I am just writing this quick entry to announce that this week I will be doing something a little different with this blog. Since I was invited to attend a wedding in Maryland I decided to take a few days off and poke around Baltimore and Fredric. I had a lot of fun with great people and destinations and took enough photos to make you cry. We ended up everywhere – at museums, battlefields, escape rooms, some fantastic diners, antique shops, record stores, parks, and of course cemeteries. So buckle and stay tuned as I post a flurry of Maryland-based entries!
During our last visit to the Eyrie House Ruins we noticed a sign aside the road promising dinosaur footprints. We didn’t have the energy to check it out then but this time we did! And of course with four people this time half the group was less than thrilled at the idea of more hiking. However the sign said it was maybe 300 feet to the destination at hand… which is nothing. So off we went!
And we ended up in this weird little rock outcropping with a mural of dinosaurs on it. We were still missing the point until one of us yelled, “Oh my God, there really are dinosaurs!” And looking down there were in fact a series of tracks from several different kinds of dinosaurs. They were eroded from being in the elements but still visible if you knew what you were looking for. Is it worth going out just for this? Maybe not, but it is totally worth a detour if you’re in the area anyway…
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!!
Not far from the Plain Meetinghouse Cemetery we came across another cute little church in the middle of nowhere. Behind it was both a building to house up to three horse carriages during services (so you knew this place was old) and a delightful cemetery behind some iron gates with a sign reading, “Hopkins Hollows Cemetery.” Curiosity got the better of us.
The largest metal monument we found.
We decided to pull over and check it out. It was a somewhat large cemetery considering the town it was located in with 398 burials and 278 stones all of which were in great condition as far as I could tell. They appeared to be mostly from the 1800’s and right away we were struck by one in particular that looked like it had been put up yesterday. Upon closer inspection (and having gently knocked on it) we came to realize it wasn’t a stone at all – it was a blue-grey cast iron monument. Surrounding it were a series of footstones for the Wood family, all of which were cast iron. I’d never seen anything like it. I mean I had heard of zinc coffins being the in-thing for the super wealthy back in the day but a cast iron monument?! The only time I had ever seen anything remotely similar was in the Lollypop Cemetery in Harvard Massachusetts but those markers were tiny in comparison to this. Clearly these people were loaded.
The mystery deepened as a little farther into the cemetery I found several more smaller stones belonging to a range of families that were also made of metal. Whhhhy?? Either way they were PERFECTLY preserved. Over a hundred years had done nothing to slow them down. All and all this cemetery seemed immaculate and well taken care of. So it’s unusual that when I looked it up there was no one of note said to be buried here. Not even town founders or local personalities. If it had any stories to tell it was keeping mum. Still, I walked around and took a series of photos I have attached in a gallery below.
To add to the vaguely ominous ambiance two turkey vultures circled above us. We enjoyed the serenity of the place and the gorgeous hilltop view of a neighboring farm before latching the gate behind us and leaving historic Rhode Island Cemetery CY012 behind.
I must admit the Mount Hope Cemetery has been on my bucket list since I was told about it a few years ago. It’s a very large cemetery (possibly the largest I’ve been to with 300 acres and over 5,500 stones!) But besides the sheer amount of stones it’s also beautiful. As far as I know it’s the only garden cemetery in Maine, the second installed in the United States, and is situated amongst the hills of what must have been a swamp at one point which is now a series of well manicured mini ponds.
The cemetery functions also as a park and there’s tons of parking and a number of people out taking walks – perhaps in the steps of a young Stephen King who was said to wander here as a college student looking for inspiration to name his characters off the stones. (And I thought I was the only one to do this!) The monuments speak to great wealth and were at times pretty extravagant. We were on a search for a few famous inhabitants here – first the stone of a certain Mr. Peavey who invented a logging tool in his name that saved countless lives on Maine’s rivers. The second was Hannibal Hamelin who was vice president under Abraham Lincoln. (And who also has a “death couch” at the local library which I have yet to poke at.) Other people of note were gangster Al Brady, comedian Richard Golden, and actor Ralph Sipperly. The only one of these we found was Hamelin who was situated at the very front of the cemetery near the road and was easy to spot.
We both really enjoyed an afternoon amble through the cemetery. We weren’t there long at all when I snapped a photo of a lot of plots that were for The Home for Aged Women. In it a bright orb showed up. I have taken a lot of photos in all sorts of graveyards and cemeteries, this is the first time this has shown up so maybe we weren’t alone!
Indeed it wasn’t long before we found several Civil War memorials – which I must say is a bit odd for New England. And they were strange! A castle and a bronze statue of a faceless grim reaper dragging someone off to the great beyond. I was intrigued. There was also a memorial for the fallen of the Korean War which had a disturbing little plaque that noted half the fatalities of that war were in prison camps.
We went pretty far and enjoyed a great deal of the sights when my travel companion noticed something odd on one of the stones. It was a large bird of some kind. I thought this probably was an owl – which are fond of cemeteries as they are the perfect hunting ground for mice – but actually it was a hawk. A huge, fat, wet hawk. Probably perched here in the sun to dry off. It let us get alarmingly close without reacting. These photos were taken with full zoom but we were still only a few feet away. Just far enough to feel like we were safe from having our faces ripped off if it decided to turn. Very odd. But sweet in a way. Perhaps it was paying respects to a long forgotten life. We continued on after a few minutes, leaving the bird there to keep chilling.
It was a wet day with grey skies and slippery grass. It was probably this that resulted in the end of our little jaunt when my travel companion went flying down some stone steps landing with exceptional violence on his back. He was lucky to have been able to walk out of there. We decided to leave after this in search of first aid supplies for all the cuts. That being said – besides this little incident the trip to the cemetery was well enjoyed by both of us and maybe someday we’ll return to find those other stones. And the nearby death couch…
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.
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!
Yet another summer has rolled around which means it’s time to go antiquing! And I don’t mean the stuffy sort of antiquing one might expect from Rhode Island. I am not in the market for a 15th century chair or some fine china I’m afraid to breathe on. I do have enough spare change for a good haunted doll though…
And so we found not an antique store but an antique mall. Antique malls are usually large buildings (in this case a 17th century mill) which rent out booths on consignment meaning it’s halfway between antiquing at a little shop and halfway between rummaging through the town yard sale. You never know what you’re going to find! Or for what price. I was in.
Better still this place has a reputation for being haunted – and I mean with this many antiques that seemed like a guarantee more than a speculation but it wasn’t the antiques that were supposed to be causing the unrest. Unusual activity here was said by some locals to be the wandering spirits linked to the shocking murder of Mary Eddy who was bludgeoned to death in 1903 on her way home from working at the mill. The killer was Earl Jacques, another worker at the mill, whose mother claimed he was mentally slow and did not fully grasp his actions. The motive was to get Eddy’s paycheck for the week. Jacques was convicted and received the death penalty for his crimes while Mary Eddy’s fiancée was so distraught over her murder he committed suicide in a house nearby. Since then his ghost is seen on that property while Mary Eddy is said to wander up and down Pig Road where she was murdered and Jacques stays put in the antique store. Quite the story!
I loved the ambiance of the place even before we stepped inside. By the outside it looks grumpy and old. You can see how the cement used on the outside is beginning to crumble from advanced age exposing the rocks within. Nearby in the parking lot there is a river and a structure which I am guessing probably once hosted a big water wheel. Historic accounts of the town say there’s an inordinate amount of factory accidents, drownings, and people run over by horses or cars that has led to this section gaining it’s haunted reputation.
I didn’t know about all that when I walked in. Perhaps I was too distracted by the giant sock monkey being hugged by a Kraken-esque tentacle. Yup, we’d stumbled onto another winner. Right behind that was a cache of great vinyl records – most classic rock from the 60’s-80’s. Usually when I come into a place like this and there’s a record collection it’s 90% dollar records that no one has ever heard of (or just blatantly doesn’t want – I’m looking at you Bill Cosby albums.)
This place was massive and just seemed to go on and on. I was in love with the old architecture and the uniqueness of each booth. There was just everything here – including a bottle of arsenic that gave instructions of what to do in case of accidental poisoning. Somehow I don’t think milk and butter do a hell of a lot but hey, if it worked for grandma…
My travel companion kept entertained finding increasingly scary Santas spread like confetti through the entire store. As fun as that was I had my eyes on the less Christmasy dolls. There was a huge case of trolls… did you know they made PUPPY TROLLS? And they’re just as terrifying as they sound. Even worse was a doll that looked like it might be able to crawl on its own and another in a case with half its head missing – scalped? Lobotomized? One can’t be too sure. Always fun were the usual bassinets full of random doll parts just waiting for some young Frankenstein to come waltzing in. “Ah yes, this’ll do…”
An even more funny image to me was a plastic reindeer situated atop all the cases just looking out over the store. It was missing one foot and seemed… happy about that. And of course there was always a few items here and there to remind us of what racist fucks we’ve been in the past. A mammie doll here, an “Indian Joe” drumming figure there, and can’t forget the odd Chinamen… Still, there was MUCH less of this than in Maine which is what I’m used to.
Did you know that Mr. Potatohead once had a companion, Oscar Orange? I guess he must not have sold as well. Another bizarre find was the entire cast of the Wizard of Oz as cows. At the end of the day neither one of us came home with anything but we both wanted to return at a later date because you just never know…
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.
Sometimes I get tired of finding new locations or I just lack inspiration. It’s at these times I like to hand the torch over to my travel companions and tell them to pick a place. I’m always happy to drive and the surprise of these adventures ticks off my ever expanding need for novelty.
On this day the choice was to go to Gay City State Park – a location in Connecticut that came up as a FaceBook suggestion to my travel companion. Let’s go!
Gay City State Park was easy enough to get to but they were taking trees down at the entrance when we drove up so we had to wait for them to move it out of the way. From there there was a really large parking lot for a park. This place was sort of huge. We followed several other people who were already out walking their dogs. They all made their way to a shut off road that goes straight into the center of the park. It had a toll booth and all. To the side there was a campground and signs were up for swimming holes, By Scouts, and various other activities. I am glad I didn’t come to this place during the summer season. It looks like it’d be flooded with children escaping the city. In this sense it was a lot like Rangeley, just bigger. What were we here to see again?
“The remnants of a ghost town.”
OK then! We took what looked like the main trail and began to hike into the woods. It was a pretty easy trail, a few mild inclines here and there but nothing too bad. Since it was gray and threatening to rain on this day the bare trees took on a bit of a foreboding appearance. When we came to a fork in the trail we just started walking down random branches of it. I have no idea how my travel companion can find his way back after doing this – I never could. One wrong turn and I’m screwed. We did eventually come across the foundation of an old house aside the trail. Ferns grew out of the walls and gave it a bit of a Secret Garden kind of feeling. Still, we’re a both a bit jaded at this point having seen quite a few ruins, we had to ask was this it? We continued to hike. Luckily it wasn’t raining yet and the temperature was perfect for a brisk walk through the leaf litter.
Eventually we made our way back to the main path which was supposed to have a ruined mill on it and sure enough it wasn’t long before we found it. I’ve seen lots of ruined and abandoned mills but this one was old! Only part of the foundation remained (after the structure burned down on three separate occasions) and it was not messing around. I’m pretty sure it’ll still be there in another 100 years! It made me wonder what it looked like when it was fresh and new and how many people worked here. I took some time wandering around taking somewhat artsy photos. It was worth the trip!
There’s rumors of a few weird terribly New England-y murders happening here back in the day when the town was thriving. Some people pay for permits to camp so they can ghost hunt at night. We did not… for we had other places to go!
We wandered back to the car to explore a second destination. There was supposed to be an abandoned missile silo from the 1950’s hidden just eight miles away. However the GPS just brought up to a random neighborhood and there was no indication there was a trail, an appropriate place to park, or anything else you might think would go with such a destination. We didn’t even bother getting out of the car. Instead we headed to our third and final destination of the day – the Ballard Institute and Museum of Puppetry.
