Tuesday, November 26, 2024

Greetings from Rupert

     On my way to Rupert, Vermont late one rainy fall afternoon I found myself wedged between Egg and Bear Mountains. Anyone familiar with these western Vermont villages  (Rupert and West Rupert, with maybe a mile or two between them) knows that the usual approach from New York is out Rt. 153 from Salem. That's certainly a lovely drive along White Creek, gradually gaining elevation as it approaches the border and the high mountains beyond. But there's another, wilder road that follows Camden Creek up into the heart of the Taconics before eventually bringing you to Rupert. I have a long history with this road: driving, biking and using it as starting point to climb the aforementioned mountains. I try to return whenever I can. It's like reconnecting with an old friend.




     There are a few homes, a few seasonal camps and several small ponds but what you most remember is trees crowding in and arching over a narrow gravel lane. It's a nearly perfect road and one I hope will forever escape the asphalt pavers. Maybe there's a little anxiety to driving such a lonesome route on a wet, grey day with an early dusk closing in. I still remember the comforting feel when the warm glow from the windows of West Ruperts cozy homes finally came into view.



      
      I was in Rupert for a program at the Methodist Church but with a few minutes to spare decided to do a quick tour of town. I'ld driven thru here dozens of times but always when going somewhere else: dinner at The Barn, biking in Dorset or some event in Manchester. What I soon realized is that these villages could easily be a destination of their own. Let others have their weekends in Boston, Montreal or New York. I could find plenty of interest right here. From rail trail to mountain preserve, from old cemeteries to historical architecture. Plenty to explore. And hopefully I will explore more in future posts but for now just a few quick shots I took before darkness settled.






The old Sheldon Store



The Post Office



Wonder if Steve Earle has been here?




     The program I had come to attend was on the early native peoples of Western Vermont and Eastern New York. It was co-hosted by the Hebron Preservation Society and the Rupert Historical Society. Jess Robinson, Vermont State Archaeologist was the featured speaker. The beautiful sanctuary of the Rupert United Methodist Church was nearly full for the presentation and we were treated to a fast paced overview of archaeological insight.





Inside and out. Views of the United Methodist Church.


     It's impossible to do Robinson's power point justice here so I'll just share a few scribbled notes I took from the evening. Modern humans evolved in Africa about 250,000 years ago. It was only about 20,000 years ago when they made it to North America from Eastern Asia. These became the Paleoindians that first populated our region as the glaciers melted 10 to 13,000 years ago. They crafted fine stone points from jasper and rhyolite and harvested the bountiful food supplies in and around the Champlain Sea.




     The Archaic Period stretched from 9000 to 3000 years ago with sites at Chimney Point and Crown Point on Lake Champlain being well documented. Archaeologist have also done excavations at a site near Bennington where an estimated village of a 100 people was located some 3900 years ago. Points were made of locally available quartz, quartzite and chert. Similar artifacts can be seen in a display case at Cambridge Central School. 




     The Woodland Period followed with a warming trend and the introduction of pottery and agriculture. Butternuts were highly sought after and one of the factors that guided native settlement. With European contact in the 1600's the rest is quite literally 'history'. The program wrapped up with a lively Q and A with Robinson explaining the difference between chipped v. ground stone points among many other queries. 
     I think everyone left the church with a deeper appreciation for the long history of our area and I know I left as well with new found appreciation for all that Rupert had to offer. It'll never be a 'drive thru' place for me again. Well, not unless I'm driving a tractor.


 
  

Thursday, October 24, 2024

Ghost Hollow

 

"Lord, what fools these mortals be"


     So saith Shakespeare's Puck and who am I to disagree. Take this thing we call Halloween. Isn't it foolish to have a day devoted to trying to scare ourselves silly? Normally, fear isn't an emotion that a rational person aspires to. Unless, perhaps, it's a 'staged' fright, a kind of vicarious experience of danger with a small 'd' and no real consequence. Meaning none of us will be going to Gaza or Ukraine this October 31. Besides, we have an upcoming election that should be scary enough for anyone who cares about the future of our country.

     Still, as one of those 'mortal fools' I have to say that I like this annual celebration of the spooky. I look for some experience with chill potential every Halloween season and this year's search brought me to Ghost Hollow.


The road used to have an ordinary sign but it was stolen so often
that the town painted this boulder in its stead


     For those unfamiliar with Ghost Hollow, it is in the Vermont town of West Haven just across the Poultney River from Hampton in northern Washington County. It's a lonely swatch of fields and forest with a dirt road running up thru it. And it has a story to tell.


Ghost Hollow Road


     Many years ago a young man working in the fields received word that his wife was in labor. Filled with anxiety, he hurried along the moonlit road to be with her. Then, up ahead, he saw a glowing apparition. It was his wife! But what was she doing out here when she was supposed to be giving birth and why did she disappear as he approached?

     The sad answer came when he reached their cabin only to find that his wife had died in childbirth and he knew her spirit had met him on the road to say "Goodbye". Since that awful night over two hundred years ago, legend has it that the ghostly white figure of a woman is sometimes seen wandering thru the darkness of the Hollow.

     If you were in the Hollow a few days ago you would have seen another wandering figure. That would have been me. Connecting an eerie story to the place where it happened is my kind of thing. And the landscape here ... well, it seems fertile ground for 'eerie'. The rock where Israel Putnam ambushed and slaughtered a party of French and Indians in 1757 is just down the road. Their bones may still lie in the mud of East Bay and what of their departed spirits? This is also Bigfoot's stomping grounds with Abair Road, scene of past sightings, not far away. Following the pot-holed road that creeps beside the river brings you to rattlesnake country on the old Galick Farm. It's easy to imagine the ghost of snake killing Bill Galick, pistol on his hip, appearing out of the gloom. Or how about the William Miller Homestead that I'd be driving by on the way home? Who knows? maybe I'ld see the old prophet up on the roof of his house still waiting for the second coming. 




     These are the thoughts that come to you when you are alone in the night, far from light and warmth and anything familiar. What about that woman interred beneath the bar at Whitehall's Skene Manor, the one who feared being buried underground? Or 'Kathi' up on Death Rock above South Bay? Another tortured soul. And the inmates buried in that little cemetery on Quarry Road. Men who came to the end of their lost lives in a Great Meadow Prison cell and were put beneath the ground with little more than a small numbered stone to mark their final passage?


Any 'body' home? Skene Manor


     Back in Ghost Hollow, with nothing but my mind's wanderings for company, I waited. And watched. The sky mirrored my mood. There was a full moon but it was flitting in and out of dark clouds. At times things would brighten, bringing the road and confining hills into view. A moment later all was blackness. Only to the west was there some clear sky and a hint of left over daylight thru the trees. The Hollow's namesake was in hiding. No wandering woman to be seen.




     Until ... up in the sky! Up above the dim horizon. Something was there. But what? A soft glow, a little patch of shimmer. Could it be Her? Part of me wanted to believe. But the logical side (yes, I do have a logical side) said "No. What you're seeing is that comet everyone has been talking about." Nothing but a dirty snowball slingshotting around the Sun. And, no doubt, that was the correct scientific explanation. But who's to say She couldn't come back disguised as a visitor from the Oort Cloud? Who really knows what forms a soul may take as it wanders the sky for eternities? This then is what Ghost Hollow gave me: a memorable night, a little fright and a lot to think about.  


Web image

      

And:

     Should you find yourself in West Haven, look for this small cemetery on Main Road. Not scary at all. Just a peaceful, lovely spot. I could easily spend days in town biking, hiking and exploring before swinging by The Wheel Inn (my favorite bar and restaurant) for refreshments. So many places, so little time.



  

Sunday, October 13, 2024

Gone and (Almost) Forgotten

 





     Let us now praise canoes. Clean, quiet, affordable. Even New York State government hasn't found a way to tax or regulate them (although I'm sure somewhere in the dark heart of Albany someone is trying). In the water dappled world where I live they are a near perfect way to explore place. And this summer I've even used my Old Town Pack as a way to travel thru time. All it takes is a little imagination and a paddle. Let me explain.
     Besides being on the water, another of my favorite pastimes is browsing used bookstores. I always have a stack of old finds waiting to be read and recently I got to An Introduction to Hudson Valley Prehistory by William Ritchie. It's a January 1958 bulletin of the New York State Museum and Science Service describing excavations at seven sites once occupied by Native Americans. The fact that two of these sites were adjacent to places I like to paddle caught my attention and lead to a couple of revelatory outings. Both sites are on private property and should not be trespassed but you can view them from the water like I did.




     Gwenne and I like to float lazily along the shore of the Hudson admiring moss covered shale ledges, clay banks sprinkled with wildflowers and the occasional eagle perched overhead. On one trip this year we lingered under a knoll where a small stream trickled over rocks before flowing into the river. It's an enchanting spot, even more so when you know that the top of the little bluff is where, in 1951, archaeologists investigated the site of Native American activity. They recovered 620 artifacts from several test pits, concluding that a small seasonal camp had been located here over a long period of time (early Archaic to Middle Woodland). Apparently, even back then, waterfront with a view was highly prized.


 
     Under the influence of warm sunshine, a gently rocking boat and advancing age my eyelids grew heavy and my thoughts traveled back thru millennia to a time when I might have been fishing for shad to feed my small family clan back at the camp. Has anything really changed? The need for food, shelter and a safe place to raise kids? Then I dreamt I heard the tribe calling from shore. Awakened from my reverie, I realized it was the landowners talking as they did some yard work. We chatted a bit about swimming here when we were kids, about the many years since our school days and about the archaeological dig. Then it was time to leave my prehistory sojourn behind and paddle back to a present of equipment that needed fixing and bills that needed paying.



     Surprisingly, I got to repeat the experience a few weeks later. That speaks to the ubiquitousness of Native American settlements in the Hudson Valley. This time Tom, Holly and I paddled our way up a tributary of the river to a point where the stream looped around an elevated, wooded peninsula. The shoreline was attractive but otherwise unremarkable. At least until you know that this too had been the site of an encampment many thousands of years ago. Evidence comes from excavations done by the amateur archaeologist landowners back in the '50's. 



     Several factors made the spot appealing to early people. The ease of travel by water and the abundance of food sources was obvious. We saw flocks of waterfowl and signs of beaver and muskrat activity. That and I remember fishing for bullheads on this stream when I was a kid. Other factors that made it a good place to live were its dry sandy soil and a clearwater spring nearby.


The springs outlet?


This way to the Hudson


     Once again the magic of amorphous time took hold as I slipped along the shore. The quiet, the undisturbed banks with towering hickory and white oak...it could have been anytime in the last 10,000 years. Looking down in the shallow water a small shard of rock caught my attention. Probably just a piece of broken shale but shaped such that...could it be? I scooped up the 'maybe' arrowhead as a memento of my time travel and have it on my desk as I write. A small reminder that there were people here before us and there will be people here when we're gone. 



 
           
     And because Holly's phone takes better pics than my camera here's an album of her images:












Saturday, August 24, 2024

Shays Saved?

     Saw this story on VPR and passing on a link  for anyone who missed it. While the public forest would be in Vermont its most convenient access could be from Blind Buck, Beatty Hollow or Chambers Road. With vision these Taconic hills along the border could become popular with equestrians, hikers and mountain bikers as well as history buffs. Other nearby counties are turning to their natural beauty and recreational potential to bolster their economies so why not here? Becoming a mecca for trail riding would create opportunities for farmers (hay, oats, straw) and entrepreneurs (guiding, rentals, lodging). It has become too easy to blame Albany for all of Washington County's problems. Manufacturing is leaving and public employment is unsustainable. Time to look for fresh opportunities.   


At the Shays site on Egg Mountain
(web photo)




Thursday, August 8, 2024

The Bug Catcher

     Anyone else feeling bugged? 

     As in, literally tormented by bugs. Happens every year about this time. As summer's heat and humidity build to a crescendo, so does the population of noisome insects. In the kitchen ants march two by two across the counter while house flies rule the ceiling above. Their cousins the deer flies (from the bad side of the family) turn a walk in the woods into torment.  If you survive till evening there's no reward because mosquitoes will pester you when you try to sit outside. What's almost as bad is the guilt I feel for detesting the little beasts. Shouldn't a good naturalist appreciate all of nature?

     My solution has been to spend some time with a great naturalist who loved all things 'bug'. His name was Asa Fitch and he lived in the 1800's near Salem. In fact, the site of his home farm is still called Fitch Point to this day. Obviously, he's not still around in the flesh but with his writings, books written about him and wandering where he once did you can get a good sense of the man. Let's hang out with Mr. Fitch and see if we can't change some of our bad attitudes toward Class Insecta. 


Asa Fitch


     First, a brief introduction. The Fitch's were English Puritans who first came to America in 1638. Around 1780 a Fitch moved to Salem, then known as New Perth. Eventually the family bought a farm that came to total 600 acres and included a mill site on the Battenkill. This is just beyond present day East Greenwich, on a point of land formed by the confluence of Black Creek and the Battenkill. Traveling on Rt. 29 today, the Fitch house is located opposite the Cargill mill. Note that there is a relatively (for Washington County)  large level area here. This was formed as the glacier melted 13,000 years ago and gravelly outwash poured into a temporary lake. It has been farmed continuously since European people first settled here.




 

The dotted areas are gravelly outwash




The yellow on this surficial geology map
is gravelly outwash
Fitch Point below center


On this generalized soil map light blue (21&22) areas 
are gravelly outwash
Green (25) is alluvium along streams
Fitch Point in center of map




     The Asa Fitch that we'll get to know was born in the large old house (now just visible thru the trees) on February 24, 1809. Both he and his father were named Asa and both were medical doctors which can lead to some confusion. The second generation Asa lived most of his life at Fitch's Point passing away in the same house he was born in on April 8, 1879. He was educated, first at a local school at Fitch Point, then at Washington Academy in Salem and later at the Rensselaer School in Troy (later to become RPI), finally receiving his medical degree in Castleton, Vermont in 1829.





Recent photos of the Fitch homestead taken from the road
Note that it is private property
The bottom pic may be 'the bug house' but I'm not sure


     Fitch practiced medicine for a few years in Fort Miller and Stillwater before returning to the family farm in 1838 to take over from his aging father. He soon gave up his medical practice  to devote his energies to farming but still made time for his true passion which was nature study. While he was knowledgable in many areas of Washington County natural history (including geology) it was insects that he was most passionate about and that became his eventually claim to fame.


The Fitch House in Asa's time? 
An old undated photo


     Fitch became something of a joke to his neighbors who called him 'The Bug Catcher' as they watched him on hands and knees searching for specimens. His office was known as 'the bug house' and it was filled with mineral specimens, dried plants, preserved animals and cases of collected insects. The building still stands today off to the side of the large main house although I don't know what became of his collections.

The Bug House from a recent real estate listing









Black Creek and the Fitch Point Bridge
Asa's old stomping grounds





     Agriculture was New York's major industry and by the mid-1800's it was recognized that inspect pests were causing large economic losses. At the same time Fitch's expertise was recognized in Albany and he was called upon to research damage in fruits and grains. His reports were so well done and helpful that he continued for many years as the defacto state entomologist with a salary of $1000.

     What's impressive is that, while establishing entomology as a science  in New York State, Fitch also had time to contribute the geology section to Crisfield Johnson's 1878 History of Washington County, New York and to collect oral histories from elderly friends and neighbors that totaled into hundreds of pages of memories dating back to the earliest days of settlement. All this while running a large diversified farm. As the saying goes, "They don't make them like they used to."

     You can visit Fitch's grave at Evergreen Cemetery just a few minutes from his home towards Salem. The monuments inscription reads:


Asa Fitch

Physician and Naturalist

Eminent among compatriots:

Fame had not the power to win

from him humbleness of spirit,

purity of soul, modesty of 

demeanor, charity and love

for his fellow men.

     

     And, I might add, love of nature. Even (especially) bugs.       

 



MORE...

*     Asa Fitch and the Emergence of American Entomology by Jeffrey K. Barnes is a State Museum publication with lots of detail about the man and the scientific times he lived in. Lists Fitch's original publications.

*     Their Own Voices edited by Winston Adler is a collection of some of the oral histories that Fitch recorded.

*     1878 History of Washington County, New York by Crisfield Johnson. (1979 reprint) has a section on geology written by Fitch.

*     A recent real estate listing for the Fitch homestead with lots of photos and info is available here.

*     There are lots of field guides to insects out there but the sheer numbers and minute details can be daunting. I've found a simple overview like The Practical Entomologist by Rich Imes to be more useful.



Friday, August 2, 2024

Walk This Way

     Ready for a nice walk?

     It goes thru the scene of disastrous fires, past some ruins, between a couple of dumps, along a chain link fence topped with barbed wire. There's even a long uphill slog on the return. Real nice.

     Since I'm not in the business of tourism promotion I get to tell it like it is. But wait, this is way better than it first sounds. Actually, one of the most popular strolls in all of Washington County. It was once the favorite pastime of a highly celebrated poet.

     We'll start on Pearl Street in Hudson Falls. Should be ok to park in the American Legion's large lot. Be sure to take a moment to thank the veterans for their service and pause at the 9/11 memorial near the entrance, 'lest we forget'. From there head back towards downtown a short ways to admire the large yellow Victorian house set amid beautiful gardens. It's for sale as of this writing. This is 57 Pearl Street , the former home of William Bronk. He was a local boy who made good with his many volumes of poetry. In 1981 he won the National Book Award for Life Supports: New and Collected Poems He also ran the family business, Bronk Fuel and Lumber,  while being noted as a great cook and host and an indefatigable walker. 


The American Legion Post
in a former Kenyon Lumber building




William Bronk's former home at 57 Pearl Street in Hudson Falls


     In fact, he never drove and that was how I got to meet him. Many years ago, maybe in the '80's, I dropped in on a poetry discussion group at Crandall Library. As  closing time approached a tall, stern man whom the others clearly revered stated, "Drinks and further reading at my place". Then he looked at me and said, "I'll ride with you." I didn't have a clue who he was but felt a sense of honor and confusion at being chosen as his driver. We chatted on the short hop to Hudson Falls and then hung out with others in the big house at 57 Pearl Street.

     It wasn't till later that I learned more about Bill Bronk and surmised that he was hoping to find someone as passionate about words and ideas as he. Unfortunately, it wasn't me at that time and I never saw him again, but I'll always cherish my memory of driving (and disappointing) the great poet. Maybe if we'd went for a walk together there would have been a better connection.


William Bronk with unidentified friend in background

     I can imagine Bronk bounding off the porch of Big Yellow and striding out Pearl Street to a right on the feeder canal towpath. This was his favorite route and it will be ours as well. Across the road are the many buildings of Griffen Lumber with the landmark coal silos visible beyond. Definitely worth checking them out.


Bronk's former home with a great porch for reading and writing poetry





The coal silos


     The towpath here provides a pleasant shaded walk on hot summer days. The sound of running water as it rushes thru old Lock 12 makes it feel cool. Across the canal was where the sprawling Kenyon Lumber Company once stood. The American Legion now occupies one of its former buildings. In a game of musical sawmills, Griffen bought Kenyon in 1926 and moved equipment over Pearl Street to its location. A fire in 1932 destroyed a remaining Kenyon building and another of its mills was dismantled. Today what you see are a few foundation stones and the backyards of residential development.








Kenyon Lumber...then



...and now




     The towpath soon crosses Burgoyne Avenue and drops down past a parking area, picnic spot and the Five Combines locks. The capped Kingsbury landfill is on the left with its ugly fence, courtesy of liability lawyers. Off to the right, screened by trees, is its sibling the Fort Edward landfill. 





     As you walk downslope you are dropping off a sand and gravel delta built up by the ancestral Hudson River and entering the clay bottomed floor of glacial Lake Albany. Abundant water and cover make this a good spot for birding and botanizing. It is said that Bronk could identify every flower and bush along the path. The locks and towpath here provided inspiration for several of his poems.


Geologic map showing delta sands in dark brown and lake clays in light tan
Walking route follows blue canal diagonaling to T in yellow (recent alluvium)


     At the bottom of the hill the towpath levels out and crosses a bridge at a T intersection. This is where the poet liked to swim nude with his friends at 'Bronk Beach'. It was also a dark sky place for late night stargazing. The Feeder Canal empties into the old Champlain Canal here and that in turn joins Bond Creek  before flowing into the modern Barge Canal. What used to be just 'the towpath' is now the Empire State Trail. If you feel like walking a little further you can go to Canada, New York City or Buffalo from here. Otherwise it's a good place to turn around and retrace your steps back uphill.





BRONK REVISITED


At the Hudson Falls Library entrance 


     I'm not sure how much Bronk gets read anymore. His work isn't as easily accessible as say, Robert Frost's or Mary Oliver's. It can be rather dense, dark and challenging. In this Instagram/Facebook era of 5 second attention spans his poetry is not for everyone. You have to work to get it and then you might end up depressed for your effort. 


A biography  and book of collected poems



     If you are up to the task check out the Village Booksmith which may have some used copies of his poetry on their shelf. Across the street the Hudson Falls Library has a memorial to him out front and a small collection of his work inside (look in the far back corner). While in Hudson Falls you might also want to visit his grave in Union Cemetery where there is a plaque dedicated to his life and achievements. Finally, as I sometimes do, you can park in front of the the grand old manse at 57 Pearl Street and read the poems where they were written.