Tag: New Hampshire

Past Life Regression – Life Path Fellowship – Jaffrey NH

Around the time I started this blog I attended a group session for past life regression led by a certified regressionist at the Life Path Fellowship in Jaffrey NH, an event I knew about because they had posted it on their FaceBook page. I have always been severely curious about these things but I was hesitant to share my experience publically for the fear of it being seen as “a little out there.” I know what you’re thinking – three years later I am making plans to track Bigfoot on summer camping adventures while searching for UFOs and glowing mushrooms in the dark. I am a little out there. I’m an odd combination of scientific and spiritual. I don’t always 100% believe in these things but I keep my mind and eyes open just in case. And since I am now comfortable just being me here I have decided it was time to finally share what went down. It was an intense personal experience, one which I wrote about with more gravity than my other entries. Reading it now feels like a punch to the gut so take it as what it is – if you’re curious, by all means, go on and read. I apologize that I was unable to take any photos of the actual event so visually this is a pretty boring entry. Either way, enjoy!

That morning I was already running late and I was SUPER nervous about attending. I had no idea what to expect but generally speaking I am not one who usually enjoys participating in group activities. Add hypnosis and I was even more anxious but there was something driving me to do this. When I drove in the parking lot was empty. Greeeeeat. A moment of doubt. I still got out and made my way into the building where I was warmly welcomed. There were two other women there burbling to each other, they were cheerful and funny. I smiled and a minute later another woman showed up – an audience of four. Okaaay, little smaller than expected but too late to back out now. I settled in and just listened. The woman hosting this little event had a calming soft voice and explained the whole process of hypnosis and how it’s still a conscious and voluntary experience and can be backed out of at any point. Then she passed out yoga matts and pillows and told us all to spread out and make ourselves comfortable lying on the floor. I pondered if I would fall asleep. It’d been an early morning.. I settled in under the sun coming through the window. Another fucking gorgeous day!

I know it’s supposed to be a demon but I think it’s kind of cute. Hieronymus Bosch painting

I closed my eyes and relaxed. She brought us through the usual relaxation procedure for hypnosis, taking note of every muscle and feeling it all turn to melted butter. This took what seemed ages and I tried not to fall asleep. She then told us to imagine a garden so I did…. It was a big very planted garden behind a stone wall to one side, trees and a mountain to the others. In the center an old marble fountain, a stone bench, all sorts of strange and colorful plants and little imaginary creatures skittering about like rats. Oddly I think most of them I plagiarized from Hieronymus Bosch. Amusing…. Sure, helpful, probably not. I was sitting there wondering what the point of this exercise was and how silly it seemed when she asked for us to reach out in our garden and touch something there. Fine…. I picked up a weird alien flowery cactus-y kind of thing. It was squishy and weird, sort of like those gel beads but with far less form and perhaps a little warmer. Gross. My subconscious has a sense of humor. She then asked us to imagine our garden bathed in light, bathed in the essence of existence, alive with the energy of the creative force, a place of peace, serenity, and safety. OK, can do. We were instructed to return to the garden whenever we pleased. OK… that sounded slightly alarming but hey, another happy place isn’t always a bad thing.

Then she said we’d be going back to a memory of our younger selves. OK. Which one? Oh fuck, I’m in the back of my mother’s shitty little red Nissan driving down that road between Cathedral and Fitzgerald. My brother is in the front seat. I’m five years old fidgeting with the seat belt which is cutting into my neck because I’m too short to wear it right. This isn’t a good memory…. My mother’s pulled over, hysterical, crying, but trying to hold it together. Oddly I can feel her emotions as well as my own, which is absolute confusion, and odder still my brother’s…. He seems….. He seems disconnected, intellectually knowing what the situation is, emotionally putting it away for later. My mother announces my aunt, whom we’d all been very close to, is dead. She’s not coming back. I’m five, I never knew her when she was healthy, hospital visits were just part of life. This death thing made no sense to me. 

Back to the garden I’m told to relax. Clear my mind. Fine, just as well, that wasn’t pleasant. 

Now I’m told I’m going to two weeks before I was born. Uhmmmmm, OK, darkness? What am I supposed to be seeing? My host’s soothing voice guides me through the experience of witnessing my own birth. Who is there? What are they feeling? Why are you there? Interesting questions with a shockingly clear answer that comes to me like being jolted by lightning. Because I am wanted here – attracted to my mother’s love. My mother is soooooo happy. My brother is here too, age seven, I can feel his emotions – chaos, just pure chaos. What is this shriveled wailing thing we’re bringing home? I feel Flo [a close family friend] too and am really struck by her vibe…… She’s proud, very proud of my mother for doing what she wanted (having another baby) even though it was extremely difficult in her situation. I am struck once again by the lack of a final presence……… My father isn’t here. I find the whole scene fascinating. Never thought about any of this… 

Back to the garden. Breathe, take a moment. OK. 

Now I am going back to another life. I’m asked to look down, what kind of shoes am I wearing? A utilitarian looking set of old cowboy boots…. What do my hands look like? Manly? Where am I? Out West somewhere, in a shitty little mining town. I try to see the distinguishing features of the buildings but they become blurry especially the more I try to fixate on them. Dammit. From here I was to go to a pivotal moment in this person’s life. OK. The scene changes. I’m on the beach now, the ocean to be exact. Angry waves, dunes, Californian looking plants. There’s a gathering of people here. We’re in out twenties, early twenties, maybe even younger, there seems to be alcohol involved. A woman stands in front of me, long dark hair, her energy is of pure chaos. She’s crying, trying to make sense of it. Who is this memory about? My best friend from childhood. He’s dead, this is an impromptu memorial of sorts. I’m asked why I am at this particular memory? Not sure but I think I am supposed to meet this woman again. Someday, somehow. And now I’m brought to this person’s scene of death. What has happened? Not sure. I feel dirt and gravel under my fingers and feel myself floating upward. Something has happened very suddenly. I do not realize I am dead. There’s a big gray car. Maybe I was hit by it. Maybe I crashed it and flew through the window. Who knows. 

Back to the garden. Well, OK. Here I’m encouraged to meet my spirit guide. Things get weird. I wasn’t expecting a spirit guide buuut…. there’s a red Chinese dragon here. Why is my spirit guide a Chinese dragon? It answers it is not, it’s a mask. Cool. Can I see behind the mask? He takes the mask off, behind lies a red European styled dragon. Very funny. Not sure I believe in any of this spirit guide stuff but either way this is oddly hilarious. I’m told to ask any questions I need to know about my life, he will answer.  OK. My waking life was in utter chaos at the time so I asked a shitload all at once, the dragon breathes a deep sigh, has a look of impatience and says, “You’re not meant to know any of that yet.” Fiiiiiiiiine. Spirit guide or a reflection of my subconscious, either way I should have expected that. 

Back to the garden, now I am told it’s time to wake up. I popped out of it. Felt my heavy body come back to life on the floor. Opened my eyes, looked at the ceiling fan, got up. OK, that was weird. We sat around and expressed what we had seen. All three other woman had done this before. One saw another dimension, another witnessed death of old age in a teepee, and I can’t remember what the last one came up with. I meandered back out to the car, still a bit woozy, struggling to hold back the urge to cry (not from sadness but from an unexpected joy.) This was an intense experience, completely unexpected, deeply personal. I left with such profound gratitude and love of life and the people in it. Each and every one.

When I got home I told my mother about a little of it. She said I looked like I was glowing and I really held back the urge to cry then. I am not someone who cries so this was a bit alarming for us both.

In the end I didn’t see what I thought I would see. I didn’t get any answers I sought. I don’t even have a belief one way or the other of whether this was a real vision or just my subconscious throwing up whatever but because it was so life affirming I stepped away from it changed somehow – in only the best of ways. When asked if I would recommend this to others – yes, I would, but with the caveat that you don’t know what you are going to get.

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Fort at Number Four – Charlestown NH

The tower from whence you can see Vermont.

I remember sitting in the woods of New Hampshire when I was perhaps eight years old talking with my friend about the view from the Fort at Number Four. We were told by our teachers we could see Vermont from it’s highest perch and to our tiny preadolescent brains the idea of seeing another state from New Hampshire seemed so exciting and exotic, at least to our peers. We two didn’t quite comprehend what the hubbub was about. Maybe we were just jaded. I’d spent many long weekends hauling ass to Maine, a 4-6 hour journey in a hot car with my older brother and a little lap dog with breath so bad we practically hung her out the window to escape it. It was dreadful but my friend fared even worse. Her extended family lived in Pennsylvania which meant that she got to spend twelve hours in the car with her brother. Neither of us would ever quite grasp what small town life was like for the other children who rarely left town. Seeing Vermont over a river was so passé.

Nothing like living behind a jagged timber fence.

It was this and several other little memories that brought me back today as I found myself once again on the road. The Fort at Number Four is a reconstruction of a wooden fort that stood in the fourth plantation of the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1735. It was the North Westernmost British settlement in the New World. By 1745 ten families lived within the confines of the fort behind big fortified walls. There were living quarters, a saw mill, gardens, a barn, a black smith shop all nested in the woods like some sort of antisocial wooden castle blockading itself from the rest of the world. Why was such a thing necessary? Well because diplomacy apparently wasn’t one of the settlers’ biggest skills and the “Indians” (which are still referred to as such in the pamphlets they were handing out today) were a little testy about the new neighbors claiming their land as their own. And from there it appears there were some dust ups involving the British, the French, the occasional Spaniard… to me this seems like lunacy. For ten families to live in what amount to the wilderness – thirty five miles from the closest settlement. But OK.

Oh today’s tour was going to be good if this is what I went in there thinking. I am happy to note it was a really easy place to find and on a Thursday pretty much no one was there except a woman taking admission fees ($12 per adult) and one melting tour guide in period garb who I found playing Hoops with some children. He offered everyone else guided tours but myself and the older couple who came in at the same time as me politely declined to go wander on our own. I like allowing myself time and space to take photos from odd angles and such.

Here’s a photo of my knees giving a solid “fuck you” for climbing to the top of the tower. These stairs have to be climbed down backwards like a latter. Fun.

First off I should remark that you shouldn’t revisit places form your childhood that you once thought were so grand because when you get there and realize just how tiny and insignificant they are your perceptions will be RUINED. I headed up the tower, which by the way is only three stories high, and looked out over the river. Yup. There was Vermont. Looking all green and sleepy as she usually does. The view was sooo…. unspectacular, but I guess it would be for someone who has flown in planes, peered down from the Penobscot Bridge Observatory, and nearly died of exhaustion dragging my sorry ass to the top of the Empire State Building. Life and experience had dampened my reaction.

I remembered literally nothing else of the fort from those sweet early days and I was actually happily surprised how expansive the place was. Plus it smelled like old barn wood which made me deliriously happy. Of course being unlit it was pretty dark in spots but that made it all the more fun. Coming into the kitchen I found a number of herbs hanging to dry. One of them brought me straight back to my childhood. It smelled SO FAMILIAR but I don’t know what it was… something from my days in the first house I lived in. I was grinning from ear to ear. The fort seemed to have a lot of personality even with very sparse furnishings. It was indeed the perfect space to play with my photography – the lighting, the architecture, the odd artifacts, all lent themselves beautifully to this task.

Yup, those would be two child-sized coffins int he rafters. Daring motif.

Then I got to looking around – and having a bit of fun with the artifacts. being as this was basically set up for children many of the exhibits were hands-on like the series of pelts that lined the walls of one of the buildings that made up a sort of macabre dead petting zoo of sorts. It wasn’t the most morbid thing by far, there were two child-size coffins in the workshop, and another plaque telling the history of the place said something about “murder holes” being needed to protect the families in their bedrooms. Murder holes. To protect the family. In their beds. Just let that sink in. But the weirdest thing I found was a diorama of the place. There were soldiers reenacting a battle all around it, which I get, but why they were wearing Scottish kilts and who they were fighting…. fuck if I know. Maybe there was a sale on figurines that day. Kilted ones. Or maybe there’s something the brochures aren’t telling me. Quite frankly I left a bit confused and only took one feeble shot of this weird scene because I didn’t feel like being that person taking photos of the diorama. Seriously. That guy. We all know that guy. I still have pride. I wandered off to fondle the zombie pets.

Besides the mystery Scottish militia there seems to be a vaguely Turkish looking dude in the back swinging a bayonet at nothing. I have no idea who they’ve killed.

I spent maybe an hour or so poking around. It was a sweet little way to spend an afternoon. After this I allowed the GPS to try and kill me leading me through increasingly narrow dirt roads on the search for my next destination – the scene of Phineas Gage’s fateful railway accident.

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Lower Purgatory Falls – Lyndeborough NH

Just when I feel like I know where everything is and there’s no new places to explore I get another giggle from the Universe. Lyndeborough is only thirty minutes from where I live and I had no idea this town even existed. I have never heard of it which is a shame because apparently that’s where the devil makes beans. Or something. I may have gotten that one a bit wrong… but what I do know is that Lyndeborough is one of many purgatories you’ll find scattered through our deliciously Puritanical New England. This time it comes in the form of waterfalls.

I was told by a few different people it was somewhere I needed to check out so I looked it up vaguely online for an address. There were numerous people who claimed the parking lot was hidden, that it was near impossible to find, and that the GPS will only lead you to a sign across town reading:

OK, so let me explain the sign. It’s placed on Purgatory Falls Road which being the clever thing I am I figured was the home of Purgatory Falls. So I let my GPS take me there because it was being a total jerk today and wouldn’t acknowledge that not only Purgatory Road was a real place but also the entire town of Lyndeborough. SIGH. Now here’s the trick. Purgatory Falls Road is NOT correct but plain old Purgatory Road is. And the parking lot is indeed really frelling easy to miss. The signs out front are worn right off the trees and it doesn’t even look like a trail head. I had to drive in and find a single 8 by 11 sign hanging above a trash can that let me know that yes, I found the right place (by following good old fashioned print directions.) But I’ve made it easier for you. While I was in the parking lot I took a snap of my GPS coordinates which your GPS should not fuck up!

Alright, now that we have that cleared up… I was only one of three cars there when I arrived. When I entered the woods I was greeted by the usual path although there wasn’t a damn marker anywhere and the trail kept having other little partial trails jutting off it. Sooooo I was already hesitant but I did manage to end up at Lower Purgatory Falls which was perhaps a quarter of a mile in. I was lucky to show up early enough that no one was here. I had the whole waterfall to myself. It’s apparently a popular swimming hole with a nice area below and above the falls to take a nice ice cold dip. There were missing items of clothing and random trash scattered through the whole area. I had done a very shitty amount of research before I left and knew that this was Lower Purgatory Falls but that there is also an Upper Purgatory Falls somewhere. Stupidly I thought this was a loop trail. And I was feeling a bit brazen because I saw the first trail markers at the falls. I’m already in the woods why not? I took the yellow trail, whatever that is, but it wasn’t long before I realized every goddamn trail was marked with yellow markers. They all led into each other sure but… whew, that was confusing.

It was a hot out today and I didn’t really feel like dying out here so I tried to stay near the riverbank figuring it was likely the river attached to the other falls and definitely was the river attached to the Lower Falls should I need to get back to the car. It was a pretty little hike with lots of little inlets and river scenes. I was enjoying myself. But then I had to turn away from the river and that made me get a bit fidgety. Up until then I’d only seen two other hikers who I thought were an army. Christ were they a loud bunch. I was shocked to find they were a young couple and not a circus troop of small children (the only kind of people I’d expect so much noise from!) From here the trail was… sketchily marked, at times getting pretty overgrown and hairy and at two places surrounded by “NO TRESPASSING!” and “Security cameras are on!” signs. Not very welcoming. Those were attached to the properties of two mansions and I just can’t help but wonder what is wrong with those people. You bought a house almost built directly on a popular public trail did you not expect people to be wandering by? Idjits. Oh what I’d do to live on a house attached to such a nice hiking trail! I’d be HAPPY.

And I kept walking. And walking. And walking. Deeper into the woods. The trail markers are now mostly yellow with a few white ones mixed in to keep me guessing and offshoot trails are appearing with orange and blue markers. Finally I was back at the river bank. I immediately looked for a spot to stop and rest. Heat exhaustion was starting to make my head hurt. And then I saw the PERFECT little spot. A rock stretched out over the water and allowed for a nice semi-secluded spot to sit so I crawled out there, lobbed off my shoes, and splashed in that COLD COLD water like a small child. It was shaded and the water was so cold it actually hurt to put my feet in it but I was desperate and it did make me immediately feel better. I dithered about there for a while before passing hikers make me feel a bit self conscious so I moved on.

The trail ahead was not the “easy” beginner trail I was told it’d be online. Jagged and often slippery roots, steep hills, and terrifying cliffs dotted the entire route. My knees were screaming bloody murder at me. And now my head and stomach were kicking in. Heat. And then I came to a clearly marked trail junction that pointed to whence I came “Lower Falls” and another path “Purgatory Brook Trail” which I think leads to the other falls. So I kept going even though by now I was toast. I’d WAY overdone it. I needed to be at the car not 4 or 5 miles into the woods. I still kept going before reaching a bridge that both had trail markings and yet another Private Property/No Trespassing sign. I sat down, pulled out my phone, turned the mobile data on, and started to figure this out. First I tried “Where am I?” which resulted in a map…. of literally nothing no matter how much I zoomed out. Fuck. Now I’ve done it. I’m in no man’s land. Then I tried looking up where the falls were on the trail. One source said 5.1 miles apart, another said the whole trail was 15 miles. All said they started in one parking lot and ended in another. NOT A LOOP. And I didn’t have any kind soul to pick me up at parking lot #2 because I was too stupid to plan this out better.

I turned back and started marching. It seemed like forever before I found that rock plank over the river again and when I did I stopped and dunked myself. In fact I wandered around a bit splashing water over myself as much as I could. A hiker sneaked by me as I was probably looking like a lunatic prospecting for gold. I’d seen very few hikers out today but ALL of them caught me doing or saying something nutty. One caught me muttering, “Yellow trail my ass! These markers are shit!” A second caught me cursing again at myself when I twisted my ankle going down a hill, “Fucking no! I am NOT breaking my goddamn ankle out in the goddamn woods!” Luckily no one came upon me with my ass in the air taking a macro photo of an adorable mushroom I found on a ground but that is usually when people do pass… This has all taught me 1) I curse a profound amount and 2) I’m probably pretty embarrassing to be around.

When I gathered myself up from the river I decided to dunk my socks in the water so I’d at least have something cold and wet around my ankles keeping me sorted as I made my way back. Another egregious trip back. This time when the trail weaved away from the water I sort of freaked a little bit because in this direction it was marked even worse. Would I ever get back to the car?! Every now and then I’d notice something to keep me somewhat distracted like a half-made fairy house made of birch bark or a grackle. We have grackles in New England?! WHY IS IT MOCKING ME?!

Eventually I heard my phone ringing. My mother had noticed hours after taking her car that I was missing. I’d arrived at 10:30. It was 3PM before I finally found my way to the parking lot. This time the waterfalls themselves were filled with people but I was less than thrilled to walk from the falls back to my car in a rat’s nest of unmarked trails and half trails. Just keep walking. Just keep walking.

I made it. What a glorious sight the car was. It was however hotter than hell when I opened it up and as it burped out that 140 degree stale air I was dooooone. I’m home now. Already in pain. Going to be paying for this one for days to come! But although I know I will be in a coma for the next couple of days I am still happy I went. And heeeeey, maybe I can drive to the Upper Falls parking lot and see the upper falls and the devil’s bean pot from there. Then I can say I did the whole trail and stop feeling like such a hiking wuss.

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Sarah’s Hat Boxes – Hancock NH

When life gets too chaotic sometimes it’s nice to just set some time aside to enjoy the whimsy of the completely random. Today I decided to return to the place that sort of inspired the second beginning of this blog a few years ago. It’s a quirky little place called Sarah’s Hat Boxes. I had stumbled in there out of curiosity one day wondering who in this day and age was trying to make a business out of selling something as antiquated and obscure as hat boxes? I mean I knew what hat boxes were but there aren’t too many Jackie Kennedys running around in dire need of such a thing. I was as happily surprised then as I was today even though the location has changed.

Currently Sarah’s Hat Boxes is located in Hancock NH, which and of itself is a beautiful area to explore. It sits alone in a somewhat hidden location but with a very obvious sign out front to greet visitors. I had brought my mother with me to enjoy today’s outing because I figured as a crafter herself she might enjoy this little gem. Upon entering we were surrounded by all sorts of colors and patterns of fabric boxes in all sizes. Everything from the delicate to the gigantic which I had mum stand next to just to show how grand the largest really were. A few new things adorned the walls – fabric memories of some of the more notable customers who had bought from here in the past. I got to have a long chat while I was there and got the whole history of the place. It’s a 35 year old business that started as innocently as buying a kit to make a single hat box. From there it grew and gained a reputation at craft fairs before settling in a brick and mortar store.

I know what you’re still probably thinking – but who is buying these hat boxes and why? And the answer is pretty simple. These hat boxes are gorgeous, really well made with a love and attention to detail and on top of that they weren’t all for hats. In fact the business really seems to have evolved with the times. Here were boxes used in tiers for wedding donations and cards, boxes with padded covers to stick pins and needles into for all the seamstresses out there, boxes made to fit two different sizes of wine bottles (accompanies by two glasses) and of course my favorite were the knitting boxes which had 4 compartments and holes for separate yarn. I WILL be back for one of those if I ever pick up my knitting needles again! And they were very decently priced – the knitting boxes were $38 each which I found more than reasonable considering the size and sheer quality. They were made from chipboard and fabric – really made to last.

Knitting box – four holes lead to four compartments for easy yarn use.

And some of the boxes had little histories. Several displayed images from Norman Rockwell paintings, yet another well known New England personality. Another had a map on the top dedicated to the adventures of Indiana Jones. Apparently the guy responsible for his hat came here for boxes. And the funny and strange thing about all this is just the amount of people and arts that crossed here. I would not have thought musicians, other artisans, prop designers, photographers, and other famous individuals would have ever come out to the boonies or known about this place but there it was – a pedigree of customers that spanned over seemingly every artistic field. It was fascinating and a bit inspiring to know that sometimes these little mom and pop shops that really do care about the products they’re creating can survive in the age of WalMart and Amazon.

Sewing boxes with padded covers for pins.

Of course I couldn’t really leave without taking home one of these charming little creations and so I chose the one that had caught my eye immediately upon entering the store – a little 70’s chic box with geometric designs and colors only weird people like me would probably appreciate. Even here among so many different styles it seemed a bit out of place nestled next to all the more traditionally pretty designs but it’ll have a happy home with me and should anyone need a present for a wedding, anniversary, graduation, birthday, or Christmas I’ll be sure to recommend this lovely little place.

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Bridge on Cross Road – Sharon NH

So I realize with the chaos of my current life and my tedious health I haven’t been able to go any gorgeous faraway destinations but sometimes I can find immense beauty practically in my back yard. When I had to run some errands in Peterborough I decided to take a long meandering route home and of course this meant ending up in Sharon NH for no reason whatsoever. I wanted to spend some time riverside so I parked aside a bridge I chose at random that happened to have a place to pull over and park. According to my GPS I was at “25 cross street.” I took a photo of the coordinates if that’s not good enough.

Initially I was just going to take one quick snap of the river from the bridge, maybe a little video, but when I saw a path going down to the water I grew curious and decided to see what was down there. As it turns out there was a delightful little scene. There was of course the customary graffiti under the bridge, a suspicious lack of a troll, and of course a beautiful river scene. I couldn’t tell for sure but this slow moving river seemed to have a few somewhat deep parts and I got the sense this might be a swimming hole for someone. It was certainly hot enough to enjoy such a spot but of course I did not have a swimsuit on me so I had to linger mournfully along the banks. Just kidding. I sat down on some rocks and just enjoyed the sound of the river gushing by me as it echoed under the bridge and as I did so I started to notice all sorts of tiny wonders. There were two incredibly chill frogs I took a shoe selfie with, a starter swarm of of newts just doing their little newty thing, a school of minnows so small I could barely see them, lots of water skaters, and a bubble popping at the surface every few minutes suggesting a turtle was somewhere in the weeds. I was so relaxed I stayed there just observing for probably forty-five minutes – even taking two short films, one of the water on one side and one of the little newts on the other. In that whole time only three cars passed by. This was a wonderful little detour and I hope to go on a proper road trip very soon!

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Rails to Trails – Rindge NH

It was another one of those rare sunny days we seem to get once a week now. It was a good day to go out and have lunch with a friend at the local diner followed by a brisk hike into the nearby woods. Lunch at the Hometown Diner was as mediocre as I remember it the last time I attempted. I have no idea why this place is so so popular. The first time I went I got what tasted like pancakes from a box and this time around they served what was clearly mashed potatoes made from powder. You can always tell when it looks only vaguely like its supposed to with a sort of sick translucent sheen… I mean from a DINER which is supposed to be freshly made easy food. Where is your pride?! But hey after I got done eating the saltiest turkey sandwich on the planet I was ready to go!

The Rails to Trails goes through a pretty big area and has multiple spots to start and or end at. We decided to drive up towards Wal-Mart and take it from there. I was happy to see that this time around they had added all sorts of signs to adjoining paths to local eateries and businesses including the Hometown Diner! If only we had known. No wonder I never see the college student from Franklin Peirce, they must be skittering like squirrels through the woods whenever they go out to eat!

It was VERY bright out, my camera was less than enthusiastic about this so my photos are pretty washed out. This trail is nice in the fact its very flat, very wide, and makes for a great place to start out the season – all easy! We came across several other people but they were all cruising along on bicycles. In fact one politely dinged at us to get out of the way, which is such a sad little tinkle of a noise that everyone was looking around to see whose phone was chirping but alas… when we finally moved to the side the guy just laughed at us. Or maybe he was laughing at me… as flamboyantly dressed as I usually am.

We walked past the Hometown Diner, across the street, and continued to walk all the way until we reached the little park where the town’s farmer’s market is. I wanted to go further (where all the water and pretty scenery is) but my walking buddies were getting tired… so we headed back. One of these days I will explore more of this trail…possibly by myself.

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Casalis Marsh & State Forest – Peterborough NH

I know I have gotten a late start in my traveling this year, suffice to say my body has not been happy with me lately so it’s made my little adventures quite difficult but I desperately needed the tranquility of the woods so today I went for a drive and meandered around until I found a trail head at the –  Casalis State Marsh in Peterborough NH. As usual I have never heard of it and had to drive by it four times before I actually managed to get my car in the parking lot! The driveway was pretty damn hidden by foliage and there was quick traffic always behind me… but I made it!

I slung my camera over my shoulder, packed the extra lens in my new kick ass hip bag, and headed in. It seemed to be an old access road or maybe even a current one. The first part of the trail was beautiful but typical – just a lot of trees. Still I cannot tell you how good it felt to be out there again! I found a little garter snake sunbathing on the path and stopped to take some macro photos. It was 73 degrees out today, plenty warm enough, but he was in no hurry to get away from me, in fact besides a curious flick of the tongue he allowed me to get super close with my camera and take a few really lovely snaps.

And from there I came upon a small marsh with one bird house seemingly inhabited by a red winged blackbird. Despite being a marsh there weren’t too many bugs about and I was at complete peace here as I took photos of dead trees, dark waters, and the reflections of clouds on gently rippling water. No one else was on the trail today and I was thoroughly enjoying the solitude. When I finally picked up and continued on the trail I wasn’t sure where I’d end up or how far I’d go. I’d already passed one fork in the trail shortly after the marsh (I went straight and ignored a left turn.) Before long the trail was bisected by a gorgeous gurgling river. Another path ran upstream. Should I wade in and cross the river? It looked as if the water would be a little above my knees and I knew river rocks have a tendency to be insanely slick. Decisions. I usually don’t take any turns but I decided the photography would be stunning just following the river upstream so that’s what I did but not before playing in for a while!

Since I forgot to bring my marbles I instead took a couple shoe pictures on the banks before stripping them off and wading in barefooted. The water was cold and so refreshing. I splashed my legs and arms and muttered my usual prayer, “Please wash all negativity away from me and bring towards me only positivity.” Going on walks into the woods is a sacred ritual for me especially when I come to a river – it’s sort of like going to church. Maybe this is why I forsook my socks and shoes and when I left the river’s banks I continued to hike barefooted. Feeling the often muddy and mossy earth underneath my feet felt so right, so calming, and I once again was utterly connected to this place and moment in time. I was transfixed which is probably why I didn’t notice two joggers coming off another trail. They seemed alarmed to find me. Their black lab bounded in the water, an older German man made a precarious crossing over the river from stone to stone, and a younger American man tried desperately not to make eye contact with me which just wasn’t going to be possible when we were both heading the same direction! He was panting, trying to catch his breath, and I was refraining from making a joke about running away from bears. Instead I just said a cheerful, “Hello!” and went on my merry way. The German was far more entertained by me, he said hello back, smiling. I know, I must have been quite a sight, my hair now completely orange wearing psychedelic orange bellbottoms most people would not chose for hiking, a hip bag, and bare feet dragging my shoes at my side. I realize I must have looked ridiculous, possibly insane. I laughed. The two jogged ahead of me and I didn’t see them again. It was a wonderful little stroll back to the car. Today’s outing has made me feel whole once again.

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Swamp Road Trail and Turn-Off Sharon NH

I tried to be good today and plan where I was going – but the Fates had other ideas. I was going to go conquer an old foe – Mount Monadnock. I even picked a trail, the Dublin Trailhead, but try as I may to find an address I just couldn’t get anything more specific than “Old Troy Road.” So off I went! I found Old Troy Road just fine but the farther I ambled down it the more signs popped up reading, “Private Way!” In previous travels I learned this usually means somewhere at the end is a pissed off dude with a shot gun. This is ‘Murica after all. So I turned around and decided to just drive around until I hit something else of use…. sort of like using the Prius as a dowsing rod for good hiking trails. It worked!

Somehow I found myself driving by Swamp Road, an old dirt road I never noticed before. A big sign read it was closed for winter and if there’s anything better than a dirt road to explore it’s one that’s so ill-used it’s closed for winter. Plus I have a fondness for swamps. I flicked on my directional and started to crawl into the woods at the usual 15 miles an hour, if that. There wasn’t a house anywhere in sight but there were a lot of trees! And then right after crossing a little bridge I noticed something odd. it was either a very long driveway or an unmarked trail. Turns out it was a trail that entered the Sharon Bog area. I parked, grabbed my camera, and headed in! Emboldened by a sign I found requesting no dirt bikes or off road vehicles.

The trail was pretty wide at most points and pretty obvious it was a trail but it wasn’t marked, or named, or even frequented, as far as I could tell. It was SO QUIET out there, not a soul in sight for miles, the perfect little escape for even the most ardent of introverts. I could hear a great horned owl in the distance asking, “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you?” And I was super happy to find a little salamander just living his little salamander life on the trail. He was pretty grumpy with me, didn’t want to turn his adorable little face towards the camera but I made due.

The first part of this trail was COVERED in wild strawberry plants. Too bad it was the wrong season or I would have been eating them by the fistful! But Autumn has its perks. For one the weather wasn’t oppressively hot as it had been, or particularly muggy, and the mushrooms had started sprouting. It was a little too early for the leaves changing colors, although a few tried. And despite being on swamp road I didn’t really find any swamps. Probably for the best, the mosquitoes seemed to be elsewhere today.

Eventually this path went into a field and I had to cross it halfway to see if it continued and from there I passed a number of different forks, again, completely unmarked. This was an adventure after all, though not one for people who need the reassurance of markers. I made it pretty far into the woods on that path before I was stopped, by a HUGE German Shorthaired Pointer. I stayed still. I knew that breed is known to be neurotic. It barked and barked, and backed off, and then came back to bark at me. Eventually it gained the courage to come sniff me. I stood still as I could and it seemed to go from a bit fearful to very playful, this time trying to run off with my macro lens. His owner and a MUCH older canine companion loitered behind. I had a brief chat with his owner, who said he was a dog of impeccably high energy that needed to be allowed to run like this EVERY day or he’d be too insane to handle. Made sense. Pointers aren’t pets. They’re working dogs… but in any event she was doing a great job with him (she even said she’d continued to walk him in the winter with a pair of snow shoes!) That’s hardcore, especially for a woman who looked like she was of retirement age. I bid her adieu and continued on. That’s when I came to a very obvious Y in the path. Did I keep going straight or should I turn? the turn looked more interesting but was also riskier being unmarked… plus I’d already been walking for at least a mile, maybe even two. I went straight and not long after that found myself at the end of a dirt road staring at two houses. HMMMM. I didn’t know where I was… so I turned around and went back to the car.

Eventually I’d meet up again with the dogs and their owner. This time since the dog recognized me he zipped around running full speed around me for maybe thirty laps. It was impressive! Besides this I didn’t see or hear any one else the entire time. And then when I got back to the car I decided to keep going and explore the rest of Swamp Road. I am glad I did! Because not far up ahead there was a GORGEOUS turn off where you could stand on the rocks and watch whooshing white water crash by you. I could feel the cool coming off the water and feel the noise engulf my being. I LOVE rivers! I took a few snaps before returning to the car feeling super happy about today’s little outing.

THE TRAIL: 

 

THE TURN-OFF

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Stowell Road & Country Farm Covered Bridges

Today I drove out to two covered bridges – one on Stowell Road in Merrimack NH, the other was the County Farm Bridge in Greenfield/Hancock. Both were bridges you can drive over that have no place to park so you can see them – this didn’t stop me. Even though they weren’t pedestrian bridges and lacked some of the charm I’d seen on others they were still both nestled in very beautiful areas, the first hugged on all sides by equestrian farms and the second right next to a wonderful little boat launch on Otter Lake.


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House by the Side of the Road Plant Nursery – Wilton NH

Today was such a gorgeous day that I felt like spending a bit of it haplessly wandering. I had decided to go in the direction of a covered bridge and see if there was anything else interesting along the way. The other thing interesting turned out to be an enormous plant nursery I have passed many times but have never stopped at. I had no idea the green house son the property sprawled in all directions and allowed for such a phenomenal selection of bright healthy happy plants! As usual I took the time to add to my stock photo collection by taking my macro lens after the flowers. The attendant wasn’t sure of my mischief and watched me for a good long while – I smiled but this only seemed to make him watch me a little less conspicuously. I probably should have said something, that I am not here casing the joint, but you know it was hot and my tongue was tied in a knot… Other than that what wonderful flowers!


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