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.

 

  

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.  

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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.