Tag: destination

B-52 Crash Site – Greenville Maine

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.

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Cliff Walk Newport RI- Part II – From Hiking Point 7-15

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.)

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Cliff Walk – Newport RI

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.

After staying a moment we went back up the steps and continued on. The breeze coming off the ocean felt amazing as I was beginning to overheat again… By now we had started to come upon the mansions. Some of which my companion knew what they were – others not. I was however most impressed with what turned out to be a college campus. The building had a delightful Gothic flair, with the most ornate gates I had ever seen (which is impressive because most of these properties had flamboyant iron gates so far.) But what really tugged at my heart was an extensive widow’s walk on the roof. It’s a common thing to see on old houses built on the coast. It was for people who were left shoreside as their loved ones went to sea. Whenever they were supposed to return home their loved ones could make their way to the roof and watch for their ship’s arrival. They’re called widow’s walks because there were an awfully lot of women who watched in vain, their fiancés or husbands having been taken by the sea. It’s a morbid bit of local folklore and I love it.

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.

Now to enjoy my twilight photos…

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Unnamed Trail – Greenville NH

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…

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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.

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Sarah’s Hat Boxes – Hancock NH

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.

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Owl’s Head Lighthouse & Bonus Viking Ship!

I was only going to stay in Maine for three days, really, but then my mother’s ride to the family reunion couldn’t get the day off so I ended up staying up here for two weeks, and then there was a death in family so I had to stay for the funeral, so another week passed, and then…. it was only a few days away from when a Viking ship was supposed to come into port, and you can’t expect me to pass up a Viking ship… So here I am!

We got out late this morning, my mother came with me, and drove the two or so hours to the coast. I wasn’t 100% certain where I was going because my GPS refused to recognize “Rockland Public Landing.” So I guess I can add public docks and piers to the many places which do not have an address to put in the GPS. I figured it couldn’t be that difficult, just go to Rockland and drive along the seaside until I find a Viking ship…. I’d pulled off similar stunts in the past. I was told there was a big jetty you could walk out onto that had a lighthouse at the end. That seemed hard to miss…. so where was it again?

I pulled in what looked like some sort of dock or pier, and it was, and it was public, but it wasn’t the right one. But I thought I could see what looked like a Viking ship in the distance, near a lighthouse…. so I asked the GPS where I could find a lighthouse and it brought me to Owl’s Head Lighthouse…. three and a half miles from the first unnamed pier and out in some residential part of town. It seemed to have its own park, a little swimming area, and you could crawl into the lighthouse for a suggested donation of $3. By this time I was so overstimulated from trying to find the place I totally skipped on taking a photo of the actual lighthouse…. so for this one time only I have taken an image from Google. SORRY.

The lighthouse was tiny, enough to fit ten or so people in at a time. There was an old man at the door letting people in who asked us to sign the guestbook and leave a donation and I smiled and said I would. He seemed to be getting a kick out of me, I think it was my fading but still bright orange hair. I crawled up to the top with no problem and saw the big rotating light bulb. Apparently it’s getting ready to be retired. Pity! I looked out over the harbor… no viking ship in sight. Hmmm. My bid to get a better look from a high vantage point was doing me no favors. I asked the attendant about it. She had no idea but someone else who went into the lighthouse with us did. “OH! We JUST got in at the 10AM showing! It’s PACKED! It’s at the Harbor Park, you know where the Pearl Restaurant is…. but we parked at the Y!” “GREAT, THANK YOU!” I smiled again. See, sometimes unscheduled detours have their reasons, what was the chances of getting directions anywhere else??

So back I went up that same three mile stretch of “main street.” For anyone looking for the Rockland Public Landing let me help you out. Just type in The Pearl Restaurant. It sits in the parking lot. You could also type in the Rockland Yacht Club which is also right there. I drove in the parking lot and it was PACKED, a huge queue formed off the Yacht Club and just beyond it…. A VIKING BOAT! The next twenty minutes was me trying to find parking somewhere nearby and the twenty minutes after that was my phone being an ass and taking me a preposterously unnecessary long-cut to the boat.  But there it was, the Draken, sitting in all her glory, her pretty little dragon head peering up at us from below. I paid for tickets and off we went to wait for our turn.

It seems people from all over were checking out this ship. She was stopped in Rockport Maine for a few days but she’s on a tour down the East Coast from there stopping in Massachusetts and Rhode Island before going farther south. When we boarded we were shuffled in like sardines and listened to one of three speakers tell us about the bow. It was ornately carved. Ropes were draped everywhere from where they had to hoist the sails. They spoke about the wood used to make the mast, apparently at one point it snapped in half and they realized they had used the wrong kind of tree…. a replacement Douglas Fir stood in the old one’s place.

After this we were filtered to the next part of the ship to listen to the next speaker who told us all how dangerous it was to hoist the masses. I took photos of rope like I’d never seen it before (and perhaps I hadn’t.) The boat began to churn a bit as the water became the tiniest bit rough. I got a bit queasy. I really wanted to come out here today but truth be told I’m literally phobic of the ocean and being on it. The only reason I was standing here was because I knew it was moored to the dock! If it were sailing somewhere I’d be tweaking… Mum got a bit dizzy from the gentle back and forth. A footprint carved into the floor was pointed out. It was a replica of a footprint they found carved out of an actual Viking ship but no one could say why it was there…. lucky omen? Sign of the Gods? Sign of boredom? Who knows! I took more photos but it was pretty dang crowded.

At the other end of the ship we learned all about life on it. Apparently if they were doing this Old School there would be around 100 oarsmen chugging along when the wind wasn’t going. The oars were not in place today, probably to allow people to squeeze through. I was horrified and amazed to learn there were no sleeping quarters below deck. As it turns out Vikings specialized in somewhat quick voyages, lasting 30-90 days, where they would sleep on deck in seal skin sleeping bags which fit two crewmen each. I admired more little artistic embellishments and my jaw probably hit the floor again when they said this ship could creep up rivers in as little as five feet of water when need be. And then it was off the ship I went, snapping more photos and taking a small stroll onto the pier. I wanted to walk out to the lighthouse which I suspected was at the end of it buuuut by now it was getting SUPER muggy and I was drenched in sweat and we kinda just wanted to go home. I’d even forgotten about my desire for a lobster roll. Oh well! It was an awesome day! And I am certain I will be back…

 

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The Turtle Gallery – Deer Isle Maine

And finally, after a good night sleep I can tell you about the third place I visited in Deer Isle – the Turtle Gallery. Again, it just happened to be en route so I decided to stop in and see what it was about. I had noticed this little coastal village seems to have a lot of galleries and I am already planning a visit just to do a tour of them! But in any case the Turtle Gallery is the one which I ended up at randomly after enjoying the Artisan’s Market and Nervous Nellies Jams and Jellies.

The Turtle Gallery was a swank little place, that’s for sure! The main gallery, as you entered, boasted a series of large colorful paintings depicting life in coastal Maine, as well as some intensely detailed very large charcoal sketches. Prices seemed to mostly stay within the $800-2000 range from what I could see. A door leading outside had a sculpture garden and when I went to check it out I found another “pop-up gallery” in a shed out there which had more folky art, mostly small sculptures.

I thought that was it but found myself wandering around the front where still more sculptures were being displayed, some metal sculptures were in brilliant colors and their shapes, texture, and color, really caught my eye. A private residence was sandwiched in between the main gallery, the outdoor sculpture garden, and the paper and glass gallery in the house at the far side. Here paintings on paper adorned the walls and a series of fantastically beautiful goblets for $800+ a piece glinted in the sun coming in from the window.

This was a peaceful and relaxed gallery displaying some really fine talent. I was happy we stopped by. I doubt I will ever be able to afford art from such a place but being around it calms my creative nerves. I must visit more galleries…

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Nervous Nellie’s Jams and Jellies – Deer Isle Maine

This was possibly the most bizarre destination I have ever ended up at. It’d been suggested by several people, and of course the Internet, but no one had much to say about it, just that I needed to go. On this particular occasion I ended up with quite a carload, my mother, a cousin, and my great-aunt. We had five hours to waste so I suggested we go to Nervous Nellie’s. All of them looked at me blankly, “Suuuuure, we can go buy some jam…?” So off we went!

First off let me tell you the area it’s in is picturesque Maine seaside, absolutely beautiful, and there’s so many things to get happily distracted by including a series of high end galleries. Then there’s Nellie’s which… is so far from that scene it might as well be its own planet. When I drove in my mother didn’t want to get out of the car, “This looks scary!” She yelled, pointing at a heap of rusted metal lying haplessly in the woods. I made her get out. I always do. Besides everyone else was already bounding out.

Here, instead of the cute little jam shop I expected there was an entire Wild West village, run by an army of fronteirsfolk who happened to be made of scrap metal, recycled miscellany, and clay. They were both fascinating and terrifying, somewhere between sweet whimsy and an apocalyptic hellscape. And there was everything… a general store, a saloon, living quarters, a jail. Oh, we had fun in the jail, burbling to a couple who’d apparently made this a destination whenever they got bored. Very sweet people. I thought it was just a little mock village but this thing kept going and going and going. By the end I found myself out in the woods staring at a dead knight being loomed over by a dragon, a plywood castle half completed in the background. The Wild West town was more Whimsical but by the time I got to the knights and the dead Viking, being sent off in a half decayed boat, everyone was getting lightly unnerved. In fact the creatures drawing the wagons and carts had gone from quirky to “Soooo…. that last tab of acid is what did it, huh?” Clearly this artist had as many voices in his head as I do (which I can truly appreciate!)

I love places that encourage the desire to play in everyone from small children to the elderly. It just really brightens my day, but this isn’t even mentioning the jams! They really do have jams! And jellies! Preserves! And chutneys! All of which are free to sample at the little shop on crackers, or if you’d like to pay for a scone there’s a sweet little cafe sitting area to enjoy. Of course I sampled everything and SWEET AMBROSIA! It was like the food of the gods! it was DELICIOUS, easily the best jam I have ever had. Seriously, this jam didn’t need a tetanus-friendly amusement park to sell it, but I wasn’t complaining! Ended up with a jar of Blue Razz and Strawberry Rhubarb. It took all of my power not to eat it straight out of the jar on the way home. My mother didn’t resist temptation and ate it on a biscuit she got a gas station for dinner… SIGH.

Anyway, this is going to be a highly suggested destination from here on out for anyone who loves the quirky, bizarre, and downright delicious.


                           

 

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Sculpture Garden at The Andrea’s Institute for Art – Brookline NH

About a week ago I was asked to do a group trip, which I am not adverse to, that would be somewhat local and appropriate to bring a four year old. So I thought the sculpture garden in Brookline might be the ticket. I had heard there were all sorts of large sculptures nestled in the woods on a series of hiking trails that ranged in severity, with most being “easy.” I had envisioned a college campus with a few winding trails around it.

Part of this group was my mother, whose alarm did not go off, and who spent $2 buying a muffin for breakfast that she first stepped on and then lost entirely. From here the GPS kept freezing and would not accept the address and we got lost from there. I was still pretty chill, just hanging in the back seat with the kiddo, which is something I very rarely do. Sadly the bickering had already started.

When we found the entrance to the sculpture garden it was a dirt road attached to the highway with the saddest little sign directing the way. The parking lot had a few gorgeous metal sculptures, some cars parked from other visitors, and a big old map. It said online I should print my own map so I did… not that it helped… because between the three of us no one could make sense of it. In fact the map I’d printed and the big one in the parking lot didn’t agree on much!

We started walking, ended up on what I think may have been a RV trail, climbing up, up, up and not seeing a damn thing. Everyone’s huffing and puffing and cranky. I’m at a complete loss as to what is going on. When we finally got to the top of the hill we found ourselves in a rat’s nest of insanely ill-marked trails that went off in all directions with colorful arrows pointing in every one of them. Most trails these days are color coded. These tried to be… but both the maps had different colors for the same trail and the trails themselves? Well! You’re walking on the purple, red, blue, green, yellow trail…. or is it white? No, I think it’s all of them. We’re on every trail at once. Absolute chaos. I felt like we might end up in Wonderland, or somewhere worse. Were Muppets changing the arrows every time we passed? Felt like it.

But then we started to see the sculptures. They were in fact littered everywhere and were for the most part marked on the map by color and number – not chronologically, or in any other order we could identify, and the colors seemed to mean absolutely nothing besides, but they were there! Look! Most of them were pretty abstract and not really my thing but a few were really cool like a big steam punk bank vault door just sitting in the woods all mysterious. I also adored two granite hugging couples, some Australian’s concept of a seed, a weird figure in a serpentine pose around a pole, and my favorite of all three beautifully whimsical werewolves made of scrap metal. And we did enjoy ourselves after the bickering settled down but seriously… this isn’t for everyone. If things like insanely poorly marked trails and unreadable maps bug you then perhaps you should make a pass on this. Even the “loop” trails were just big U’s that attached to other big U’s. Not a single complete loop. And the hiking was moderate – there were rocks and hills and slippery leaves. The four year old did great though so I still wouldn’t discount it completely as family fun…  And hey, I did have a good time. Honestly. I think there’s something really cool about art in the woods, even more cool when you can go up to them and touch them, getting a real sense of the artist who made them.


 

 

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