It seems like every time I go to Maine a good portion of the trip ends up being weird excursions and a search for shoes. This time was no different as the hot glue holding my mother’s hobo shoes together was not working any more and the amount of shit she was getting for wearing them to literal threads was becoming too loud to ignore. Still, our trip was almost over so we decided not to go too far. A trip to Pennywise, the town’s punderfully named thrift store would have to do. She’d end up with three used pairs of shoes for $6 and I… got distracted by flowers growing in the park across the road.
Having at one time briefly lived in Pittsfield I was aware of this little park but I’d never bothered to check it out, figuring it was probably just a small stretch of green space for the nearby apartment building.
I was surprised to see that although very small this park was very well maintained and quite beautiful. It offered a cute little fountain at one end, a bountiful assortment of flowers spread throughout, a sweet view of the river, a memorial stone to the local doctor it was dedicated to, and several benches with which to enjoy the tranquility.
As such this micro park seems quite an enjoyable place to perhaps have a picnic if you’re in town.
It’d been a hell of a few weeks for me and unfortunately, I think my chaos gremlin followed me to Rhode Island on this particular week because my usual travel companion wasn’t having an easy go of it either. We both needed desperately to get out of the house but lacked the energy to actually do so. A compromise was made – to stay in town and go back to a destination we’d already been to before – a destination I remember taking photos of but for some reason cannot find said photos or blog entry?? Shame because I took very few photos this time around thinking I already had plenty!
Prescott Farm is the site of a historic farmstead and gristmill. It has one of very few surviving windmills in here in the US built in the early 1800s and there are several other historic buildings also on the property you can poke at. And “gardens,” lots of “gardens” which appear to be wildly out of control fenced in weeds… which I guess are mostly native and probably were used at some point by locals but I definitely saw some things in there that clearly blew in from somewhere else. A vegetable garden this was not. Although I did find a patch of choke cherry trees along the perimeter. SOMEDAY. Someday I’ll have land and chokecherry trees of my own with which to make jam with.
The location is known for its little duck pond where a gaggle of them wait to be fed. We however were here to check out the hiking trails first so off we went past the old homestead, the historic markers, and the windmill, into the woods! The woods were a well needed respite from the heat. Despite the fact that today was hotter and muggier than a teenage Shrek’s jock strap (sorry) the woods were cool and refreshing! And pretty! We found a bunch of little fairy houses that someone had left at random trees and then I spotted a really fat deer – the first one I’ve seen on island in all my visits here! And just beyond the deer we came across a weird bird sitting at the edge of the water just chilling, giving no mind to us whatsoever. My companion thought it was a hawk because of its coloration and short stubby shape, I thought it was a blue heron because of its beak. Drawing closer to it I realized it wasn’t nearly big enough to be a heron and its beak definitely wasn’t that of a hawk. We were both bewildered by the animal who still didn’t care we were staring at it like leering predators. We’d only later learn its identity by posting photos on FaceBook – it was a night heron. I have never heard of such a thing and am growing increasingly concerned I might be wandering ever closer to becoming a birder, the horror. This goes doubly for my companion who thought he heard an owl. This resulted in us both stalking a mourning dove to the chimney of the farmhouse. To be fair the “mourning” sound of mourning doves does sound a bit owl-like.
The trails were very short and sweet and at times a little messy but it was cute and I was happy to have seen some wildlife. We were however about to approach the famous duckpond. Ooooooph, it was very choked in out in weeds, I don’t think they were native either. However, the ducks still persisted, as did frogs, baby turtles, pond skimmers, diving beetles, and a fantastic orgy of every kind of dragon fly you could think of just finding their love match. It was kind of funny. The ducks showed interest in us only as long as it took to figure out our sorry asses didn’t have any food for them and then they wandered off crankily quaking at each other.
This was a nice little diversion – just the amount of green and activity I needed to get back onto a path of a well-regulated nervous system. So, if you’re in town maybe check it out. It’s rather cute, child friendly, and has a little history. Also, the windmill is nice to take photos of.
I’ve been anxiously awaiting the arrival of the trolls for a long time now- probably since the middle of last winter when there began the murmurings of such creatures coming to our forests. I know, the artist Thomas Dambos, has other trolls in New England – specifically some in Maine I have yet to visit – but if I remember right those were in a botanical garden and required tickets so I never managed to get out there. This was much closer and much cheaper!
I’ve never been to Ninigret and I must say it was an impressive park! There was SO MUCH space for parking and beyond that there were numerous sports fields of all kinds including disc golf?!?! Seriously have never heard of such a thing and was having a real hard time getting my mind around it. There was also a lovely little dog park with two enclosures, I’m guessing one for large dogs and one for small. And on top of all that there were hiking trails through the woods! All this alone was enough to get me going but we came for trolls.
We were not disappointed! Since it’s technically off season no one was really parked in the parking lots, instead there was a string of cars parked aside the road which we took to mean there were trolls there. I managed to parallel park for once and we were on our way. The trolls had only been there a few days at this point and the crowds they were drawing were impressive! We followed said crowd only a few hundred feet until we found the first troll – whose apparently named Erik Rock. People were lining up for selfies. I was shocked to see how big he was! He dwarfs humans! And the very normal size bird house dangling on a necklace around his neck looked TINY.
Erik was beautiful and clearly already well-loved but there was supposed to be two trolls in this park. We were told Erik would give us a clue as to where his lovely wife(?) Greta Granite was but we didn’t really know what that meant. Did the birdhouse mean something? No idea. After playing with him we left and followed the crowd down the path until we hit a road and weren’t quite sure where to go from there. Eventually we’d figure out if we took a left onto the road and wandered down it not too far there was a little path and a little half hazard stick reading “troll” in front of it. So, we crawled into this underbrush and not very far down Greta came into sight. Honestly, I think she delighted me even more than her mate. Her hair was made of local bamboo, she wore lots of jewelry made of seashells, and had the most darling button nose.
People gathered all around her and were taking photos. A woman came by with a baby strapped to her back who babbled, “dada!” when they saw my travel companion. I joked, “Acquiring more children, are you?” “NO, I AM NOT!” You can tell from the lack of contractions in that sentence he was offended but goddamn I found that whole scene hilarious.
But back to the troll – people were being super polite and letting everyone get their chance to check her out. We decided to continue on the trail, which was a short loop, and in doing so found her enormous yet somehow still adorable feet with which she was kneeling on. I was impressed! This was such a lovely sculpture! And it’s made almost completely from reused and recycled materials. Even better these are only the first two of what should eventually be five on The Troll Trail, which will include other parks, all within an easy day’s travel in Rhode Island. I can’t wait. I will absolutely be trying the Troll Trail altogether when they arrive!
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.
Having decided one covered bridge was not enough we made our way from the Swamp Meadow Covered Bridge just a half an hour away to the Carl Erickson Covered Bridge which is in Pulaski State Park. This would have been helpful information to have as this is when our little adventure started to go sideways. It had no address to type in so I was at a loss on how to find it. Fortuneately although my GPS was clueless my phone believed it knew where it was so I handed the phone to my probably begrudging navigator and off we went!
We managed to drive within a mile of the covered bridge when we came to an open gate. I believed it was still an accessible road, my companion did not, so I let him convince me to park at a nearby picnic area so we could walk. This park was large but seemingly completely deserted. We didn’t see any other people and scarcely any other cars parked anywhere. Since it was only a mile hike he didn’t bring the water he usually does. Mistake number two.
It was in the nineties and we both figured a nearby trail probably was going in the same direction as the covered bridge so we took it. It was an obvious trail but poorly marked and it forked off into what seemed to be dozens of other sub trails. My phone was still on and attempting to track us but coverage was poor and it’s responses were flakey. Sometimes we’d be headed dead-on to the central trail which the bridge was supposed to be on, other times we appeared to be walking in exactly the opposite direction. Up hills. In extreme heat.
For once the exercise wasn’t making my legs burn or getting me super tired but that’s when my exercise induced asthma started to set in. It’s yet another way my body likes to randomly try to kill me. I huffed and puffed and tried not to push it too far. I’ve never been officially diagnosed so it’s not like I had an inhaler or anything. For the past thirty something years I have forgotten to bring up this issue to my doctor. Stupid me only remembers it’s a problem as it’s happening. Because I have the attention span of a gnat.
If that wasn’t enough I was starting to overheat. Bad. Heat rash crawled up my arms and turned my whole face beat red. My travel companion wanted to go back to the car but by this point my phone was telling me we’d already made 3/4ths of the journey so I convinced him we should just keep going. It wasn’t too much longer before we hit the Central Trail…. which was a road. The same road I’d parked near. We could have driven to the damn bridge! But no, we had .4 miles to go. On any normal day that’d be quick and easy. Not so much when you’re dying of heat stroke.
“I hope it’s over a big river! I need to dip my feet in cool water!” Every other time I have suffered this level of heat exhuastion a river has always rescued me and if it was deep enough I was jumping in. I did not care for proper manners at this point.
FINALLY we found the bridge. The bridge made for cars. Over a road. And the river it traversed…. which was tiny. More of a gurgling brook than a river. And it smelled of algae but I did not care. I lopped off my shoes and into the water my feet went. BLESSED COLD!! I splashed my legs and arms as well making sure not to get any water on my face… I didn’t want to add weird wilderness parasites to today’s damage report. I splashed for a few minutes but my travel companion was being eaten by bugs so we decided it was only a mile down a flat even dirt road to the car. Being refreshed from the river I ankled it pretty fast for about a tenth of a mile before heat exhaustion caught up with me again. I couldn’t keep up. At all.
So I threw the keys at my travel companion and told him to have fun finding the car as he apparently was born in the bowels of Hell and is completely impervious to heat. I’d be here somewhere along the road ready and waiting to be picked up. I cannot tell you how frustrating these situations are for me when my body just fails me. It wasn’t long after this I was forced to stop walking because my feet broke out in heat rash and literally felt like they were cooking from the inside out. Every step felt like I was walking over hot coal. So I sat on a rock, cursing, and resting for about fifteen minutes before I tried again. Luckily by then the Prius was driving up blaring bizarre music so I knew it had to be the right Prius! I hopped in and drank a liter and a half of water in two long draughts. Would have drank more if I could but at that point I’m pretty sure I would have puked it back up again.
Back at the beginning of the road I got back into the driver’s seat and we decided where to go next. We’d wanted to find a nearby ghost town but that was out of the question in the state I was in. Our other thing to tick off was the haunted Tavern on Main but it wouldn’t be open for another two hours… so we just drove into town, parked at the local dollar store, and walked up and down main street revisiting the country’s oldest consecutively run general store and the numerous antique stores. After which we did in fact make our way to the Tavern on Main. (And I know I complained A LOT in this entry but the bridge was sweet and the walk through the woods was beautiful! I was too busy trying to stay alive to take any photos but it was otherwise very enjoyable!)
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…
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.
On the way to Holy Land USA we passed a sign reading Gillette Castle which sounded familiar. I decided if we had the time and I noticed the sign on the way back that I was going to check it out, but I didn’t tell my travel companion, instead letting this detour be a spontaneous surprise. Coming home and a mile from the exit I saw the sign again and asked him to look it up to see if it was anything worth it because I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was.
After a moment he looked down at his phone and yelled, “YEP! Worth it! Take the exit!”
I just smiled. Most people I travel with get a bit flustered with me being so unpredictable. Going to a specified destination is always fun — going to a completely random one on the fly is arguably more fun. Besides when you’ve been kicking around the road for as long as I have you start remembering things you might like to see and like a moth to flame you just end up there at random…
So far my visit to Connecticut showed me a state that more or less just felt like a huge suburban backyard for NYC. Maybe this why even people in New England seem to have an indifferent attitude towards Connecticut… it feels… different. But now I was driving through a little town it was feeling a bit more familiar. Everything here was super well kept and quaint. A little Mayberry if you will. I however was once again back to scaring the shit out of my passenger because we found ourselves in the Prius going up a 90 degree hill which was also a hairpin turn.
“TWENTY-FIVE! The speed limit is TWENTY-FIVE!”
“Yes, but if we dip below 20 this car is going to slide back down the hill and there’s a car behind us!”
“Oh my God!”
We were lucky we went before it snowed. The Prius would have never made it up, going 27 MPH or not.
I followed signs (and my travel companions phone suggestions) to the park, again not knowing what to expect. As we drove in there was a nice little paved road through the park like you’d see in a typical city set up. However, we were both caught completely off guard when we drove up to this profoundly beautiful (but dry) manmade lake/fountain overshadowed by a little hobbit bridge. So quaintly pretty! It was like being in an English countryside!
“Where do we park?”
“Just wait, there will be parking at the end I’m sure…” And indeed I was right. There was parking just behind a huge castle!
We hopped out of the car, knowing we were on a two hour time constraint before the park was closed and gated up. This place was grand! I was not expecting anything quite so massive but here was what looked like a real castle…. overlooking a serene riverside scene. To add to the Gothic flair two turkey vultures circled overhead. I immediately wanted to attend a Gothic wedding here. I didn’t even care whose. Just a big Gothic wedding.. with at least one black-clad bride. Yep. I’d be so happy to attend.
The 24-room, 14,000 square foot castle is apparently furnished and normally open to the public but has been blocked off since the Covid pandemic. We both immediately decided that we would be back to peer inside when this whole thing blows over. In the meanwhile we wandered around the outside taking photos and admiring the dragon gargoyle jutting off the side.
The castle took 5 years to build and was completed in 1919 costing a cool million dollars at the time (that’s over 15.5 million dollars today.) It was the creation of an eccentric stage actor by the name of William Gillette who retired here with his seventeen cats. He was apparently quite the character and built into his home a series of secret passageways and spy mirrors to help him make a “dramatic entrance” when entertaining guests. Unsurprisingly he died in 1937 without any heirs and left a bizarre will reading the estate was not to go to any “blithering sap-head who has no conception of where he is or with what surrounded.” Somehow this resulted in the state of Connecticut buying the property in 1943 for the low-low sum of five thousand dollars. It languished in ruin until a four year eleven million dollar restoration project allowed it to reopen to the public in 2002. And boy is it worth it!
We wandered off after thoroughly checking out the outside of the castle. To the side of it was an old train platform. Apparently at one time it ran a private rail 3 miles onto the property.
“This is the kind of place we could fortify for the apocalypse.” My travel companion plotted.
“Well there is a huge root cellar, access to the river, and my God it’s peaceful up here.”
We found ourselves a trail and tried to make our way to the weird hobbit bridge with nothing but our broken sense of direction. This resulted in a delightful face-paced walk through what seemed an enchanted wood. There were lovely slate outcroppings, some nice view of the bogs, and random ruins such as disused wells smattered about. We found our way to a tunnel, perhaps part of the old train rail? We walked into it. It was super dark and cold. Had a weird feel about it but I suppose any place like that does. On the way back I’d joyfully suggest we go through it without our phone flashlights. I found this more enjoyable and less creepy!
Meanwhile the trails in the woods eventually did bring us to the fountain and bridge which made for a lovely photo opportunity and I am sure would have been far prettier in the summer when it’s full of water and not swamp mud and dead leaves.
On our way back we found an old wooden trestle that had partially collapsed and took a few photos. By now it was getting late and we had our nice little walk. It was a fun day and this was the perfect detour to add to it. When we found ourselves back to the car the turkey vulture swooped very low above us and showed its immense size. And then a stairway on the hillside caught my travel companion’s eye so up we went to check out this last little nook. Up above there were a series of picnic tables and another strange little ruin. I am not sure what it was but it was fun to poke at. Maybe it was a tower? Who knows.
When we drove out of that place we were WELL satisfied but the day wasn’t done with us yet because only a few miles down the road I found myself forking over $5 to drive the Prius onto a “historic ferry.” I’ve been on a car ferry before… in Europe…. but never in the US! And this was a hell of a ride. The expanse between the river banks was shockingly wide. And what do you know – I am still phobic of boats. I was fine until it started moving and then I wasn’t so fine. I know, it’s a ferry, chill. I calmed down but it took me a moment. I was still happy to get to the other side… feeling accomplished. Exposure therapy? Something.
ANYWAY, I’d highly recommend the castle and even the ferry ride to other explorers, travelers, and lovers of the strange and unusual.
UPDATE:
Last week we realized the castle was once again open for visitors to see the inside so of course we had to go for a repeat trek. We were not disappointed!
There weren’t many people there that day – just a few families and a tour of elderly including an 84 year old man who looked great for such an advanced age and a woman he was travelling with that had the Muppets theme song for her ringtone (how adorable is that??) ANYWAY… we parked in their super sunny parking lot, slipped on our required masks, and went inside the information center to buy tickets to the castle. They only allowed 15 people at a time in at any given point and tour guides stood in various locations to answer questions. The first was a young woman with a lot of enthusiasm for her job who delighted in showing us all how cat-proofed the castle was since it was more or less dedicated to the seventeen felines that shared Gillette’s life. Cute little froggy knickknacks were literally cemented to the fireplace so the little furry bastards couldn’t knock them off. An ornate table nearby clacked to life when it was realized it’s elaborate wooden skirt was actually built to be a cat toy. This place was awesome just for that but it got better…
The doors were all unique contraptions with complex steam punk mechanisms carved into them. The light switches matched. And if that wasn’t enough to love the wonderfully weird mind that came up with this then the description of his life here really settled it. On the balcony overlooking the first floor there were mirrors placed everywhere so he could tell who was in the house and where. If it was someone he didn’t like he’d retreat to his bedroom and pretend not to be there (and introvert’s dream!) Or if he was in the mood to be playful, which seemed to often be the case, he could lock wandering souls into the adjoining bar. The only exit was obviously a trick door – I mean at that point, why not? And watching them scratch around like rats in search of an escape probably amused him more than it should have.
Gillette grew to be an increasingly intriguing figure as we made our way through his castle. He was a stage actor in NYC whose claim to fame (and fortune) came from his performance as Sherlock Holmes. He was even cited as being the one who added the line, “It’s elementary, my dear fellow!” (which was later changed to Watson.) The castle was so far into the middle of nowhere he had to build his own train line to get there. Some of the stations still remain. And if all of that isn’t impressive enough he also wrote a popular play at the time about the Civil War and wrote a novel as well – a mystery novel with that I can only guess had intensely flowery language. If it were still being printed I would sooo have bought one from the gift shop but alas, there is only a copy in his little second floor art gallery in a little glass box. And that’s the other thing – a whole little art gallery full of paintings, books, and local history! The architecture equally as baffling as the rest of the castle. It was amazing. I love eccentric historical figures. They’re never boring. In fact with renovations still ongoing there was this odd playful feeling throughout the whole second floor. I pondered if maybe he wasn’t still lingering the halls. A copy of his most unusual will was displayed on the wall.
I’m super happy we went to this castle – twice. I will probably go again just because it’s so damn weird and beautiful. And outside the hiking trails around the property are just as quaint as can be and you can find tiny train stations and tunnels strewn about still, although the tracks are long since gone. I sort of naively hope maybe they’ll be replaced someday.
One of the things I have not been able to explore as much as I have wanted to is the local music scene – both what’s up in Boston as well as all the weird and unusual things going on in Vermont. Problem is I don’t like going to these shindigs alone (for reasons of safety) and none of my local friends are uh… as enthusiastic as I am about avant guard music. Soooo…. when I learned that a band I actually really adore out of Boston was showing up in Fitchburg for an open-air gig in the park I couldn’t say no.
If I’m honest it’d been a tough week for me but that made me all the more determined to get out there and enjoy this. Problem is there was pretty much no information anywhere. All I could find is it started at 4PM and tickets were $10 online (with no link to buy them) and $15 at the gates. Oooookaaaay. Right from the get-go I thought 4PM sounded weird as fuck for such a thing but whatever… I can still roll with it.
And I showed up at 4PM to a pretty empty park. In fact it was so empty that I wondered if I had the right park! Turns out I had accidentally bumbled into it from a rear entrance. And it was soooo Fitchburgy. To one side a plaque read about how this park was here because the river was soooo beautiful that it was determined it must be a park. And indeed there was some pretty impressive masonry holding up a flag whoosing over… a VERY overgrown and completely unkempt riverbank. Even hiking into the middle of nowhere I hadn’t seen a thicket of weeds so ferociously thick. I took a photo – and then was asked by a man if I was a volunteer. No? He told me to check in and pointed frantically towards the other side of the park. I shrugged and did as I was told.
Approaching the ticketmaster I asked what was up today, pretending to play dumb for a moment. She told me it was a Steampunk Festival and that there were vendors, food trucks, beer from a local brewery, and live music but they wouldn’t be starting for an hour. I knew 4PM had to be wrong! She didn’t even have tickets or anything so I bid her adieu and wandered the streets like a common urchin for a while. Until I got tired, found a bench, and just sat people watching. Problem is there seemed to be just as many people watching me, including a shuttle bus driver who kept passing and giving me the dirty eyeball. WHY? Is it the orange hair? It’s the orange hair.. or perhaps my general ne’er-do-well appearance. Two parked cop cars were also watching me sit idly by myself. I promise I wasn’t dealing. Seriously. Just minding my own!
Does this look like a face you’d trust? At least I had an excuse to wear the granny glasses again…
Eventually 5PM rolled around so I got off my duff and wandered back to the park, said hello again to the ticket master, and gave her exact change because she didn’t have a change box yet. I did however learn that this whole event was an attempt to raise money to buy the park a permanent stage. There’d been a folk festival the month before (which I wish I knew about) and next month they’re holding Fiesta Latina (Saturday 9/14/19 from 5-9) I could feel good about supporting such a cause. Music and art are a wonderful way to vitalize a community.
I wandered around looking at the vendors for as long as I could muster, said a happy hello to them, but really… there was one guy signing people up for a raffle, the beer guy, and two craft vendors. The food trucks were still amiss. I felt bad for the two crafters, this was the saddest turn out for such a thing I had ever seen. Obviously this meant I needed to shower one with praise for her art (which was actually nice, mind you!) and stop to get a Henna tattoo from the other. I’d always liked the idea of letting someone doodle on my skin… I mean this isn’t quite as involved as checking “volunteer sorry carcass to be full body painted” off my bucket list but it was close enough. Did you know Henna smells really weird? It smells like a head shop. I wasn’t real fond of it and kept smelling myself the rest of the day. SIGH. I did however listen intently to the care instructions – should last 24 hours before starting to fleck off leaving a stain. Don’t bash it against things. That last instruction may have been too much for me – someone who has consistently failed at being refined and dainty since birth. And yes, I saw the exasperated look the artist gave me as I then wandered off and sat on the ground in what I can only guess was the least feminine manner possible. Shockingly I did not smudge it in the grass! I did however pick it all off later that night because it was driving me nuts. Can’t win them all. TO NEW EXPERIENCES!
Honestly it looked better as a stain.
By now I wasn’t the only one in the audience but I was pretty damn close. A row of local older hippies sat in camping chairs up near the front. Damn! I had two of those in my car if only I had the audacity to lug them through Fitchburg and into the park. Nope, nevermind. I’m nutty enough a scene without a damn chair. I plopped my ass down a little behind them and off to the side.
AND SO THE SHOW BEGAN! First up was The Dirge Carolers. To me they had a typical steam punk sound mixed with a lot of murder ballad type lyrics. I relaxed. Gallows humor will always be a hit to me. By now some people were filing in and out and I was starting to enjoy the people watching. There were a lot of costumes, corsets, top hats, bustles, goggles, that sort of thing, and flashes of unnaturally colored hair abounded. I was home here. However this was not the feeling everyone got as I witnessed one old black dude just wandering aimlessly, staring wide-eyed at everyone with an unmistakable impression on his face, “Uh-oh, the crazy white people have taken over the park again.” He wasn’t wrong.
I was sitting directly in the sun which was glaring in my eyes bad. I couldn’t see a damn thing but I knew the stage was probably populated by oddly adorned individuals – how? Well by the amount of amateur photographers who seemed to be floating around taking snaps with great glee – captive bizarre human subjects!! I’ll admit, I had thought about doing the same but I didn’t bring my camera, just my phone. One particular photographer was college aged, seemed to think a lot about each capture. She kept circling me, taking photos of everything around me. And then she worked up the nerve to take a photo of me, just me. There was NO WAY she could hide this so I just looked up from my reclined position on the grass and smiled broadly. Sorry. Better luck next time getting a natural shot of me. She seemed embarrassed. I just laughed and nodded.
As the band continued to play the most Fitchburg-y thing happened. A train rumbled through right behind the stage completely blocking out all music for a good three minutes or so as it dragged car after car after car behind it. I thought it was a terrific piece of ambiance for a steampunk festival! The band played on like they were on the goddamn Titanic. That’s dedication there. They eventually left off with some song from a B-rated horror movie they wrote it for, sullenly leaving the stage with this odd lamentation, “Sorry, no Zombie Llama today.” Though I’d never heard of this band I suddenly wanted to hear Zombie Llama.
The first intermission was fun. The park was still pretty quiet. There were people around but it seemed like they were just here for the food truck (ouch.) I considered getting up and buying myself a nice shwarma but I’d been struggling with bad nausea all week and wasn’t really hungry. Maybe in a bit. In the meantime I was being kept well entertained by a human blockhead running around with a long nail and power drill – an act I have seen many times before but this one was way more fun because the audience he was playing to – those nice old hippie ladies- were WELL GROSSED OUT, turning their heads in abject horror and audibly gagging. Sorry bud, it’s just not your day. He wandered off a smidge sullen.
Once everyone settled back down with their assorted dinners the second band went up to bat. They were the Busted Jug Band a strange assortment of heavily costumed, utterly bizarre, peoples carrying rubber chickens. And some instruments…. which were very… DIY… They also introduced every one of the members, not by name, but by aggressively odd nicknames which I am not entirely certain weren’t made up on the spot. My favorite was Root Boy which just… brings up SO MANY QUESTIONS. Like what kind of root? And whhhy? Do you aspire to be a turnip? Because you’re giving me a root vegetable vibe. Even better one of the other band members was wearing translucent angel wings… which during the last intermission freaked me the hell out because all I could see through a halo of sun glare was a top-hatted silhouette and angel wings. For a second I thought I might have died. No such luck.
But anyway, the music from this band was… different for sure! And perhaps a bit familiar? I think I may have seen them before… This had a much more silly feel to it. No one up there was taking their life even the tiniest bit seriously. And of course that intense whimsy was all the more adorable to me. I was pretty happy on my little patch of grass though my knees and back weren’t so much. I contemplated lying on the ground and staring at the sky for a while. I could always tell people walking by I was on acid and watching the pretty clouds (there were no clouds) as I knew in this crowd that’d be a perfectly acceptable thing to say… I held it together.
By the time the second band finished up I was just really loving the vibe of everyone here. The old hippies were randomly getting up, wandering, and dancing, and hugging each other – I’m not going to lie, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were on acid. They were warm and lovely bunch. Most of the lookee-loos had wandered off but more and more steam-punky looking people were showing up and I’ll be damned if that old black dude didn’t pull up a chair behind me with his daughter and her friends. Shout out to all the cool dads out there who don’t get their kids hobbies at all but still support them! I can’t tell you how much I respect that. His daughter and her friends were in the maybe 12-14 age range. She was sporting a dark purple mohawk and was giving me some strong Aspie vibes but I couldn’t be happier with that. Be your weird self. She stuttered to me that she liked my hair. I told her I liked hers too and then she blurted out, “But it BURNS!” What? “Bleaching it! It burns so bad!” Ooooh, I don’t think you’re supposed to keep it in that long… “TWO HOURS! AND I CAN’T HAVE MY NAILS DONE EITHER!” Why? She held up her nails, two well done fake nails still remaining with all the others hacked the hell off. I grok that. I held up my own in solidarity and laughed. She asked if I liked music. I said all kinds and asked what she liked listening to. She listed a bunch of 90’s bands and I suddenly felt really old. I felt only somewhat better when I recognized the one modern band she did mention – Panic at the Disco – but if I am brutally honest I only have heard the name in passing. I haven’t the foggiest idea what they sing.
Meanwhile as this intermission dragged on the human block head came out with fire. Ah, fire eating. How dual purpose. But he wasn’t having a great time with it. No one here seemed impressed, the kids were vocally not entertained, and eventually when he couldn’t get his last trick to go right he gave this exasperated expression and wandered off, leaving the stage to a chick who worked at the local eatery across the street. Her fire came attached to hula hoops and she wasn’t fucking around. I was actually quite impressed! We’d see her intermittently for the rest of the night doing different acts – all with various things in flames. It was probably at this time one of the girls wandered off and cornered the blockhead/fire eater and somehow elicited his entire life story from him. I got to hear all about it a few minutes later and had to struggle really hard not to laugh. I’m not eavesdropping, no siree.
The last band up was the one I came for: Walter Sickert and the Army of Broken Toys. They were having some issues setting up with unwanted feedback loops and were taking awhile. I had already seen them perform two or three times before – never thought I’d see them again. That last time I went they didn’t come on stage until the establishment was nearly closed. The pamphlet said they were unpredictable and I had heard rumors that they were hard to work with because of these issues but even with all that they have to be one of the best experiences of my life. They really truly believe that art, love, and music can cure all the world’s ills and their audience is so vibrant, creative, and accepting that in each of those instances I got the hugest contact high just from all the warm fuzzies in the air. That’s what I came for! That and the music. This band… raw fucking talent. And this was obvious when they finally got to singing and the whole audience which had been fidgety and complaining behind me just went, “WOW!” And the grumpy old dad? “I guess this WAS worth waiting for them to set up!”
It had started with sweet sad violin music, not a note out of place, that lulled the audience before walloping them over the head with strong passionate vocals and more traditional instruments. Absolutely amazing. And some of the band members had young children whose birthday it was so they all got up on the stage and danced in a cloud of bubbles as a few songs were dedicated to them. That was certainly different than the body positive burlesque dancers and drag kings I was used to surrounding this act but it was so…. sweet. And seemed so right, all at the same time. Maybe with time everyone grows up – but the smartest among us clutch tightly to the passion and whimsy that brought us this far. I was overjoyed to get one short video of the madness, one of my favorite songs – a cover of I am Sam Hall (Best. Version. Ever.) which I will post below. As the music came to an end I slinked silently back into the night where I found comfort in the darkness and drove quietly home, a smile on my face.
Today’s little adventure started with the usual – this time it was my mother trying to figure out where this pretty bridge she kept seeing on FaceBook was located. It claimed to be in Pittsfield Maine, the town she grew up in, but she had no recollection of it. This isn’t unusual for my mother…. she’s the sweetest woman you’ll ever meet but she has the attention span of a gnat. On several occasions in the past I had to inform her her cousins were the offspring of her aunt who she swore up and down was a childless spinster. And so it goes… A week of speculation on a bridge…
As it turns out there is indeed a snow mobile bridge in Manson Park, right past the center of town. It claims to be the longest pedestrian suspension bridge over the river but I can’t for the life of me figure out if it has a name or who put it there. Oh well! The mystery continues!
I have been to Manson Park many times over the years, always during the big Egg Festival. It’s a really nice park with a full baseball diamond (complete with dug out) a public swimming pool, several play ground type areas, some scenic picnic spots near the river, and lots and lots of open space to run wild and free on. Honestly this park is better than most city parks I have seen. STILL, I had no idea what this whole damn bridge debate was about so I herded my mother in the car and off we went.
I parked in the lot aside the river and it didn’t take me long at all to locate the bridge. I could see it, though I was uncertain how to get there, I knew I could because there were two women sitting out there chillin’. I walked alongside the river until I couldn’t anymore and found a footpath through the grass not far away which led into the woods and onto the bridge.
THIS BRIDGE IS MENTAL. No seriously, it’s proper scary. It’s a long suspension bridge weighted down on both sides by trees. Trees which, mind you, had grown in the past 30+ years and who were literally being slowly cut down by the wires… This DIY Maine engineering is common out here but always scares the crap out of me. Getting onto the bridge was no better. It swayed and swung in the breeze, lurching back and forth and wobbling heavier with every step. The two women chilling noticed us walking out and they walked off…. they probably know something we don’t. By the time I got to the sections that were missing boards I was more than a little unnerved. If you’ve ever seen the video of Galluping Gertie, this is her little sis in the backwoods of Maine. I find it hard to fathom this is a snow mobile bridge. I sure as hell wouldn’t drive over it! The graffiti was also amusing, reading, “Lesbian tendencies ur fucked.” Seeing as the bridge doesn’t appear to have a name I think I’ll call it the Lesbian Bridge from here on out because I think it’s good to be sex positive, especially out in the boonies…
All that being said it was gorgeous! And attached to a trail on either side which led god knows where… I made my way up to the train tracks before turning around… 85 degree weather will put a damper on anyone’s desire to explore! All and all this was totally worth it… if not just to be grateful for being alive…
Today’s little adventure started with the usual – this time it was my mother trying to figure out where this pretty bridge she kept seeing on FaceBook was located. It claimed to be in Pittsfield Maine, the town she grew up in, but she had no recollection of it. This isn’t unusual for my mother…. she’s the sweetest woman you’ll ever meet but she has the attention span of a gnat. On several occasions in the past I had to inform her her cousins were the offspring of her aunt who she swore up and down was a childless spinster. And so it goes… A week of speculation on a bridge…
As it turns out there is indeed a snow mobile bridge in Manson Park, right past the center of town. It claims to be the longest pedestrian suspension bridge over the river but I can’t for the life of me figure out if it has a name or who put it there. Oh well! The mystery continues!
I have been to Manson Park many times over the years, always during the big Egg Festival. It’s a really nice park with a full baseball diamond (complete with dug out) a public swimming pool, several play ground type areas, some scenic picnic spots near the river, and lots and lots of open space to run wild and free on. Honestly this park is better than most city parks I have seen. STILL, I had no idea what this whole damn bridge debate was about so I herded my mother in the car and off we went.
I parked in the lot aside the river and it didn’t take me long at all to locate the bridge. I could see it, though I was uncertain how to get there, I knew I could because there were two women sitting out there chillin’. I walked alongside the river until I couldn’t anymore and found a footpath through the grass not far away which led into the woods and onto the bridge.
THIS BRIDGE IS MENTAL. No seriously, it’s proper scary. It’s a long suspension bridge weighted down on both sides by trees. Trees which, mind you, had grown in the past 30+ years and who were literally being slowly cut down by the wires… This DIY Maine engineering is common out here but always scares the crap out of me. Getting onto the bridge was no better. It swayed and swung in the breeze, lurching back and forth and wobbling heavier with every step. The two women chilling noticed us walking out and they walked off…. they probably know something we don’t. By the time I got to the sections that were missing boards I was more than a little unnerved. If you’ve ever seen the video of 
All that being said it was gorgeous! And attached to a trail on either side which led god knows where… I made my way up to the train tracks before turning around… 85 degree weather will put a damper on anyone’s desire to explore! All and all this was totally worth it… if not just to be grateful for being alive…
