Sometimes when you have been out adventuring for as long as I have the inspiration starts to run a little dry and then you just have to ask the universe what it thinks you should do. In this particular case it thinks I should go to the oldest wooden jailhouse in the United States which was said to be open. Sounded good to me so off we went! And there it was in all it’s adorable glory sitting next to an old blacksmith shop and a Naval Museum. But woe! Although the brochure on the door said it was open it was not. So we took a walk down the trail directly behind it – two days in a row – because as you guessed it, it wasn’t open the day after either.
And you know what? The trail was a destination in and of itself! Cute and cozy and near civilization and yet covered in vines and greenery that made it seem like an import of some far away jungle. Before very long we crossed a railroad track which provided a fun opportunity for photos. Beyond that there seemed to be a number of unmarked trails all jutting off of each other. I am honestly not sure where we ended up or why. But when I started overheating we headed our way back, having had our walk in for the day.
It was kind of cute. I would definitely tell someone who lives in the area to go check it out. Maybe you’ll get lucky and the old jailhouse will be open! If only… as for the trail, it was nice, worth travelling very far? maybe not. Although the surrounding area was super interesting and unique so maybe….
It’s been a funny experience going to all these cemeteries around New England. You never know what you are going to get. This cemetery boasted the grave of Eli Whitney the inventor of the cotton gin which is initially what caught my companion’s eye because who would have thought the inventor of the cotton gin would be buried somewhere that is too frickin’ cold to grow cotton. But this was only scratching the surface. The other claim to fame was this was the US’s first cemetery to claim “city of the dead” in its description. All this means is that the streets and paths throughout were given official names making the gravestones almost have little addresses with which to find them. And of course, there was the imposing Egyptian style gates reading, “The dead shall rise” which wasn’t creepy at all. Apparently, it’s a Bible quotation but that’s not nearly as fun as envisioning it having something to do with the secret society rituals performed here by Yale students or one of my favorite urban legends about tunnels being dug under the cemetery connecting the Yale medical school allowing “resurrectionists” to more easily steal and sell corpses to science. That part did happen back in the day but the tunnels, sadly to say, do not go under the cemetery.
The cemetery is surrounded on all sides by whimsically bizarre buildings, including a church directly across the entrance which has gargoyles on it. You have no idea how much this delighted me. I LOVE gargoyles and they are such a rare sight here in the US! These ones looked weirdly political – an eagle in a suit and a donkey in a suit. No elephant though, so there’s that I suppose. After this initial distraction we wandered in only to find this place is another one of those cemeteries that close at 4PM. This has been an ongoing issue for us as we generally have to drive from pretty far away and by the time we get there sometimes the gates are closed. Today we had two hours and counting to amble around.
There was a bulletin board at the entrance that had not one, not two, but four separate maps of interesting graves. One was generalized, one was of Civil War notables, one was of the people involved in the Amistad, and one was of just cradle graves. Obviously, this was too much for one day so we went with the Civil War notables and the cradle graves, promising to be back for the others when we had more time (as those maps had more on them.)
I had no idea what a cradle grave was but apparently this is what they call the memorials that were popular in the late 1800’s that were shaped vaguely like a cradle. The intention of this design was to make it an easy flower bed connected directly to the headstone. I’ve seen these before but being so old none of them still had flowers in them, but this cemetery decided to restore them to their former glory by planting historically accurate native flowers in them, to bloom at different points during the year. As far as I can remember none of these graves were also on the notables list but they did add quite a bit of charm to the place. We found all of them.
We also found the aforementioned Eli Whitney who was hard to miss and a bunch of Civil War dead. They included people who’d died in some of the first battles as well as the more recognized ones like Gettysburg and Fredericksburg and one man who served in New Haven’s first “colored” regimen. Sadly, although this was super old cemetery I wasn’t seeing the oldest colonial sandstone markers. As it turns out all those were moved to the perimeter of the cemetery from an even older cemetery location. The bodies that went with them are still under the common. But their stones still provide witness, and it was eerie and beautiful to see them all lined up against the walls. So many Death’s Heads and other bizarre colonial era carvings. LOVE IT.
We were also surprised to find two sphinxes! Each looking into the distance to the same spot. I realize that the wealthy had an Egyptian fetish from the mid 1800’s into the 1900’s but that doesn’t make it any less awkward to find. They always seem so out of place and these ones didn’t have any name on them and I have not been able to find any information on them which makes them that much creepier. They probably eat souls or some such.
We left when the clock ran out before finding the “random jazz musician” my companion mentioned which turned out to be GLENN MILLER. I didn’t realize that’s who he was talking about until I got home and now we very much have to go back!! Which is all well and good because I still want to see all the Amistad graves too. And maybe take a few more photos since half the ones I took on this day refused to upload.
If you happen to be in New Haven or love cemeteries I absolutely recommend this one. It’s really lovely. And it’s flat. Which is more than I can say of most cemeteries in New England!
What’s a vacation without a stroll through a local cemetery? Boring, that’s what. Long before we packed the car we had our hearts set on checking out this cemetery. My travel companion was interested in it’s history (it is the mass burial grounds for a great deal of Civil War soldiers who died in the area during four separate battles – over 400 of which remain unidentified.) For me it was less about history and more about seeing what cemeteries look like in a different part of the country and this one looked big and old with some stones going back to the 1700’s.
We’d been flirting with this cemetery for days. Our first glimpse of it was at night when the gates were closed. We decided to walk around the fenceline aside the road and see how big it was to determine how long we’d need to explore it the next day. It went on and on and on and on…. and strange things kept happening. My camera refused to snap any photos, my travel companion was complaining of the smell of pipe smoke… It was time to hang this one up for the night.
The next day we once again didn’t make it there before dark. However there was still an hour or two before it closed so we drove in to check it out all the same. We noticed that there was a large monument at the beginning of it memorializing Francis Scott Key, the writer of our national anthem who was buried under the aforementioned monument. We would find his parents in the cemetery later on – protected by a little iron fence.
Also buried here were Barbara Hauer Fritchie who became famous when at the age of 95 she refused to surrender to the Confederate troops marching through her property. I guess at ninety-five you have very little to lose but it’s still a great story about a fiery old woman. And somewhere nearby there is the grave of the US’s first unofficial president and his wife who served before George Washington. I’m sorry I have already forgotten their names. Luckily I took photos that read John and Jane Hanson. So there, I don’t have to remember. Also of note was the first fireman to die in the line of duty, a bunch of soldiers from every war, and a memorial to the children who fought and died in the Civil War. Yes, children. And of course there are congressmen galore sprinkled throughout like confetti. And for the more gruesome there is a whole section for infants nicknamed “babyland” and a mass burial of Civil War soldiers who died in battle. This was more than enough to make me wonder if anyone was still lingering here after their demise. If so I didn’t feel any of them on this particular night.
On our last day in Frederick we took a huge chunk of time to go see the cemetery during daylight hours. It’s so big that it’s split up into sections – each named after a letter in the alphabet. I was drawn to the more ornate monuments, many of which had imagery on them I was completely unfamiliar with, others which I had seen before (like the cross and crown) but not often back home.
This cemetery was completely engrossing. Every time I thought we were done someone would find something else interesting. And we never did find the children of the Civil War monument but we did visit Confederate row where I learned that many of the confederates were poor whites… essentially fighting against their own interests (you can’t tell me an economy that favors slaves would have any higher opinion of exploiting those only one tier higher than them in class.) A lot of them were fighting for weird subtext kind of things like pride for their community or because that’s who their brother was fighting for or because of a convoluted misinterpretation of “states rights” – which I hear even today and it’s completely asinine. Freedom of the States does not mean freedom of the individual to do whatever the fuck they please – even the first pilgrims toppling off the Mayflower had a system of laws they had to abide by. Plus freedom of the individual should never extend to freedom of that individual to take the freedom of another individual. That’s just not workable in any way shape or form.
I got depressed thinking about all this. Because those Confederate soldiers who were so callously misled by the powers that be… they’re still very much alive in the bodies of their grand children. And still fighting against their own economic interests. And the idea that we never learn from history became very tiring to me.
My travel companion was struggling with all this too because at some point someone had torn down and defaced the Confederate memorial… which was placed by the Union to honor those they fought. I can understand the distress of this but I also understand there are A TON of Confederate statues erected in the 1960’s in direct response to the Civil Rights movement to basically scare people of color into accepting the status quo. And those statues… should absolutely be torn down. But this is America. We’re not good at nuance so maybe it’s for the better this statue has been lost. And maybe in the future, when we can all agree racism and all it’s various institutions are bad, can we look respectfully back at our own turbulent past.
This cemetery gave me a lot of food for thought. I learned things I didn’t expect and came home a humbler person for it.
On the way to Holy Land USA we passed a sign reading Gillette Castle which sounded familiar. I decided if we had the time and I noticed the sign on the way back that I was going to check it out, but I didn’t tell my travel companion, instead letting this detour be a spontaneous surprise. Coming home and a mile from the exit I saw the sign again and asked him to look it up to see if it was anything worth it because I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was.
After a moment he looked down at his phone and yelled, “YEP! Worth it! Take the exit!”
I just smiled. Most people I travel with get a bit flustered with me being so unpredictable. Going to a specified destination is always fun — going to a completely random one on the fly is arguably more fun. Besides when you’ve been kicking around the road for as long as I have you start remembering things you might like to see and like a moth to flame you just end up there at random…
So far my visit to Connecticut showed me a state that more or less just felt like a huge suburban backyard for NYC. Maybe this why even people in New England seem to have an indifferent attitude towards Connecticut… it feels… different. But now I was driving through a little town it was feeling a bit more familiar. Everything here was super well kept and quaint. A little Mayberry if you will. I however was once again back to scaring the shit out of my passenger because we found ourselves in the Prius going up a 90 degree hill which was also a hairpin turn.
“TWENTY-FIVE! The speed limit is TWENTY-FIVE!”
“Yes, but if we dip below 20 this car is going to slide back down the hill and there’s a car behind us!”
“Oh my God!”
We were lucky we went before it snowed. The Prius would have never made it up, going 27 MPH or not.
I followed signs (and my travel companions phone suggestions) to the park, again not knowing what to expect. As we drove in there was a nice little paved road through the park like you’d see in a typical city set up. However, we were both caught completely off guard when we drove up to this profoundly beautiful (but dry) manmade lake/fountain overshadowed by a little hobbit bridge. So quaintly pretty! It was like being in an English countryside!
“Where do we park?”
“Just wait, there will be parking at the end I’m sure…” And indeed I was right. There was parking just behind a huge castle!
We hopped out of the car, knowing we were on a two hour time constraint before the park was closed and gated up. This place was grand! I was not expecting anything quite so massive but here was what looked like a real castle…. overlooking a serene riverside scene. To add to the Gothic flair two turkey vultures circled overhead. I immediately wanted to attend a Gothic wedding here. I didn’t even care whose. Just a big Gothic wedding.. with at least one black-clad bride. Yep. I’d be so happy to attend.
The 24-room, 14,000 square foot castle is apparently furnished and normally open to the public but has been blocked off since the Covid pandemic. We both immediately decided that we would be back to peer inside when this whole thing blows over. In the meanwhile we wandered around the outside taking photos and admiring the dragon gargoyle jutting off the side.
The castle took 5 years to build and was completed in 1919 costing a cool million dollars at the time (that’s over 15.5 million dollars today.) It was the creation of an eccentric stage actor by the name of William Gillette who retired here with his seventeen cats. He was apparently quite the character and built into his home a series of secret passageways and spy mirrors to help him make a “dramatic entrance” when entertaining guests. Unsurprisingly he died in 1937 without any heirs and left a bizarre will reading the estate was not to go to any “blithering sap-head who has no conception of where he is or with what surrounded.” Somehow this resulted in the state of Connecticut buying the property in 1943 for the low-low sum of five thousand dollars. It languished in ruin until a four year eleven million dollar restoration project allowed it to reopen to the public in 2002. And boy is it worth it!
We wandered off after thoroughly checking out the outside of the castle. To the side of it was an old train platform. Apparently at one time it ran a private rail 3 miles onto the property.
“This is the kind of place we could fortify for the apocalypse.” My travel companion plotted.
“Well there is a huge root cellar, access to the river, and my God it’s peaceful up here.”
We found ourselves a trail and tried to make our way to the weird hobbit bridge with nothing but our broken sense of direction. This resulted in a delightful face-paced walk through what seemed an enchanted wood. There were lovely slate outcroppings, some nice view of the bogs, and random ruins such as disused wells smattered about. We found our way to a tunnel, perhaps part of the old train rail? We walked into it. It was super dark and cold. Had a weird feel about it but I suppose any place like that does. On the way back I’d joyfully suggest we go through it without our phone flashlights. I found this more enjoyable and less creepy!
Meanwhile the trails in the woods eventually did bring us to the fountain and bridge which made for a lovely photo opportunity and I am sure would have been far prettier in the summer when it’s full of water and not swamp mud and dead leaves.
On our way back we found an old wooden trestle that had partially collapsed and took a few photos. By now it was getting late and we had our nice little walk. It was a fun day and this was the perfect detour to add to it. When we found ourselves back to the car the turkey vulture swooped very low above us and showed its immense size. And then a stairway on the hillside caught my travel companion’s eye so up we went to check out this last little nook. Up above there were a series of picnic tables and another strange little ruin. I am not sure what it was but it was fun to poke at. Maybe it was a tower? Who knows.
When we drove out of that place we were WELL satisfied but the day wasn’t done with us yet because only a few miles down the road I found myself forking over $5 to drive the Prius onto a “historic ferry.” I’ve been on a car ferry before… in Europe…. but never in the US! And this was a hell of a ride. The expanse between the river banks was shockingly wide. And what do you know – I am still phobic of boats. I was fine until it started moving and then I wasn’t so fine. I know, it’s a ferry, chill. I calmed down but it took me a moment. I was still happy to get to the other side… feeling accomplished. Exposure therapy? Something.
ANYWAY, I’d highly recommend the castle and even the ferry ride to other explorers, travelers, and lovers of the strange and unusual.
UPDATE:
Last week we realized the castle was once again open for visitors to see the inside so of course we had to go for a repeat trek. We were not disappointed!
There weren’t many people there that day – just a few families and a tour of elderly including an 84 year old man who looked great for such an advanced age and a woman he was travelling with that had the Muppets theme song for her ringtone (how adorable is that??) ANYWAY… we parked in their super sunny parking lot, slipped on our required masks, and went inside the information center to buy tickets to the castle. They only allowed 15 people at a time in at any given point and tour guides stood in various locations to answer questions. The first was a young woman with a lot of enthusiasm for her job who delighted in showing us all how cat-proofed the castle was since it was more or less dedicated to the seventeen felines that shared Gillette’s life. Cute little froggy knickknacks were literally cemented to the fireplace so the little furry bastards couldn’t knock them off. An ornate table nearby clacked to life when it was realized it’s elaborate wooden skirt was actually built to be a cat toy. This place was awesome just for that but it got better…
The doors were all unique contraptions with complex steam punk mechanisms carved into them. The light switches matched. And if that wasn’t enough to love the wonderfully weird mind that came up with this then the description of his life here really settled it. On the balcony overlooking the first floor there were mirrors placed everywhere so he could tell who was in the house and where. If it was someone he didn’t like he’d retreat to his bedroom and pretend not to be there (and introvert’s dream!) Or if he was in the mood to be playful, which seemed to often be the case, he could lock wandering souls into the adjoining bar. The only exit was obviously a trick door – I mean at that point, why not? And watching them scratch around like rats in search of an escape probably amused him more than it should have.
Gillette grew to be an increasingly intriguing figure as we made our way through his castle. He was a stage actor in NYC whose claim to fame (and fortune) came from his performance as Sherlock Holmes. He was even cited as being the one who added the line, “It’s elementary, my dear fellow!” (which was later changed to Watson.) The castle was so far into the middle of nowhere he had to build his own train line to get there. Some of the stations still remain. And if all of that isn’t impressive enough he also wrote a popular play at the time about the Civil War and wrote a novel as well – a mystery novel with that I can only guess had intensely flowery language. If it were still being printed I would sooo have bought one from the gift shop but alas, there is only a copy in his little second floor art gallery in a little glass box. And that’s the other thing – a whole little art gallery full of paintings, books, and local history! The architecture equally as baffling as the rest of the castle. It was amazing. I love eccentric historical figures. They’re never boring. In fact with renovations still ongoing there was this odd playful feeling throughout the whole second floor. I pondered if maybe he wasn’t still lingering the halls. A copy of his most unusual will was displayed on the wall.
I’m super happy we went to this castle – twice. I will probably go again just because it’s so damn weird and beautiful. And outside the hiking trails around the property are just as quaint as can be and you can find tiny train stations and tunnels strewn about still, although the tracks are long since gone. I sort of naively hope maybe they’ll be replaced someday.
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.
I’d wanted to go to Fossil Butte National Monument since I was eight or ten but I couldn’t really remember why… or even what it was… I drove in and there was all sorts of markers aside the road reading which era of history I was driving into as I drove ever downwards. It was really neat and then I went to the visitor center and all along their walkway there was a strip reading when various animals have been found on the fossil record. Can you believe starfish are over 400 million years old? Creepy, I know.
The visitor center was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. They had fossils everywhere they found in the local area from the world’s oldest bat to a perfect little Eohippus, a huge alligator, lots of fish, insects, and plants. If you ever want to make me happy just drop me off at a place like that… I marveled at everything. There was a woman working behind glass to clean up one of the fossils and make it visible. I couldn’t tell what it was but she was using a tiny little sandblaster and said a friendly hello. There were three blonde women and a large gaggle of children filing out of an RV. It looks as if their family had outgrown their SUV. Probably polygamists by the looks – where the husband? I couldn’t see him.
The park itself is free and it was a cool 70 degrees. I had time to kill and I wanted to know what was up with this place so I walked up the historic quarry trail. They said it was strenuous but most of these parks use “strenuous” to describe paths that are merely wheelchair inaccessible. They weren’t lying this time… this path was a good mile straight up and then another mile and a half across and back down. I’d gone up in the opposite direction I was supposed to so that this upward part would be shorter… I came across an old camp house used for processing the fossils. It looked like it was built almost out of scrap material but who knows what was considered new building material in the 1930’s, which was when it was put up. It aged remarkably well. You could see parts of an old car rusted into the ground and a small mountain stream I was tempted to jump into. My legs were KILLING me and I was sweating my ass off. I sipped rations of water as I took breaks here and there.
Eventually I walked up to the quarry part of the trail only to find it was another straight up detour. I could see the place but I hurt so bad. I somehow bulldogged it up there, knowing I’d pay for this. There were markers telling me which layers of the rock were what and a little information. It was neat. I looked around the rubble to see if I could find anything. I found a tiny fragment of something, it had piece of a body and a claw… perhaps a crayfish or something? No one was going to miss a half a centimeter fragment of something so I pocketed it. I also found a rock shaped like a fish, laughing I decided it was a fossil fish. I had to bring that one home too…
There was a register up there. I signed it, realizing I was the only person to attempt the trail today and that since the year began less than 300 people had been up there… I wrote in the comments, “Lots of poop, no animals.” And it was true. There was so much elk and deer poop up there someone should have started a garden…
By the time I got back down to the car I was happy I’d made it but I was exhausted, hot, and know I’d probably pay for this little adventure dearly.
