I was already on my way home from Rhode Island on this perfectly rainy day when I decided to use the weather’s gloomy ambiance to my advantage. I wanted to go find the Bancroft Tower and take a few dark and dreary photos of the castle and the foreboding gray clouds in the background. Nothing makes my inner Goth happier than that! Also, I had half an hour to kill before Lucky’s Aquarium opened. I’d heard rumors of a fresh fish order and I wanted to go for a good poke.
ANYWAY, Bancroft Tower is situated in a sweet residential neighborhood, atop a steep hill overlooking Worcester. There is a little parking lot and a lot of street signs saying that is the only place you are allowed to park. Of course, since it was raining, and spring, I was there with only two other cars who seemed to be idling, not gawking at the tower before them.
The park is very small, just a little patch of grass and a nice big castle directly in front of the parking lot allowing easy access to anyone who is not in form for a hike! As I approached it two HUGE turkey vultures flew off the tower straight towards me and scared the ever lovin’ piss out of me. Not many people know just how overwhelmingly monstrous those birds can get. It’s like being pursued by a goddamn pterodactyl! Imagine my absolute joy to see I’d taken a photo of them perched atop the tower without even knowing it! A moment later a woman walked her wee dog through the big arch doorway. I walked in as well and found that the doors to the tower part were locked but I guess they are open for Sunday tours in October allowing the public to climb up to the observation deck. Oh! How I wish to do so! It merits a return visit!
The tower itself was built in 1900 with the help of many very tuckered out horses who hauled the stones up that atrocious hill. It cost a mere $15,000, that’s over a cool half million today. It was to serve as a memorial.
Also of interest was the fact the park seemed to intersect with a 14-mile loop bike path through the city. If anyone is so inclined to try a challenge! Other than that the park and tower seem a lovely spot for some opportune castle photography or a scenic picnic. Definitely would recommend this to anyone who finds themself in Worcester.
It was an unusual circumstance in which my companion had an illustrious Thursday off. A Thursday that all the antique stores closed on Tuesday and Wednesdays would be open. AHA! A BUCKET LIST!
And this first one was a riot. We drove all the way there (GPS fucking with me the entire time, because why not) and when we got there we found a building with a very small parking lot of sorts fitting about five cars. It was full. Luckily one of them was leaving, an old couple who seemed VERY confused I was waiting for their spot.
We checked out the yard first. The yard which legitimately had a fire exit… In case all the junk spontaneously combusted I suppose. It was fun junk too. Yard decorations, old street signs, a cross gravestone (with no name – probably either an extra or replaced by something else.) There were some big ceramic jars and a wild assortment of random things all packed into a very small area. It was like being in Maine again!
Inside was much the same. Just really random things all piled up in a small space, the people in the shop talking about how they have to sell things for the price they’re at to make a profit. I don’t know why anyone would try to haggle here, everything already seemed cheap considering the other prices in the area. There was even a drawer full of glass apothecary bottles I had to pry myself away from. Yes, they’re cool, what would you do with them though? MAKE SPELL BOTTLES? You’re not a witch, cool your tits.
There was also a little area for a local glass artist who had some adorable sea creatures. The rest of the shop had everything from old can labels and coupons, to a few creepy masks, to a seriously cool old leather cat carrier. It looked like it had been custom made for Hannibal Lecter’s cat and I looooved it. But alas, I am catless. Woe is me.
All and all I liked this shop. It clashed violently with all the other chichi froufrou upscale antique stores in the area. This was a common man’s store. And there’s nothing wrong with that!
The Granary Burying Ground was the whole reason we came to Boston on this particular day because it is one of the cemeteries that started my fascination with graveyards. A great deal of children in New England end up here as it is part of the Freedom Trail. I was not one of them… so how I ended up here when I was a wee one, I don’t know. I think we just found it walking after a trip to the aquarium. In any event it is goooorgeous and it is 100% where I first started paying attention to the individual artists making the stones because I was blown away by the works of Capt. John Homer – the one responsible for the sideways facing Skull and Bones that I have recognized not just in Boston but also Portsmouth NH where he eventually moved and apparently there’s a bunch on Cape Cod too. He lived a long life and was prolific. I fell in love with this Puritan style right here in this cemetery.
Although most people do not come here for the art – even though it is AMAZING and when the sun is positioned just right this place is a photographer’s dream! No, most people come here because it is FULL of famous people. All of the victims of the Boston Massacre are buried here as well as a twelve-year-old boy who was said to be the first martyr of the Revolution two weeks before the Boston Massacre. His name was Christopher Snider and he was in an angry mob storming outside the home of local Loyalist Ebenezer Richardson. Richardson had gotten the ire of the crowd after he attempted to defend another Loyalist – a merchant by the name of Theophilus Lillie who the angry mobs harassed by placing a pro-British effigy in front of his store to let everyone know no one should be buying anything from him. Richardson was caught trying to get rid of the effigy and the mob chased him all the way home. After surrounding his house, they continued the harassment until he shot several rounds at random out of his window injuring several and killing one – twelve-year-old Christopher Snider. He was tried and found guilty of the murder of Snider and spent two years in prison before being pardoned. This has to be the most Boston story I have ever heard in my life!
Also within the grounds you can find the final resting spot of many governors, senators, congressmen, founding fathers, signers of the Declaration of Independence, Samuel Adams, Paul Revere, and Elizabeth Goose who some believe was the origin for the Mother Goose nursery rhymes. WHEW! That was a lot! And in such a small area with lots of wonderful slate carvings to add the cherry on top of it all. This cemetery has a lot of bang for its buck. Definitely worth visiting if you are in Boston!
Ever have one of those moments where you find yourself somewhere odd, staring at something you can’t explain, and having no idea why? This seems to happen a lot to me and today was no different. I was on the Freedom Trail just meandering when I came across a seagull sitting atop a statue. I thought it was so funny I stepped into the dooryard to snap a photo and found instead the cutest little donkey statue under it! And honestly, I was going to let this go as just that… a fun little thing during the day, not a whole damn blog entry, but things started to get a bit weird. You see the donkey in addition to being life-size (to a miniature donkey) was also practically glowing. It was a bronze statue and a clearly well-loved ass as there were golden wear marks almost all over the damn thing! I mean I’d seen bronze statues polished by people touching them before but it’s always just one spot. This thing looked like it’d been furiously rubbed like a genie’s lamp. What… is going on here?? I looked around for an explanation but there wasn’t any plaques or signs or anything… it was just… an anomaly.
“Is it shiny because people pet it for good luck?” I asked my companion who had no idea either. Just for good measure I pet him. I’m not really superstitious but I could use some good luck… especially after the earlier parking fiasco and the traffic, my god, the traffic. Later I’d look up what made this donkey so special and when I read the story… I smiled!
Apparently, they donkey is absolutely as random as it looks. He started his life in Italy where a Roger Webb found him, became enamored, and purchased him for the low low price of ten thousand dollars. Why? He wanted to put him on the Freedom Trail to entertain bored children! But you can’t just put a random donkey on the Freedom Trail. That makes no sense. And when he tried to donate the donkey to the city of Boston they just frowned. No. just no. BUT HE’S SO CUTE, LOOK AT HIM!
Anyway… eventually Mr. Webb came to lease the courtyard of The Old City Hall and he decided that would be a great place to board the little guy. Certainly, better than his daughter’s garage which is where it was spending all it’s time during this lack of a custody battle. He still had to make up a reason for why it should be there and so he just muttered, “Democrats?” And apparently Boston relented. That is until after the donkey was put in place and the Republicans got their panties in a bunch wondering where their elephant was going to go. To appease them Webb did put a dedication up to the Republicans but it wasn’t in the form of a bronze elephant it was actually just a set of footprints directly in front of the donkey…. so they could stand in opposition to it.
Meanwhile, much to Webb’s glee the donkey became a BELOVED monument, climbed on by children of all ages, pet on the regular, and with selfies galore. And I mean… it deserved it. Why? Because it’s ridiculous and adorable, that’s why. In this increasingly hostile world sometimes it’s nice just to spread joyful chaos. So, if you’re of a whimsical nature like myself I think you too should pay a visit to this sweet little donkey.
I am continuing my quest to get to 500 Catching Marbles Entries before the end of this year. We’re running out of time, energy, and good weather… which could explain why we decided to go to the beach in DECEMBER.
Oh my, was it BRISK! A fair wind was coming off the waves and even I, who has been overheating like a cheap European car all summer, was a bit chilly. Big gray clouds went out to sea as far as the eye could see. Despite being cold as a witch’s tits it was actually kinda gorgeous.
The beach had a huge parking lot which I am sure costs money to park in during the on season, however December was so far into the off season that we found a pack of herding dogs joyously running up and down the beach with their owners despite big signs reading, “NO DOGS ALLOWED ON BEACH.” I get it. You and your friends were insane enough to adopt a gaggle of border collies during your golden years AND you live in a densely populated area. Where else are you and the other crazy grandmas going to go to burn off some of that unused herding energy?? And I for one am all for it. Even though one of these dogs didn’t like me. I think I surprised him.
But really this beach must be HOPPING in the summer! It had a series of roofed structures with picnic tables and a bunch of benches to watch the waters and people going by. And the parking lot was ENORMOUS. I never understood the appeal of sunning next to a thousand other strangers while their children trip over you but hey, to each their own! I preferred the beach now… cold, unforgiving, and completely taken over by a less stressful kind of creature: birds. Holy birds! There were sea gulls and a swarm of ADORABLE sandpipers and some weird sea ducks?? (which I thought were pipers when I was taking photos because I have shit distance vision and frequently have no idea what I am taking pictures of. Sadly this led me to not taking photos of the actual pipers. Just as well, those fuckers are as fast as they are adorable.)
But we weren’t here for the beach. No matter how many rocks I shoved in my pockets proved otherwise. (As a lifelong cool rock collector you have no idea how deliriously happy I am to have a fish tank to put them in now. It’s a veritable rock scrapbook of places I’ve been… with fish!) We were actually here to check out the ruins that I saw someone post on Facebook. I mean… this is how I will be lured to my death some day.
The ruins were waaaaaay on the other side of the beach so we hoofed it through the sand until I was again, overheating. I looked on slightly irritated because my companion was gliding over that sand while I sunk into it like a water buffalo with four left feet. It’s SO MUCH harder to walk through when you’re sinking! Whhhhhy?! Why must I lack so much grace?!
Just as steam was starting to pour out of my ears we reached our destination. The ruins of the Windswept mansion which sits directly between the Scarborough Beach and Black Point. It was built in 1895 on the backs of chronic pain sufferers. Well, at least their hard-earned cash paid for it. You see the money used for building it was earned through selling the family business – Perry Davis’s Vegetable Pain Killer. Believed to be the first such tincture marketed directly to chronic pain sufferers it probably had quite a punch being made almost entirely of alcohol and opium which are suspicious vegetables if you ask me. Eventually it became a fancy restaurant Cobb’s by the Sea before changing hands and starting a long retirement of vacancy in 1952. Ravaged by no less than 5 fires little remains of what was once a 21 room mansion. However, what is still standing is still pretty neat and made for some lovely photos! And a brief study in pediatric psychology as we found some youngin’s notebook ripped up and spread to the wind inside the ruins. Pages and pages and pages of, “I am certain I love my girlfriend.” I wish I could have written back. Sweetheart, whatever mindfuck she’s putting you through ain’t worth it. RUN my child! RUN LIKE THE WIND!
And that was our trip to the ruins. This place was definitely entertaining on this off-season day and wasn’t hard to get to. If you love ruins, or beaches, or just a bit of fresh air I do suggest checking it out.
It is November so I guess it was time for another colonial cemetery. This time I was intrigued by a photo of a single random stone someone posted on FaceBook and with as little planning as usual off we went!
I did not expect to find what we did – a small but well packed cemetery with the strangest and most beautiful colonial era stones surrounded by the city itself. Adding to their uniqueness most were sandstone, likely imported from New York (or I guess New Amsterdam as it was called back in the day) rather than the Boston and Rhode Island slate that filled most of the rest of New England. It was… intriguing.
My travel companion grabbed a pamphlet at the entrance and went about in an organized manner trying to find each historical figure. Normally I follow along and listen to him read aloud but today… the ADHD gremlin bit me HARD and I was let loose into that cemetery with all the enthusiasm and lack of focus as a rabid Jack Russel terrier in a pit full of meth addled squirrels. I zipped from stone to stone, squealing in excitement, looking at the strange artwork on each just soaking it all in.
I did an exceptionally poor job of listening to my historical lecture and honestly all I remember by heart is that this was the final resting place of 15 (16?) black mayors of Hartford (who would have been mayors of their own segregated part of the city which sadly had little to do with the rest of the white population) and the first Irish immigrant. What follows is my research I have done after getting home…
Although today the cemetery is quite small it used to be far more expansive with perhaps up to 6,000 people buried here. Up to 90% of those would have not had the financial means to erect a stone and were thus interred in unmarked graves. Since the real estate it is situated on became valuable much of it was eventually built on top of. People buried here include many important local officials, even some who were involved with the hanging of witches back in the day. At least five, not 15, my bad, black mayors were buried here. A new marker was created to honor the black inhabitants of this cemetery and as such it’s on the African-American Heritage Tour. As for the first Irish immigrant he was actually the first Irish immigrant to Hartford not the US in general so I’m much less interested, but his name was Phenias Wilson (1628-1692) if you want to find him. His stone is one of the first to have a skull on it!
My three favorite graves were purely based on needless drama which colonial New England was FULL of. The first was an unfortunate man who was struck by lightning and instantly killed while he was standing in his kitchen. His grave marker reads “Here lies interd the remains of Capt Isreal Seymour who was kill’d by lightning Augst. 14th 1784, in the 49th year of his age. With awful rev’rence GOD adore Whose holy hand with sov’reign pow’r Did in an instant stop his breath And closed his eyes in sleep of death.” The little poem on that is good enough for me but the fact local ministers used his death to fear monger people to god was the cherry on top of the cake. Best be kissing up to god or else he might fry your sinning ass too!
The second stone could have been ripped out of a colonial era soap opera. It was that of Richard Edwards and his second wife Mary. Edward was 20 during his first marriage and his new bride was 22 year old Elizabeth Tuttle. In two decades she gave him six children but the first Edwards always claimed was a bastard as he was conceived before the wedding. In 1689 after the honeymoon phase was long dead Edward, who was a man of means being an attorney himself, tried to file for a divorce saying his wife was insane and adulterous. He may have been projecting just a little because after this petition failed he once again tried to get a divorce in 1691 this time claiming his wife was threatening to cut his throat while he slept. He claimed she was genetically predestined to be a murderess because her brother had once murdered their sister. This time the courts granted his request and the freshly divorced Elizabeth disappeared into the mists of history while her ex almost immediately married 27-year-old Mary Talcott who the town believed he was already playing hide the sausage with. She bore him six more children so he could have an even dozen (or 11 if the first one really was a bastard. Hard to say.) Apparently the two were able to regain composure in the church and eventually have a grandson who’d become one of the most prominent religious leaders in the colonial era.
But my favoritest stone was the triple monument of the Beauchamp sisters honoring Susannah McLean (1711-1741) Margaret Chevenard (1708-1783) and Maryane Keith (1696-1784.) The pamphlet says thusly about this stone: “In an unusual departure from custom these three married women were memorialized first as sisters, next as daughters, and last as wives, suggesting they shared a powerful emotional bond.” Yes, I am sure that’s what this means, and not three women’s last fuck you to patriarchy. Beauchamp sisters, I got your message loud and clear. I hope you’re still floating around somewhere kicking butt.
And so that was my trip to the cemetery! You should totally go see this one if you can. So much charm. So much drama. So much bizarre gravestone art. What’s not to love?
There were two art museums within the pavilion but we’d gotten to the museums rather late and basically had to run through what we could. As such we had to only chose one of the two art museums. We chose the one with a Georgia O’Keefe and a Monet, neither of which my travel companion had seen before.
This was such a sweet little art museum. Not too big. Not too stuck on itself. Just the right atmosphere. There were some neat abstract sculptures and paintings I felt like I could have made…. if only I could find some rich people to ̶c̶o̶n̶, er, sell to.. *whistles innocently*
Most of the other pieces were impressive in their own ways. There were lots of European portraits which seemed to be confused as to how children should be composed… with boards for necks? Sure, why not. And one with a wealthy gent leaned back in in a pose I can only describe as “Tinder the 1700’s Version.” There were some poignant African American and black pieces. But with 15 minutes left on the clock until closing we had found neither Georgia O’Keefe (who I struggled to categorize) or Monet. Luckily the impressionists were a few rooms over and there was the usual line-up of Degas and Monet. Degas was predictable. Ballerinas. Monet though…. who knew he painted pink hay bales?! Were they supposed to be pink or did they just age weird?? I have no answers.
We had to ask the desk clerk for O’Keefe. We’d passed by hers it was so unimpressive and entirely not flowered. It was a simple, very flat, depiction of a gray mountain landscape. Underwhelming for sure. I was kind of annoyed by this… both O’Keefe and Monet were… atypical. But my companion was happy, so I was happy for him. Besides, I’d seen so much nightmare fuel to keep me bust it was still worth it. We made a note to maybe come back some day and see the other art museum as well as the Springfield Historical Society’s Museum.
This was a great art museum if you’re just starting out going to art museums. It wasn’t too big or overwhelming but still managed to be interesting. At no point was I stopped in my tracks and crying, which is always a plus with me in art museums! It was a nice entry point for starting to learn about the different art movements.
Since we were already at the Dr Suess Museum, we decided it was worth using our ticket to see the Science Museum on premise as well. It was definitely geared for children. And children at heart. I wanted to see the dinosaurs because… dinosaurs. They had a life-size T-rex sculpture, a stegosaurus, and a few modest displays around them. It was… underwhelming but luckily other things in the museum sufficed to keep me entertained!
Most of them were in the basement where no one else seemed to be… But here in this VERY warm abode there were a bunch of cute critters! Native fish, some small reptiles, some non-native marine fish, and more turtles than I could have hoped for (one who was INTENSELY staring at me, not sure why.) My companion found entertainment in front of the snake enclosure because someone had just lobbed two very dead mice in there and the snake was contentedly nomming down on them.
Upstairs there was a TON of taxidermy – both African game and normal New England based critters. Most of the African creatures were superbly done – except for those vaguely wonky lions and the chimpanzee with a… human? ish…. face…. I don’t know what demons were inhabiting that poor chimp but something! Meanwhile the local critters were a real tossup between ‘great job’ and ‘WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE?!’ The winner of the latter category went to muskrat with a wildly contorted face.
There also was a modest Native American exhibit as well as an African peoples exhibit and some replicas of various human ancestor skulls which I found interesting. They also had a planetarium which we did not go to see a show at but we did loiter around their space exhibits for a bit. Pet a meteor, played with a robotic arm, looked curiously at a space suit, and weighed myself on the “How Fat are you on Other Planets?” scale. That one told me I lost a pound so I liked it.
ANYWAY… This was a lovely destination if you have kids, especially under 10 or so. Or if you are a big kid like me! It was a nice bonus to the Dr Suess Museum!
After going to The Titanic Museum we discovered that the Dr Suess Museum, which has been recommended by several people over the years, was just across town so we decided to go poke at it. I didn’t really know what to expect. Why were adults telling me, a childless person, to come here?
As it turns out the museum is sitting in a little village of museums. Ticket prices on this day were $25 which seemed excessive until we realized it for admission to all the museums in this pavillion and the one across the street. In all this included the Dr Suess Museum, a science museum, two art museums, and a museum dedicated to the history of Springfield Massachusetts. Well, OK then, let’s go check them out!
The people running the museums were delightfully cheerful and seemed happy to see a couple adults strolling in. This place was VERY child-friendly, obviously. The pavilion was filled with huge Dr Suess inspired sculptures of our most beloved Suess creatures. It was really cute!
Inside the museum we were greeted by a man who told us the first floor was a museum for all ages and upstairs were the more serious exhibits. Of course, we had to go through both! And being as we both have ADD pretty bad this entire place was setting off all our dopamine centers much to our pure joy. The colors were bright, the sculptures we darling, and all the displays down here had some sort of interactive element encouraging children and silly adults alike to press buttons, take selfies, and build whimsical structures. We had the most fun with a series of buttons that just made seemingly random silly noises. OKaaaay, I can see what the draw to this place was. Even though it’s CLEARLY for children it’s goddamn delightful! All ages indeed!
Upstairs we found a more typical museum with artifacts and explanatory plaques. There was a whole room dedicated to showing how the bronze statues out front were created, another that was a replica of Suess’ wonderfully whimsical living room, and even Dr Suess’ baby book and the most ADORABLE pair of tiny children’s boots he was apparently given to wear at some point in his life. My companion was intrigued by the weird blunder bust-like rifle which was owned by Suess’ father and apparently inspired some of his artwork. Thing was massive. Could have taken out an elephant or at least a shoulder with the blowback!
I however was most touched by the original drawings and bizarre but hilarious little letters he wrote. I found it oddly inspiring. Made me want to get back to my own ridiculous flights of fancy – be they writing, drawing, sculpting, or whatever else I’m into! This place was well worth the visit for any lovers of Suess’ work, people interested in the local history, or just anyone with a sense of childlike wonder. Stay tuned and I will be posting my adventures in some of the other museums in the coming few days.
Today’s little adventure was more of a misadventure of me first getting lost finding the parking and then getting even more lost once I was on the trails. As such I will try to write this in a way that you won’t make the same mistakes!
Initially I found out about the Cemetery Loop Trail after randomly driving by parking at the Northern Watershed Southern Section which has a nice little map of all kinds of trails in the area. Neat. From this map I could figure out that parking for the Cemetery Loop Trail was actually on Scott Road so I went off to find Scott Road and I drove the whole thing, finding the N13 trail marker before finding the road was a dead end and any promises or parking were highly exaggerated. I could have parked at the main entrance (N60) and made my way on several trails to get to the Cemetery Loop Trail but I decided to park instead at the N10 Main Path entrance. It says not to park there but there’s a little bridge a few feet down the road that has a turnoff, so I parked there.
This actually worked out well. I found the N10 and then the N11 marker so quickly and easily I thought this was going to be a breeze! If you want to avoid the following harrowing 2-hour trek that I took and actually find the cemetery you should keep going straight at the N11 intersection. From there you will go up a steep hill and somewhere on the left, directly in the middle between markers N11 and N13 you’ll see a very unimpressive, unmarked, path on your left. The cemetery is not visible from the Cemetery Loop Path and is on this unmarked sub path, up a little hill and behind a rock wall. If you hit the N13 marker while looking for this sub path you’ve gone too far. This is a SHORT walk, should take 10-15 minutes tops from the car. The following is why it took me two hours.
First, I did not go straight on at marker N11, instead I went past it by going left, believing being a loop trail I’d loop back around. I found my way all the way to marker N12 which should mean I was where I needed to be but N12 was actually a 4-way intersection that was not noted on the map. Two directions were labelled via tree signs as “Scott’s Road” and straight ahead was “The Pipeline Path.” Neither of these paths are on the map and the Cemetery Loop Path was not marked by sign. So, I was left to guess, question myself, turn around, question myself again, turn around again, and again! I never took the Pipline Path. I did however take at various points the Scott’s Road Path to where it ended – at the road behind marker N13 on Scott’s Road, and I took the opposite direction until I hit the Maine Trail again. In the meanwhile, I continued to come across more intersections of clearly marked trails that were not on the goddamn map! Like the Lightning Trail! I could not fathom how a cluster of trails could be both so clearly marked and maintained and yet so impossible to navigate. Somewhere along the way I found an old cellar hole which was cool, before I backtracked all the way back to the N11 marker, this time taking the other leg of the loop where the map noted there was a cemetery.
Well! I made it all the way from N11 to N13 which was a HIKE straight up a hill despite the rest of the day being flat paths and in all that time I didn’t see a cemetery. By now it was raining, almost two hours had passed, I wanted to be back at the car but also I couldn’t just leave after never finding the cemetery. As I walked back to N11 from N13 I peered intensely into the woods on my righthand side and there I found the entrance to the cemetery having passed it the first time. It was not marked. It looked like a deer path and the stones were not visible until I walked up and over the hill this strange sub-path was on. Finally!! Success!!
Here in a TINY three stone plot was the Hartwell family, buried between 1806-1850, all with gorgeous slate stones. Cool thing about this plot was the foot stones were still intact and clearly visible. This is rare in stones of this age. Very cool! Also interesting to see a fresh American flag next to the middle stone marking the final resting place of a veteran. Who died in 1806. And whose grave is now practically in Narnia. How did the people putting the flags and plaques out know where to find him?! They must have gotten better instructions than I did! Now I could go home with a sense of accomplishment, having found what to date was the smallest and most hidden cemetery I have ever been to.
