Tag: historic new england

Eyrie House Ruins & Goat’s Peak Tower – Holyoke MA

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!!

Views from the Trail

Views from Goat’s Peak Tower

Views of the Eyrie House Ruins

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The Charter Street Cemetery – Salem MA

How could we go out for a day of sight seeing without ending up at a cemetery? We can’t, that’s how. Especially when said cemetery is in pristine condition, hosts rows of beautifully engraved slate stones, and is right in the same historic district we were already wandering around. Such is the case for the Charter Street Cemetery which is bordered by memorial stones which have all the names, birth, and death dates of all the Salem witch trial victims who were not buried here – in consecrated ground – but were buried in unmarked graves somewhere. We have long since lost where. It’s an interesting turn of events as it was installed by the town in the early 1990’s and now surrounds the same cemetery which hosts the hanging judge who condemned them all to death as well as a number of other historically pertinent individuals involved with these unfortunate circumstances.

The cemetery has its own gift shop which… I mean, that’s a cemetery after my own heart right there. Who wouldn’t want a T-shirt with the cemetery’s name and a death’s head brandished on the front? This is the place for the morbid at heart. And the cemetery itself is gorgeous! It’s VERY well taken care of and although the stones are from the late 1600’s and early 1700’s they’re in great shape. Almost all of them were legible, above ground, and displaying some delightful art. There wasn’t just death’s heads here but cherubs heads, skull and bones, and random faces.

And the people were hilarious. I was not the only one with an expensive camera sitting on the ground taking close up of the stones I found interesting and all the other taphophiles here seemed very welcoming. This was definitely a different kind of tourist and part of why I love Salem so much.

Meanwhile, as i dithered about, my travel companion was on a quest to find the hanging judge. Luckily there was a little map at the beginning of a cemetery that was easy to follow to find this grave. His stone was encased in granite for some reason, maybe to prevent theft? I don’t know but it was the only stone I could see that looked like this. We held in our boos until we left but really… it’s probably best not to be known as a real life super villain. Just saying.

In any event the cemetery was small but absolutely beautiful and I fell in love with the death’s heads and wish to use them as inspiration for tattoo designs. Would definitely suggest a visit to this cemetery to anyone in the area who may appreciate these things.

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The Pirate Museum – Salem MA

After leaving the House of Seven Gables we were on our way to one attraction I never made it to during any of my previous visits – the Pirate Museum! And it was everything I expected and could have ever hoped for… the outside of the building was adorned with murals of pirates climbing ropes to the roof, the entrance was a little gift shop with a literal wooden barrel full of plastic pirate hooks at grabbing level for small children. And to makes it all the more beautiful the tours were guided… by teenagers dressed as pirates… which I can only assume joined the work force after their mom was like, “You LOVE pirates! And the costumes are so cute! Look your friends are already here, it’s the perfect job for you! Go on! Get in there!” Someday twenty years from now they’ll look back at their first job and laugh. Or join therapy.

ANYWAY. Pirates are not something I know a lot about… it seems with all my knowledge of New England I have always been lacking when it comes to coastal history which includes everything from sea monsters, to whaling expeditions, and of course privateers and pirates. What’s the difference? Privateers are given free license to loot enemy ships by the government during times of war. Pirates on the other hand are usually the same people before and after the war being hunted down like dogs by the same government which was turning a blind eye before. I find the distinction… petty. But it must mean something to someone because it’s the first thing we learn about pirates every time.

The pirate museum allows flash photography – none of which I took because it was super dark and that would have not given the right idea of what it was actually like. In the shadows were wax figurines leering at the people walking by. Each dressed as a different pirate in a different situation. We were told about each in a long monotone speech given by our guide who spoke so rapidly I am not sure he remembered to breathe. But that’s OK. I can understand given the circumstance.

I was surprised to learn that the last pirate executed in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts was a woman. Who knew?! And I can’t say I wasn’t at least a little disturbed when our tour guide uttered, “And this guy over here was a total psychopath. He liked to tie his enemies hands together and light them on fire. He liked watching the skin melt off their bones.” EWE. That was a little more torture that I was really ready for…. especially from a place that looked like it might burst out into a Happy Birthday song at any minute.

The rest of the rooms showed scenes of pirates on ships, in caves, drinking rum and staging mutinies, all surrounded by many many pirate flags. Apparently there were hundreds. And what can we expect from such a rebellious group? WE’LL DESIGN OUR OWN FLAG THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

I had a lot of fun here. Way more than I thought I would. If you come to Salem for the witches you totally have to also give some love to the pirates…

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The House of Seven Gables – Salem MA

It was two in the morning the night before when we both were lamenting that we hadn’t planned anything for the next day – our weekly excursion. I said we could always wing something before my companion said he really wanted to go to Salem to see the House of Seven Gables. I have been to Salem many times, usually during the Halloween season, and I absolutely love walking around the touristy section and enjoying the general vibe. This was a place for misfits of all sorts and I was more than happy to go.

We slept for a few hours, got up and started our fairly miserable journey through Boston and onto Salem. I’ve been to the House of Seven Gables before but I was just knee high to a grasshopper at the time and my travel companion had a very similar experience. We both wanted to see if it’d be any better as an adult.

When I went as a kid the whole tour was based on Nathaniel Hawthorne – who never actually lived there but who had used the house as inspiration for what was at the time a globally popular book. I was a voracious reader as a kid but I never much liked Nathaniel Hawthorne… he struck as someone with an overinflated opinion of his own writing, which let’s face it – was the soap opera of the day. I could have probably forgiven this if it weren’t for a few other annoying personality traits – a penchant for whining and misogyny among them. All I remembered from this tour was the weird super tight staircase which I’ll get to in a moment.

I must say the young woman who led the tour on this day did a fantastic job telling us about everything – the house’s actual owners through the years, the wait staff which were at times slaves and indentured servants, and we even learned about the architecture and design. But perhaps the thing I was most struck by was this new feminine vibe. We got to learn all about a series of women involved with the house who were absolutely brilliant in eschewing the gender rules of the time including a Ms. Caroline Emmerton who refused marriage so she could inherit her family’s fortune which she then used to restore the House of Seven Gables so she could wield it’s fame to benefit her philanthropic adventures. To this day the house is still host to both citizenship classes and initiation ceremonies. Maybe this is why the word slave on all the historical markers has been changed to ‘enslaved individuals.’

The main part of the house was built in 1668 and it’s the oldest post and beam home still on it’s original foundation in the US today. To my great joy we got to see the ‘bones’ of the house in the attic – which included 2 foot wide timber planks, some sort of long forgotten mortar/insulation, and good old fashioned horse hair plaster. We were told there were wooden planks even wider at the time but anything over two feet was deemed the king’s wood and shipped back to England. Bit mind blowing when you think about it.

Of course the rest of the house showed off the wealth of various eras and how they got to be that way. I was amused by the profound abundance of Chinese and Asian decorating styles – everything from the dishes to the wallpaper! Apparently this was a way to show how worldly and well connected the merchants who lived here were. I had to wonder if genuinely Chinese people were decorating their own houses so garishly at this time or was this a ploy to sell to white people. Secretly, I hope for the latter.

The house was a fun walk through time as each addition shows how life improved from the dingy tiny oven-free kitchen of the 1600’s to the exceptional wealth of the next two hundred years or so. And yes, there was a weird hidden staircase, super thin and windy, put there as a bit of a tip of the hat to Hawthorne’s story which included such a mystery entrance to let a killer get away. It was SUPER tight going up those stairs and just as fun as it was when I was a wee one.

We had a lot of fun and picked up a couple books at the gift store that looked like they might have ideas for additional travels… And so ended our tour and began the rest of our visit to the beautiful seaside village of Salem where we continued our adventures at The Pirate Museum.

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The “Viking Tower” and Other Walking Sights in Newport RI

I know, I know, another Newport entry?! Yes. Because life and schedules and so many other things! Just keeping it local for yet another week after last week’s lovely Cliff Walk.

Touro Park & Tower

Awhile ago I lamented I hadn’t gone to see the ever mysterious “Viking” tower in Newport which is pretty lame because I have spent the past year and some months going back and forth to Newport without seeing what’s arguably it’s most contentious monument. Back in the day the Old Timers liked to tell their children it was built by Vikings sometime before the British colonists. And then some historians came in and said well no… this is in no way Viking architecture which started a wild debate that has raged for decades now. What we do know about it is that it was cited on the earliest maps of the area which suggests it was here either as one of the very first structures built by the colonists or well before them. Right now the most popular theory is that it was built by the first farmers in Newport as a windmill. Not everyone agrees with this assessment.

I was excited to see it for myself because I’d seen pictures of it on documentaries and I was already entranced by it’s bizarrely Roman styled arches. The earliest recorded colonists in the area were British, not Italian, so it’s… an enigma. We don’t even know for sure what it actually was… was it a windmill? A tower? A place of worship? A monument? An observatory? WE HAVE NO IDEA.

The tower is located in a little park surrounded by green grass and other monuments that mark important events int he city’s history but it’s distinctly different. It draws you to it like a stone Mona Lisa. I am so happy I got to see it in person because I immediately noted a few things I didn’t not see on other photos. First off it wasn’t just a tower – inside there were very clearly purposeful nooks, shelves, windows, and holes. I struggled to make sense of them wondering if they could be reached at some point from a possibly wooden staircase that’d long since rotted away from human memory. It almost looked like… a library, little places for books or perhaps religeous statues. None of that made sense in a colonialist context. The first Puritan settlers weren’t exactly big readers (unless youc ount the Bible) and they did not believe in worshipping idols. What made even less sense was the archetecture. Besides having very obvious Roman arches I was also quick to note that this structure was put together mostly by gravity with very little mortar. This was unlike Roman structures but did remind me of the castles I’d once seen in central Europe. A real conundrum.

In case you’re wondering if perhaps this wasn’t the work of the indigenous peoples that’s about the only thing I am willing to count out because they were not known to create permanent monuments of any kind and although there are stone structures around new England that were likely built by native peoples this looked nothing like those modest little places of worship. Whoever did this seemed… worldly. One of the possibilities that is only murmured about is the fact it may have been built by other white settlers who came before the Mayflower. There’s no proof anyone ever made it here but there are a lot of weird unexplained artifacts here and there that suggest several ethnicities of people made it across the sea at some point either to die stranded here or perhaps taken in by the indigenous peoples. This is my favorite theory although it doesn’t go so far as to explain exactly who these intrepid explorers were or why they built this thing.

ANYWAY. The tower was just the beginning of our adventuring that day. We also checked out the rest of the park which had some sort of monument in the middle that was hard to interpret. Something about relations with China and then the physical part of the monument seemed to be a bronze work of a bunch of slaves being taken from Africa. I do not believe the two things were related but this was probably once the town common where slaves would have been sold alongside livestock and other goods. It makes sense… but I it still strikes me as a bit tone deaf.

We just walked around after this. Newport is FILLED with named homes all on the historic register. Each displaying cute little plaques. Everything from the elk’s lodge that was once a Naval Academy during the Civil War to the home of the guy who first introduced the tomato to America! Plus some homes that really looked like they started life as a barn and a weird reclaimed church someone painted a delightful Gothic purple. Appreciate your sense of humor – whoever you are!

Trinity Church & Adjoining Historic Newport Cemetery #10

Of course the day wouldn’t have been complete without some cemeteries and churches. our first was the Trinity Church which looks quite plain from the outside but that would have been the Puritan way. Built it 1726 as a church for a congregation that formed in 1698 it’s claim to fame is that George Washington once visited here (as well as other notables Queen Elizabeth II, Prince Andrew, and Archbishop Desmond Tutu.) Plus the guy who once asked, “if a tree falls in the forest will it make a sound?” was one of the Bishops who gave sermons here. Legend says he came up with that question while meditating on a nearby beach. The church has kept much of its historic charm – including box pews and nodding rods once used to poke people awake during services. People still worship here and I guess they still give tours as well. We didn’t check this out but we did pop around the back to amble through their adorable historic cemetery – also known as Historic Newport Cemetery #10. As far as I can tell the only person of note to be buried here is US senator William Hunter – 1774-1849. That being said it was a small and well maintained cemetery with a lot of wonderful slate stones, worn by the salty weather on the coast here but still legible. A very nice introduction to this sort of graveyard.

Bowen’s Wharf

By now we were wandering by the wharf which… I’m sure my companion was sick to death of but probably got to see through new eyes on this particular day. I am not 100% sure associating with Benedict Arnold is the best selling point they could have thought up but there it is proudly displayed on the sign. People were everywhere on this gorgeous summer day. The place was bustling. And the smell of delicious food from the local restaurants wafted through the air. I’m told seals exist somewhere in the water which is news to me. New England has seals?! OK! We didn’t poke any further instead deciding to walk on by the wharf to the end of the street where I found this terrifying statue of a child being eaten whole by the ocean.

The Sailing Museum

We didn’t go in the sailing museum but I was brought by it because it looks like a castle and well… that’s kinda cool. But hey, if sailing is your bag then by all means I’m sure it’s lovely.

Saint Mary’s Parish

From here it was a mere hop to Saint Mary’s Parish which is where John F Kennedy got married to Jackie Bouvier. It’s pretty. And in a very active part of town. I took a bunch of photos all while telling my travel companion this whole street looked haunted. He told me all the churches were supposed to be and that’s the exact moment I took this photo with a weird white mist. Take from that whatever you want.

The International Tennis Hall of Fame

Next we walked to the International Tennis Hall of Fame which is situated next to a building that looks distinctly out of place with what to me looks like Bavarian architecture. The Tennis Hall of Fame was no less bizarre. I couldn’t even put my finger on what style it was supposed to be built in. A lot of the ornamentation looked vaguely Asian but the building itself looked like… a lot of people added to it over time. It was odd. We walked through to the courtyard. It was a nice restful stop away from the hustle and bustle of this tourist town. Out here there were numerous tennis courts and several people of varying skills whacking the ball back and forth. it was surprisingly chill. There was even a bunny here just wandering around chewing on the grass, oblivious to the humans. I very much enjoyed the beauty of the buildings as we walked around. “Is tennis a big thing here in Newport?” “I don’t know… I guess?” And that’s when we came to the old theater which had a plaque out front stating some famous thespian had played Sherlock Homes there back in the day… I knew nothing of the guy but I guess he is the one who started wearing a deerstalker hat for the character and it really caught on. Whether that happened here in Newport I have no idea but it’s a fun little story and I’m sorry I forgot his name. Basil something. Basil Rathbone. Yes, the most Englishy sounding name ever. Thank you Google!

Christopher Columbus Statue

After wandering like a deranged squirrel for a while we ended up passing a statue of Christopher Columbus which seemed… odd and out of place. I only make note of it now because I think it won’t be long before we take down all depictions of this genocidal dipshit. There are a lot of better historic figures to worship.

Newport Art Museum

The Newport Art Museum is as whimsically adorable as it is beautiful and I really enjoyed talking a photo of it coyly hiding behind a big flowering tree. We didn’t go in – I’m not even sure if they’re open considering Covid and all. It didn’t really look very lively… but it might be a nice place to poke at at some point.

Redwood Library and Athenium

As we made our way back to the car we passed our final curiosity – the Redwood Library and Athenium established in 1747. They have historic books and records and were currently inflating a huge silver alien to place on an equally giant rocking chair in the front yard. Two women caught sight of me and happily burbled, “Hello!” That’s the perks of having crazy colored hair. Other weird people are so excited to meet me. We both really wanted to check out this place but it closed at 4 and we didn’t get our lazy butts around in time. Perhaps another adventure for another day. It does look super interesting!

Miniature Occassions and Dolls

Oh! I lied! There was one more totally weird stop I forgot about – Miniature Occasions and Dolls. When we walked by it we just had to go in – you know, to see if they had any haunted dolls. Keep in mind I’ve never been into an actual doll shop before so this was quite the experience! It was a tiny little shop crammed to the ceiling with dollhouses and miniature treasures to put in said dollhouses. It was all at once terrifying and fascinating. On a couch sat two antiquated ventriloquist dummies and above their head, I kid you not, was a ceiling full of hanging naked headless baby dolls. I have no idea why but I could not for the life of me resist taking one quick snap when the shop owner was looking away. CAN YOU BLAME ME?! Anyway – all serial killer vibes aside this looks like a great place to buy such novelties if you’re so inclined. And so ends this adventure… until next time!

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Rams Tail Trail and Mill Factory Ruins & Nearby Haunted Bridge – Foster RI

How to get there:

During this adventure we got lost and turned around half a dozen times reading conflicting information on other blogs. So before I go any further here is how to get there: First locate Historic Cemetery #45 (Also called the Hopkins Mills Cemetery) at the beginning of Danielson Pike. Go to the very end of the cemetery and you’ll find a trail head with a few parking spaces. Take this path to the river (not that far away… certainly less than a mile) and voila! You should see the ruins there. SUPER EASY.

The History:

Foster RI is a pretty rural place, even today. It has a certain rugged beauty and this apparently is nothing new. It was incorporated in 1781 after separating from Scituate and for the next hundred or so years it was considered a rather rough place to live. Indeed, there was a factory here that was the soul of this village. It was the Rams Tail Woolen Mill, powered by the river. Of course at this time in history working the mills would have been a brutal existence and there would have been a lot of unmarried girls and children working the machinery and probably a good deal of accidents and possible deaths but strangely it’s none of these that have led to the area getting a haunted reputation. Instead this may date back to 1822 when former owner Peleg Walker had to hand over his ownership of the factory due to debts. Instead of complying he decided to lock himself in the factory on his last night and slit his own throat. They say his ghost haunted the grounds for many years afterwards – with the factory machinery starting up on their own as well as a litany of other complaints. The factory ran until 1850 before closing and was set ablaze by arsonists in 1873 – some say to rid it of it’s ghosts. But if that was the intention it did not work. If anything it just added to the frustrated energy felt here.

The Factory is little more than a bit of a foundation and a rock wall aside the stream now. Everything that is left has been taken over by the forest and it seems strange to think this was once a bustling center. I sat on a rock in the stream and enjoyed the summer day here feeling like I was in the middle of the ruins in the Jungle Book. It was calm, peaceful, and refreshing. I didn’t see any ghosts, nor feel anyone’s disembodied torment, but I don’t disbelieve the stories others tell. A place so rich in history probably does have a few spirits still lingering around.

Bonus Destination: Nearby Haunted Bridge

If you take a very quick walk down Daniel’s Pike you’ll find a bridge, under the bridge was a once popular swimming hole that claimed several lives with it’s mucky quicksand-like bottom. Just a little ways up stream Betsey Grayson drowned in 1860 after toppling into the river while fetching a bucket of water. Some attribute the ghost along the river’s edge to her, others say it’s a different drowning victim. Either way the place is eerie calm. Both the bridge and the Rams Tail Factory Ruins were super quiet when we visited. Quiet and except for the child’s mask lying on the ground – quite abandoned. It was an interesting little jaunt into yet another little corner of historic New England.

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Historic Cemeteries 45, 27, & 26 Foster Rhode Island

Believe it or not we didn’t go to Foster Rhode Island to go cemetery hopping but when in Rome…

Historic Cemetery #45 (Also called the Hopkin’s Mills Lot)

The first cemetery we came across was adjacent to the Ramshead Trail we wanted to walk down and just a stone’s throw away from a purportedly haunted bridge. So why not wander through the cemetery as well? It was a fairly decently sized cemetery, well maintained, with most of its stones from the mid 1800’s. There wasn’t any particularly interesting stones or monuments about but I did enjoy reading some of the names – like the last name Willowby (HOW ADORABLE IS THAT?) or the first name Zilpha. Mostly it was just a ton of Hopkins though.

Since it’s near a bunch of ruins which were once a bustling little town there are a lot of ghost stories around this cemetery. The specter of Betsey Grayson has made her rounds on the nearby bridge, as well as the ghost of an old man who vanishes alongside the road, and the vision of a small girl picking flowers. Today however was hot and sunny and although I was loving the beauty and serenity of such a wild place I didn’t feel at all uneasy or see anything from beyond the veil. Perhaps that is an adventure best suited for the night.

Historic Cemetery Number 27 (Also called the Hopkins Tucker Lot)

We actually went out to find this cemetery on purpose. You see my navigator and myself were playing “whose ADD will lead us to the weirdest location” and so he picked random spots and I drove. I don’t know why he picked this little lot, situated ever so cozily in between a bunch of houses on a narrow dirt road. He was taking it out of a book about hauntings so I’m guessing… it’s haunted. That being said I have no idea who by. It was cute, maybe slightly spooky in how decayed it looked. There were only about 30 stones, unremarkable, but nestled sweetly between lovingly built stone walls and a little iron gate.

UPDATE: Having gotten my paws on said book I learned this cemetery is haunted by an old woman, Aunt Lonnie Davis, who lived nearby whose last wishes were that her house be completely demolished after her death – claiming she would come back to haunt anyone who left so much as two boards still nailed together. Legend says out of curiosity someone did indeed leave just two boards nailed together and now she’s seen sitting on the cemetery wall… a cemetery which she is not actually buried in. Strange.

Historic Cemetery 26 – (Also called the Hopkins-Ide Lot)

This last cemetery was an adventure! I don’t know why we went there but it has to be one of my all time favorites. Getting there was a challenge – especially in a Prius. The locals were already aware of a Prius driven by someone with vibrantly orange hair circling the area like a vulture going up and down and up and down the same roads. It was just one of those days and finding this last destination was no different. Pretty sure we scared the tar out of a woman walking her baby in a pram who probably thought we were stalking her down a long dirt road with seemingly VERY few houses.

The directions were to “go down the lane directly across from electric pole 15.” And with directions like that how could we possibly get lost, right? Well… it was a very long and very thin dirt road which the Prius was none-too-happy about traversing and was even less happy to be repeatedly turning around in the few driveways we found. The problems started with the electrical poles. My navigator didn’t realize they were numbered – and being a city dweller who doesn’t make a habit of such excursions, why would he? So I showed him the numbers and we started to count starting with the first pole #5… We drove quite a ways and found pole #15 sitting alone in the middle of nowhere, nothing but woods to be seen around it. We then got into a discussion about what “lane” could possibly mean. A road’s a road but what is a lane? Neither of us knew.

So we kept driving, occasionally turning around when we thought we’d gone too far only to turn around again. Eventually, after passing the woman and baby three times, (at which point it’s a bit awkward to roll down the window and ask, “So is there a cemetery on this road?”) we finally came to Crowfoot Farm. They were the first driveway I’d seen in what seemed like miles and they had the pure gumption to have a farm stand way out here selling eggs “on Saturdays and Sundays – first come, first serve.” WOW. I used to try to sell eggs on a main road and failed, the fact that they sounded like they were selling out way out here made me immediately love these people. But we weren’t here to see a farm, as fun as that is, we were here looking for a cemetery which as luck would have it was directly across the road from their driveway.

A tiny sign peeked out from the woods reading Historic Cemetery 45 and just beyond there was indeed a lane. Now this “lane” was actually just a path for occasional cars. It had tire tracks but was mostly weeds and grass, was even narrower than the road (if that was even possible) and more terrifyingly still it was down a small but steep hill. I had nowhere to park aside the road so I was forced to turn the Prius onto this little lane and pray we wouldn’t get stuck. It has all the strength of a great grandmother, especially in reverse, and up hills.

I was obviously nervous about the car but the fact this place was so far out in the middle of nowhere really intrigued me. We couldn’t see the cemetery from the road and didn’t know how far we’d have to walk the “lane” before getting there. Luckily it was only a short jaunt, it was just blocked by trees, and there out in no man’s land, almost completely forgotten, was the most beautiful little cemetery I’d ever seen.

Long gone were the well mowed lawns that surrounded the stones, instead ferns and weeds jutted up from a thick pile of dead leaves. The stones were antiquated, and although most were only from the mid 1800’s they were worn and often sunken into the ground. Most were long since illegible. I got the distinct feeling we’d stumbled into some special secret realm no one else knew about but believe it or not someone else had been here. Sticking out like a sore thumb there were two brand new wooden benches, just chilling, no memorial tags, no explanation, just a couple benches minding their own business. And it made me fall in love with the place even more.

I was taken in by a couple of stones – one with a particularly unique Cherub’s head, and another that seemed more like a scroll than a stone with so much writing on it. My navigator meanwhile disappeared to the other side and when we came back together he noted the oldest stone he found was from 1805. According to Find A Grave this place had, “175 burials with 70 inscriptions from 1797 to 1937.” Most notable to my companion were the many Civil War burials, each still brandishing a flag and a metal marker and some with inscriptions that told stories about dying in battle or in battlefield hospitals hundreds of miles from home. It was sobering.

We quietly wandered off after this with a deep memory and fondness for this place – well, that is, except for the Prius who was still parked on that little slope, it’s little Prius butt sticking almost straight in the air and looking towards the road. I said a little prayer before backing out of that spot and it must have worked because we made it.

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Antiquing in Chepachet Rhode Island

After visiting the cemetery and general store we were all ready to check out the three antique stores, The Town Trader, The Old Post Office Antiques, and Old Stone Mill Antiques and Treasures, that exist right next to each other in the reportedly highly haunted little village of Chepachet RI. It couldn’t have been a more perfect day. The sky was bright and blue, the weather was fair, and everyone was in a good mood after coming out of a long winter.

I am used to going “antiquing” in Maine where I can find dirt cheap treasures in mounds of rusted junk piles. So far my visits to Rhode Island antique stores were far more refined and expensive so I figured Chepachet would be no exception but it really was. These antique stores all sold a variety of goodies for exceptionally reasonable prices. Everything from old cast iron pans, creepy probably possessed clown dolls, old paintings, furniture, and random little piles of vinyl records. And they were all located in very old buildings which were a delight to poke around. The Old Stone Mill antique store had the most to offer as far as ambiance with its exposed post and beams, wooden floors, and masonry. Clearly this was once the heart of this whole area and you could feel the history emanating from it.

On this particular day I didn’t end up coming home with anything although I had strongly considered a cast iron “pancake ball” pan as my travel companion called it. It was Swedish and I was unfamiliar with the particular word on the label but I’d like to hope it translates as pancake balls because that’s hilarious. He did end up going home with an old copy of a Julia Childs cookbook which we’d later flip through and see if ANY of the recipes were devoid of butter. Clearly we’re both easily entertained. And nostalgic of growing up on a steady diet of PBS.

And speaking of food – we were able to walk a little ways down the street and eat lunch at the Black Forest Café which was the best way to round out the afternoon. I had a turkey and gouda sandwich and my companion had a Rueben. We both behaved ourselves and didn’t get a slice of cheese cake or any of the other delicious looking goodies at the dessert counter.

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Acotes Hill Cemetery – Chepachet Rhode Island

I know I am a little late starting out this year with my adventuring but truth be told I did attempt to go out a few weeks ago – sadly that destination ended up as such a clusterfuck I didn’t write about it (or even have photos to show off as my camera randomly decided the memory card was not readable.) Some days are just hard like that – and you find yourself arriving at a closed sandwich shop after the GPS sends you backtracking for half an hour after already driving for two and a half. And then you find out just how badly out of shape you are as you huff, puff, and puke trying to reach the end of a very short hike, and to top it all off you end up locked in a park after hours because you couldn’t get your ass back to the car in time. I didn’t want to ward people off from this otherwise lovely location so we decided we’d go back at a different time and try again.

Which brings me to my last little adventure which was MUCH more pleasant! We had decided a leisurely stroll through the village of Chepachet Rhode Island was a better option for the beginning of this year’s blog. The drive was reasonable, the destinations were super easy to find, and it was a gorgeous spring day.

We started with Acotes Hill Cemetery (alternately called Chepachet cemetery and/or Rhode Island Historical Cemetery Glocester #23) which is said to be quite haunted. Or at least that’s what the book we found it in claimed. It was named after a mystery man who was buried here in an unmarked grave. He was just travelling through town when he booked a room at the Kimball Hotel. This is ultimately where he died of a mysterious fatal wound and a fall down the stairs. There doesn’t seem to be any indication that his death was ever investigated as a murder though it sounds like it probably was. This may just be because justice for “half-breeds” (people of both white and indigenous descent) was hard to come across in those days – and maybe that’s why his ghost is said to sometimes haunt these hills.

The cemetery is surprisingly vast and so indicative of burial grounds here in New England. At it’s center there is what was likely the groundskeeper’s house in the past just in front of an old dug crypt. The stones are scattered over a series of rolling hills and a few share the shade a handful of creepy gnarled trees. It’s something from a Stephen king novel.

I noticed when I was there the stones were very chronologically mixed up. Usually cemeteries are somewhat organized by broad age categories and I was told this was an old cemetery so I looked for the slate stones that would have been the markers for Revolutionary War era individuals but alas, I found none. This confusing set of circumstances ended up being because this cemetery is actually a gathering place of many other cemeteries in the area which had been disinterred and moved here.

The monuments here were more or less the usual series of boring marble stones although a few did catch my attention. A large angel looks over the grounds from the back and nearby a bronze of the Virgin Mary cradling a dying Jesus is situated in a corner. I didn’t really know what to make of it.

In any event it was a nice place for a little walk and a great way to start when exploring this sweet little corner of New England. To add to its charm it was also the site of a tiny “armed but bloodless” uprising between the People’s Rights faction and the Law and Order party in 1842. The leader of the People’s Rights Thomas Wilson Dorr surrendered peacefully but was still tried and sentenced to life imprisonment for treason. However public sentiments were so strongly in favor of his cause that he only languished there for a few years before being released and he now enjoys a monument here in the cemetery.

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Mercy Brown “Vampire” Grave – Exeter Rhode Island

New England is the place to live if you’re into horror. The reason is pretty simple – we have a long and strange history that revels in the terrifying. From our first white settlers we’ve have been a deeply superstitious bunch and this is pretty apparent in the case of Mercy Brown.

Mercy Brown was a young woman in Exeter Rhode Island who died at the tender age of 19 in 1892. She was the latest victim of consumption, a disease that was ravaging a good deal of her family and the surrounding community. Today we know tuberculosis is caused by a highly contagious bacterial infection of the lungs but back in Mercy’s day this wasn’t well understood and locals believed that it was the wrath of the dead – specifically that diseased corpses were raising from their graves as vampires. It was a belief born to the fact that consumption was a wasting disease that took months or sometimes years to kill a person who by the end would frequently look like a shuffling emaciated corpse coughing up blood.

The Brown family previously had lost their matriarch, Mercy’s mother, as well as her sister and herself. When the family’s only son was also hopelessly ill drastic decisions were made. After gaining permission from the community the mother and her two daughters were exhumed so their bodies could be examined for signs of vampirism. Mercy, who was likely held above ground in a local crypt for those two cold months, showed remarkably little decomposition (likely due to being frozen and/or kept in fridge-like temps.) This was seen as proof that she was the vampire responsible for the continuing deaths.

The crypt in question still lies to the far left of the cemetery.

From here things got a bit gruesome. In an attempt to save her brother’s life and stop her own post-death rampage the community removed her heart and lungs, cooked them on a pyre, and when nothing but ash remained they were ground up and fed to her brother. Sadly this folk ritual had no effect and he followed his sister to the grave just a few months later.

These incidences were recorded in the newspapers at the time and were thought to have influenced horror writers of the day – mainly HP Lovecraft but also potentially Bram Stoker. There had been at least eighteen other cases of vampire exhumations in New England’s newspaper reports which suggests there were probably a lot more that went unrecorded, a fact that has been reinforced by recent archeological finds of other strange burials, some being kept down with bricks, others with their bones and skulls being made into a grim cross. However Mercy is fondly remembered here as “The Last American Vampire” for she was the most recently recorded. This ritual is still practiced in some rural regions of Romania and possibly a handful of other countries even today despite laws being made against it.

The grave where her heartless body rests has been visited by all sorts of strange folk including myself and my travel companion. She rests in the Chestnut Hill Cemetery behind the Baptist Church in Exeter Rhode Island. Her grave can be seen from the entrance to the cemetery and lies underneath an evergreen tree. It’s a small white marble stone in her family’s plot that’s hard to miss because other visitors have left pennies and other little trinkets. There’s supposed to also be a little guest book in a Tupperware tub but I didn’t see that – it might have been picked up because of Covid precautions. I was however amused by two Disney princess band-aids stuck to the stone as I left my own penny.

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