediately upon entering the store – a little 70’s chic box with geometric designs and colors only weird people like me would probably appreciate. Even here among so many different styles it seemed a bit out of place nestled next to all the more traditionally pretty designs but it’ll have a happy home with me and should anyone need a present for a wedding, anniversary, graduation, birthday, or Christmas I’ll be sure to recommend this lovely little place.
