New England--2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
We had to start very early today. We have a 6:00 AM flight so our goal was to be at the airport by 4:30 AM. That meant leaving about 3:45 AM. That required us to be up by 3 AM. Good times. I hate mornings. I’m not one of those people who have to be up by 7:30 or think I am wasting the day. I don’t really sleep in, even on the weekends I’m usually up by 9:30. But getting up at 3 AM is just wrong. Luckily when you are doing that to start a vacation it kind of takes the edge off.
Everything went more or less as planned. Jessi (my daughter) and Pete (boyfriend) drove us to the airport. I was surprised at how busy it was on Sunday morning, at this hour. But busy is a relative thing and we got checked in and through security quickly and with no hiccups. We even had time to grab something to eat on our flight.
We left as scheduled. I used frequent flyer miles for this trip which means unless you are flying to a hub city, you are guaranteed a layover. Ours was in Dallas. We got in and as usual when flying into DFW our flight was delayed. I can’t remember the last time I flew out of DFW on time. But, luckily the delay was only about twenty minutes. We touched down in Boston about 2:45 PM. We grabbed our luggage and then found the shuttle to Thrifty to get our rental car. Renting the car at Thrifty was a bit of pain. The counter staff evidently earn some sort of commission when they sell the various insurance packages. This trip I was planning to decline coverage. But, Juan, our agent spent 5 minutes giving me the horror scenerio if we got in an accident. I might have succumbed to his pitch, if the tactic wasn't so blantant and brazen. I held firm and resolved that Juan would not get his $20 commisison (or whatever) from me, even if it cost me $500. I don't like to be pushed. On the plus side, we were doing pretty well, schedule wise.
Before heading to Concord, NH, where we would be spending the night we planned to eat dinner. It is kind of a tradition for us to eat at any Hooters restaurant that is convenient. This started back in 2002 when we took our Hawaii vacation. We were tired after a morning and afternoon of site seeing and were looking for a place to eat. We saw a Hooters and decided why not. They took very good care of us, even showing off their policy of taking pictures with the girls. I got one of those and Jessi got some Hooters logoed clothing. Now we repeat that whenever we can. I get a pic and Jessi (even if she isn’t on the trip) gets a shirt or something.
There is only one Hooters in the whole state of Massachusetts. Not very enlightened if you ask me. It is in the Boston suburb of Saugus. We got a great waitress named Tyler and when Margo asked her about a picture (I got a great wife, huh?) she not only agreed, but started a rhythmic clapping that gathered several other scantily dressed ladies. I had the hard part. I had to stand in the middle of these women and smile. Rough work, huh?
It was all downhill from there. We drove to Concord, getting there just after the sun went down. We checked in, watched a little TV and went to bed. Tomorrow would start the sight seeing.
Everything went more or less as planned. Jessi (my daughter) and Pete (boyfriend) drove us to the airport. I was surprised at how busy it was on Sunday morning, at this hour. But busy is a relative thing and we got checked in and through security quickly and with no hiccups. We even had time to grab something to eat on our flight.
We left as scheduled. I used frequent flyer miles for this trip which means unless you are flying to a hub city, you are guaranteed a layover. Ours was in Dallas. We got in and as usual when flying into DFW our flight was delayed. I can’t remember the last time I flew out of DFW on time. But, luckily the delay was only about twenty minutes. We touched down in Boston about 2:45 PM. We grabbed our luggage and then found the shuttle to Thrifty to get our rental car. Renting the car at Thrifty was a bit of pain. The counter staff evidently earn some sort of commission when they sell the various insurance packages. This trip I was planning to decline coverage. But, Juan, our agent spent 5 minutes giving me the horror scenerio if we got in an accident. I might have succumbed to his pitch, if the tactic wasn't so blantant and brazen. I held firm and resolved that Juan would not get his $20 commisison (or whatever) from me, even if it cost me $500. I don't like to be pushed. On the plus side, we were doing pretty well, schedule wise.
Before heading to Concord, NH, where we would be spending the night we planned to eat dinner. It is kind of a tradition for us to eat at any Hooters restaurant that is convenient. This started back in 2002 when we took our Hawaii vacation. We were tired after a morning and afternoon of site seeing and were looking for a place to eat. We saw a Hooters and decided why not. They took very good care of us, even showing off their policy of taking pictures with the girls. I got one of those and Jessi got some Hooters logoed clothing. Now we repeat that whenever we can. I get a pic and Jessi (even if she isn’t on the trip) gets a shirt or something.
There is only one Hooters in the whole state of Massachusetts. Not very enlightened if you ask me. It is in the Boston suburb of Saugus. We got a great waitress named Tyler and when Margo asked her about a picture (I got a great wife, huh?) she not only agreed, but started a rhythmic clapping that gathered several other scantily dressed ladies. I had the hard part. I had to stand in the middle of these women and smile. Rough work, huh?
It was all downhill from there. We drove to Concord, getting there just after the sun went down. We checked in, watched a little TV and went to bed. Tomorrow would start the sight seeing.
Monday, October 13, 2008 (Columbus Day)
I had wanted to be touring Concord by 8 AM, but we underestimated how long it would take us to get ready. Both Margo and I are seasoned travelers, but our last few trips had stay in just one or two places. So we would unpack and get settled. This trip we would never completely unpack and the first morning took some mental adjusting. Still we were only about half an hour late.
The first thing I wanted to do was visit President Franklin Piece’s grave.
He was one our worst Presidents (the 14th), but he was still President, so since we were in the area and had time, we took a stroll over to the Old North Cemetery and found his grave. It only took about 20 minutes for the whole thing. It was a bit strange in one way. Back right up to the cemetery, like it was their own back yard was a couple of houses. I wondered out loud what it must be like to tell friends and family that a former President is buried in your backyard. Surprisingly, the graveyard itself was actually pleasant. You could file the history in the air, and the changing of the season seemed not to intrude but accentuate the feeling. It had feeling that was part fall, part Halloween, and part grade school field trip.
We were only there for about twenty minutes. We paid our respects, got a few pictures and went back to the school where we had parked the car.
The first thing I wanted to do was visit President Franklin Piece’s grave.
He was one our worst Presidents (the 14th), but he was still President, so since we were in the area and had time, we took a stroll over to the Old North Cemetery and found his grave. It only took about 20 minutes for the whole thing. It was a bit strange in one way. Back right up to the cemetery, like it was their own back yard was a couple of houses. I wondered out loud what it must be like to tell friends and family that a former President is buried in your backyard. Surprisingly, the graveyard itself was actually pleasant. You could file the history in the air, and the changing of the season seemed not to intrude but accentuate the feeling. It had feeling that was part fall, part Halloween, and part grade school field trip.
We were only there for about twenty minutes. We paid our respects, got a few pictures and went back to the school where we had parked the car.
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Margo noticed a four-square game grid painted on the asphalt and as that and the rules in the window brought back such memories she could resist preserving their memory either. As we had no ball, she was able to resist the urge for a quick game.
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Our next and final stop was to take a look at the capital building. If Margo and I are passing through a state capital we try to stop and at least take a picture. As today was Columbus Day, we had no idea if the building would be open, but we could at least snap a few pics. As it turned out, it was open. There weren’t many people around and the city did nothing to celebrate Columbus Day, so with the exception of a few state employees, we were pretty much alone.
I was very impressed by the amount of history in the building.
Even Margo was taking pictures left and right. We saw both the House and the Senate Chambers. We saw the offices of all the various leaders of the state of New Hampshire, including the Speaker of the House. Then there were the portraits of state officials going back two hundred years, and portraits and artifacts from the Civil War. I never gave much thought to what contributions New Hampshire made to the winning of the War Between the States. Obviously, they had to of, as all states in the Union made major contributions to the fight, but based on their displays, you would think they won it all by themselves. This is not to insinuate a degree of arrogance. Nothing of that sort was apparent. But the sense of duty and pride permeated everything. I was particularly awed by the battle flags on display. The 117 on display go back to the Civil War, and are full of holes and burns attesting to the carnage they witnessed.
I was very impressed by the amount of history in the building.
Even Margo was taking pictures left and right. We saw both the House and the Senate Chambers. We saw the offices of all the various leaders of the state of New Hampshire, including the Speaker of the House. Then there were the portraits of state officials going back two hundred years, and portraits and artifacts from the Civil War. I never gave much thought to what contributions New Hampshire made to the winning of the War Between the States. Obviously, they had to of, as all states in the Union made major contributions to the fight, but based on their displays, you would think they won it all by themselves. This is not to insinuate a degree of arrogance. Nothing of that sort was apparent. But the sense of duty and pride permeated everything. I was particularly awed by the battle flags on display. The 117 on display go back to the Civil War, and are full of holes and burns attesting to the carnage they witnessed.
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We made a quick pass through the gift shop, signed the guest book, and expected to be on our way, after getting a picture of the full building. But a very impressive statue of Daniel Webster greeted us. I had always though Daniel Webster was from Massachusetts. But, he got his start in New Hampshire, where he was born. After getting a few pics there we discovered a full size replica of the Liberty Bell. Evidently a number of them were made in 1950 for a bond drive.
Our final picture was of the Legislative Office Building across the street. It is an impressive stone building, that judging from the inscription above the arched entrances got its start as a Post Office and Court House. But, by now we were out of time. We even overstayed for awhile, but it worth it. We got in our car and headed north. Our next stop was going to be just across the border at the Quechee Gorge in Vermont.
Our final picture was of the Legislative Office Building across the street. It is an impressive stone building, that judging from the inscription above the arched entrances got its start as a Post Office and Court House. But, by now we were out of time. We even overstayed for awhile, but it worth it. We got in our car and headed north. Our next stop was going to be just across the border at the Quechee Gorge in Vermont.
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It was about 1 ½ hours from Concord to the Quechee Gorge. That’s the nice thing about the New England states, they are small. You can drive for 90 minutes from Denver in any direction and not even be out the state yet. (Well maybe if you head north, you would just clear the Wyoming border). We stopped two or three times for either a rest break or to admire the scenery. Every twist of the highway or crest of a hill would bring a new sight. The farther north we got the better the foliage got. It made for a longer drive, but that is why we chose New England this year.
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Anyway, we pulled into a place called Quechee Village, which was just before you got to the Gorge.
The Village had several shops and at least one restaurant. We had eaten a buffet breakfast at the hotel before we left, and grabbed a few snacks at a convenience store on the way up. So, we were too hungry yet. But, the shops appealed to us. Well, they appealed to Margo, but I can usually find something to distract me. But, what caught our attention most were all the tents they had set up at the far end of the village. As it turned out they were have a large antique sale. Old junk always seems to worth a look or two. But we started with the shops. We spent about half an hour or so walking from one to another and looking at all of the touristy stuff.
Then it was on to the antique show. We found a lot of stuff that either we, our parents, or grandparents owned in days gone by. It was a nice trip down memory lane.
Margo also found a guy selling old miniature stuff for doll houses. Margo is working on one, and this stuff was high quality. But, she could find anything she wanted, even though she must have spent 20 minutes there alone. We probably should have taken more pictures there, but all we took were a few shots in front of a wooden moose. We had been seeing Moose Crossing signs and were hoping to see an actual one. Just one month ago we had spent a short weekend in the northern mountains of Colorado at a friend’s cabin. There a bull moose had wandered up, just yards from the cabin to drink out of the pond and strip a few leaves from the trees. Margo must have taken 80 pictures and several videos. But, so far this wooden Bullwinkle was it. We saw a lot of interesting stuff, but the only thing we bought was a pair of salt n pepper shakers. They were to be a gift for our cabin friends.
The Village had several shops and at least one restaurant. We had eaten a buffet breakfast at the hotel before we left, and grabbed a few snacks at a convenience store on the way up. So, we were too hungry yet. But, the shops appealed to us. Well, they appealed to Margo, but I can usually find something to distract me. But, what caught our attention most were all the tents they had set up at the far end of the village. As it turned out they were have a large antique sale. Old junk always seems to worth a look or two. But we started with the shops. We spent about half an hour or so walking from one to another and looking at all of the touristy stuff.
Then it was on to the antique show. We found a lot of stuff that either we, our parents, or grandparents owned in days gone by. It was a nice trip down memory lane.
Margo also found a guy selling old miniature stuff for doll houses. Margo is working on one, and this stuff was high quality. But, she could find anything she wanted, even though she must have spent 20 minutes there alone. We probably should have taken more pictures there, but all we took were a few shots in front of a wooden moose. We had been seeing Moose Crossing signs and were hoping to see an actual one. Just one month ago we had spent a short weekend in the northern mountains of Colorado at a friend’s cabin. There a bull moose had wandered up, just yards from the cabin to drink out of the pond and strip a few leaves from the trees. Margo must have taken 80 pictures and several videos. But, so far this wooden Bullwinkle was it. We saw a lot of interesting stuff, but the only thing we bought was a pair of salt n pepper shakers. They were to be a gift for our cabin friends.
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Once we finished up in the village we drove the very short distance to the Gorge itself.
There is a bridge spanning it (duh) and it accommodated pedestrians. So we walked towards to middle of it and admired the view in both directs. Colorado, my home state, has the Royal Gorge. The Royal Gorge is much deeper and wider, but the Quechee Gorge has it beat in color, especially this time of the year. As we exited off the bridge we noticed the sign that pointed us towards the path that would take you to the bottom. It said it 4/10th of mile, and it didn’t look too bad. We were a little tight on time, but as I said before, this kind of thing is why we chose New England. So down we went.
The first 1/10th of a mile was steep, and then it leveled out, relatively speaking. It took us about 15 minutes to get down.
Margo stopped to gather a few acorns and rest. And we both stopped to get a picture of the bridge from the trail perspective. At the bottom we were treated to a small mountain stream, with many boulders. Had we been alone it would have been a very serene and relaxing place. But, there were a few other nature lovers, so we had to settle for merely tranquil and beautiful. We climbed around the various rocks trying to get good angles for the pictures of the stream, foliage, and bridge. When we headed back up after twenty enjoyable minutes we were both glad we had made the effort.
The trip back up was not as bad as I thought it would be. The last 1/10th was tougher than the first three, but it turned out not to be any real trouble at all. We would have lingered longer, but we really did have a full day. Margo and I have seen mountain streams before, and even though they are all unique and different, we had experienced them before. But, our next stop would be new for both of us. We were heading to Northfield Falls and four different covered bridges.
There is a bridge spanning it (duh) and it accommodated pedestrians. So we walked towards to middle of it and admired the view in both directs. Colorado, my home state, has the Royal Gorge. The Royal Gorge is much deeper and wider, but the Quechee Gorge has it beat in color, especially this time of the year. As we exited off the bridge we noticed the sign that pointed us towards the path that would take you to the bottom. It said it 4/10th of mile, and it didn’t look too bad. We were a little tight on time, but as I said before, this kind of thing is why we chose New England. So down we went.
The first 1/10th of a mile was steep, and then it leveled out, relatively speaking. It took us about 15 minutes to get down.
Margo stopped to gather a few acorns and rest. And we both stopped to get a picture of the bridge from the trail perspective. At the bottom we were treated to a small mountain stream, with many boulders. Had we been alone it would have been a very serene and relaxing place. But, there were a few other nature lovers, so we had to settle for merely tranquil and beautiful. We climbed around the various rocks trying to get good angles for the pictures of the stream, foliage, and bridge. When we headed back up after twenty enjoyable minutes we were both glad we had made the effort.
The trip back up was not as bad as I thought it would be. The last 1/10th was tougher than the first three, but it turned out not to be any real trouble at all. We would have lingered longer, but we really did have a full day. Margo and I have seen mountain streams before, and even though they are all unique and different, we had experienced them before. But, our next stop would be new for both of us. We were heading to Northfield Falls and four different covered bridges.
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It was about an hour drive from the Quechee Gorge to Northfield Falls. The route took us through several small Vermont towns, each of them with a small grocery store. One of the regrets I had with this trip was not stopping to at least walk through one of these country stores. I’m sure it would have been a great slice of Americana.
We arrived and drove past the turn off for the first bridge, the Slaughterhouse Bridge. I knew we drove past it, because I could see the bridge as we drove by. We just kept going because the turn off for the other one was really close and it had three bridges on it, one right after the other.
We turned onto Cox Brook Road and immediately saw the first of the three bridges, The Northfield Falls Covered Bridge, which was built in 1872.
This would be the longest of the four bridges we would be seeing today. It is 137 feet long and crosses the Cox Brook. This bridge has the distinction of being the only covered bridge where you can look through it and see the next covered bridge, the Lower Cox Covered Bridge.
We arrived and drove past the turn off for the first bridge, the Slaughterhouse Bridge. I knew we drove past it, because I could see the bridge as we drove by. We just kept going because the turn off for the other one was really close and it had three bridges on it, one right after the other.
We turned onto Cox Brook Road and immediately saw the first of the three bridges, The Northfield Falls Covered Bridge, which was built in 1872.
This would be the longest of the four bridges we would be seeing today. It is 137 feet long and crosses the Cox Brook. This bridge has the distinction of being the only covered bridge where you can look through it and see the next covered bridge, the Lower Cox Covered Bridge.
Northfield Falls Covered Bridge
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Lower Cox Covered Bridge
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We got our requisite photos and drove through the Northfield Falls Bridge. All of the covered bridges are one way, so you have to be careful of the traffic. Cox Brook Road is a busy street (well, busy is relative) so we had to be careful both driving and walking around or near them. We found a wide spot to park and took a few quick pictures of the Lower Cox Bridge. This wasn’t really the place to linger, so we got back in the Calibre and continued down Cox Brook Rd to the Upper Cox Covered Bridge.
The Upper Cox River Bridge was more friendly to picture taking, so we parked and spent a few minutes taking pictures. We both climbed down to the brook to enjoy the different view, listen to the brook, and generally enjoy the serenity. We had not traveled very far, but what passes for traffic in Northfield Falls was mostly left behind us at the Lower Cox Bridge, and was all left above us when we got to the stream. It wasn’t hard to get comfortable and unwind a bit. But, as the whole day had gone we still had a couple of more sites to see today, and it was getting a bit late in the afternoon.
The Upper Cox River Bridge was more friendly to picture taking, so we parked and spent a few minutes taking pictures. We both climbed down to the brook to enjoy the different view, listen to the brook, and generally enjoy the serenity. We had not traveled very far, but what passes for traffic in Northfield Falls was mostly left behind us at the Lower Cox Bridge, and was all left above us when we got to the stream. It wasn’t hard to get comfortable and unwind a bit. But, as the whole day had gone we still had a couple of more sites to see today, and it was getting a bit late in the afternoon.
Upper Cox Covered Bridge
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We back tracked just a bit to Slaughterhouse Rd, the one we had passed, and drove to the last of the four bridges we would be seeing today.
I forgot to mention, the whole reason of having a covered bridge is to protect the wooden bridge from the elements. New England winters are known for their snow and cold. Snow becomes ice and water. Ice and water have a way of destroying wood.
Anyway we lingered for a few minutes here at the Slaughterhouse Covered Bridge because there was no traffic. We felt comfortable walking inside this one and taking a few pictures from this perspective. The other three bridges crossed various parts of the Cox Brook. The Slaughterhouse Bridge crossed the Dog River, which is fed by the Cox Brook. The Dog had a little bit more volume than the Cox Brook, but both were more streams than anything. We got a few scenic pics and then decided it was time to go. Our next stop was going to be Montpelier, the capital of Vermont.
I forgot to mention, the whole reason of having a covered bridge is to protect the wooden bridge from the elements. New England winters are known for their snow and cold. Snow becomes ice and water. Ice and water have a way of destroying wood.
Anyway we lingered for a few minutes here at the Slaughterhouse Covered Bridge because there was no traffic. We felt comfortable walking inside this one and taking a few pictures from this perspective. The other three bridges crossed various parts of the Cox Brook. The Slaughterhouse Bridge crossed the Dog River, which is fed by the Cox Brook. The Dog had a little bit more volume than the Cox Brook, but both were more streams than anything. We got a few scenic pics and then decided it was time to go. Our next stop was going to be Montpelier, the capital of Vermont.
Slaughterhouse Rd Covered Bridge
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Dog River
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It was only a short twenty minute drive to Montpelier. The afternoon was slipping away and we still wanted to tour Ben and Jerry’s today. I had forgotten what time they stopped giving the tours, so I called them. The recording said they closed at 7 PM, and the last tour was a half hour before. That gave us plenty of time to take the tour, but not plenty of time to see the place in daylight. So, it looked like we were going to have to cut Montpelier short. We pulled in about 4:45, and knew that even if the capital was open, it would be closing pretty soon. So we found a place to park and snapped a couple of pictures of the building. We didn’t do it much justice, but it couldn’t be helped.
Also in Montpelier are Hubbard Park and the 50 foot tall stone tower.
I figured it would be worth a stop to check out. The park looked very pretty, with tons of trees. I thought we might get some nice pictures. Well, that didn’t work out. We drove straight to the park, but we couldn’t find the tower. I had a park map, but a road that I thought we should take was closed. Maybe it was pedestrian only, but I didn’t see a sign. As this was only a maybe stop, we blew it off and headed back to the highway.
I wish I could have spent an afternoon in Montpelier. It is a very nice looking town. Even though it is the state capital you don’t feel like you are in a big city. That would undoubtedly be, because you are not. Montpelier is the least populous state capital among the 50. Its population is only 8035 according to the 2000 census. It looks to be a great city to walk around in, and the downtown area, while not exactly a hot bed of entertainment, looked to be fun to sight see around, and have a nice meal. Who knows? Maybe opportunity will present itself in the years to come. But, for now it was on to ice cream nirvana.
Also in Montpelier are Hubbard Park and the 50 foot tall stone tower.
I figured it would be worth a stop to check out. The park looked very pretty, with tons of trees. I thought we might get some nice pictures. Well, that didn’t work out. We drove straight to the park, but we couldn’t find the tower. I had a park map, but a road that I thought we should take was closed. Maybe it was pedestrian only, but I didn’t see a sign. As this was only a maybe stop, we blew it off and headed back to the highway.
I wish I could have spent an afternoon in Montpelier. It is a very nice looking town. Even though it is the state capital you don’t feel like you are in a big city. That would undoubtedly be, because you are not. Montpelier is the least populous state capital among the 50. Its population is only 8035 according to the 2000 census. It looks to be a great city to walk around in, and the downtown area, while not exactly a hot bed of entertainment, looked to be fun to sight see around, and have a nice meal. Who knows? Maybe opportunity will present itself in the years to come. But, for now it was on to ice cream nirvana.
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It was about a half hour from Montpelier to the Waterbury, VT area where Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream Factory is located. We got there parked and bought our tour tickets. We arrived just a handful of minutes before the next tour, so we didn’t have much wait.
The tour itself was so so. It started with a 15 minute movie telling us the Ben & Jerry’s story. The movie was informative and gave decent background on the history of the company. The next part of the tour showed us the production end. This part was definitely disappointing.
You couldn’t see much of anything. It’s a pretty small operation so everything could be viewed from the windowed hallway, where we were at. But, you couldn’t see anything very well. We did get to see the machine that put the lids on the pints of ice cream. That was kind of neat.
From there is was into another room, where we were given a sample of ice cream. It was some chocolate flavor that I had never had before. I liked it, and would have considered buying a pint. But when Margo and I went over to the ice cream case (which was tiny!) there was frost on about ¼ of the pints. As some one has eaten a lot of ice cream, I have learned to never buy ice cream with frost on it. This is a sure sign that the product has been thawed and refrozen. This almost always means the ice cream will be full of ice crystals and tastes like iced shit. Bad move by the guys who should no better.
Needless to say I was deflated. No Ben and Jerry’s fresh from the cow.
The tour itself was so so. It started with a 15 minute movie telling us the Ben & Jerry’s story. The movie was informative and gave decent background on the history of the company. The next part of the tour showed us the production end. This part was definitely disappointing.
You couldn’t see much of anything. It’s a pretty small operation so everything could be viewed from the windowed hallway, where we were at. But, you couldn’t see anything very well. We did get to see the machine that put the lids on the pints of ice cream. That was kind of neat.
From there is was into another room, where we were given a sample of ice cream. It was some chocolate flavor that I had never had before. I liked it, and would have considered buying a pint. But when Margo and I went over to the ice cream case (which was tiny!) there was frost on about ¼ of the pints. As some one has eaten a lot of ice cream, I have learned to never buy ice cream with frost on it. This is a sure sign that the product has been thawed and refrozen. This almost always means the ice cream will be full of ice crystals and tastes like iced shit. Bad move by the guys who should no better.
Needless to say I was deflated. No Ben and Jerry’s fresh from the cow.
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Oh, well. Life goes on. The sun was going down and we made a bee-line for the Flavor Graveyard. Ben and Jerry’s has about two dozen different flavors that they used to make, but don’t anymore. Usually they were discontinued because they didn’t sell. Flavors like “Oh Pear”, “Urban Jumble”, “Rain Forest Crunch”, and “Makin’ Whoppie Pie” now have a tombstone in the Flavor Graveyard. The headstone has an epitapth in the form of a poem and the years the flavor was on your grocer’s shelf. Looking around there was worth about five minutes. Semi-interesting by there were only a couple of dozen headstones.
Our last official duty here tonight was to take a picture in the ice cream lid Photo Op.
Just outside the exit is a very large Ben and Jerry’s lid from a pint of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. Ben and Jerry’s faces have been cut out, so you can stick your face there and become ice cream moguls. There were two of us and two cut outs in the lid. Perfect match, huh? Buzzzzz. No one to take the picture. But, Margo had brought the tripod. After about three trys to figure out the timing feature of the camera we were successful.
This had been a pretty full day and we were tired. But, our day was not done. We still had to get to our hotel. It was well after 6 PM by now. Our hotel, because of tomorrow’s schedule was an hour and a half away. So even though we were getting hungry, we thought it best to get to St. Johnsbury and get checked in. We did, and then were directed to a nice restaurant, The Black Bear Tavern and Grill. We had a nice dinner and then went back to the hotel. We had had a very full day today, and tomorrow would be nearly as packed.
Our last official duty here tonight was to take a picture in the ice cream lid Photo Op.
Just outside the exit is a very large Ben and Jerry’s lid from a pint of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. Ben and Jerry’s faces have been cut out, so you can stick your face there and become ice cream moguls. There were two of us and two cut outs in the lid. Perfect match, huh? Buzzzzz. No one to take the picture. But, Margo had brought the tripod. After about three trys to figure out the timing feature of the camera we were successful.
This had been a pretty full day and we were tired. But, our day was not done. We still had to get to our hotel. It was well after 6 PM by now. Our hotel, because of tomorrow’s schedule was an hour and a half away. So even though we were getting hungry, we thought it best to get to St. Johnsbury and get checked in. We did, and then were directed to a nice restaurant, The Black Bear Tavern and Grill. We had a nice dinner and then went back to the hotel. We had had a very full day today, and tomorrow would be nearly as packed.
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Tuesday, October 14, 2008
We stayed at the Fairbanks Inn in St Johnsbury last night. It was the first hotel in a long time that actually used a real metal key for the door. It had two double beds, instead of a single King or Queen, but they were comfortable, and we were dead tired anyway. Wink. Wink.
We got up and ended up running behind again. That put be in a bit of bad mood, and we decided to skip breakfast to make up some time. Neither of usually eat breakfast anyway, but I was looking forward to having a country breakfast in Vermont. It would have to happen today or tomorrow, as those were the only days we would wake up in the Green Mountain State.
Our primary reason for staying in St Johnsbury was because Maple Grove Farms was there. When we picked New England as our destination, I wanted to see a place that made cheese, apple cider, and maple syrup. When I finally settled on the three places that had these factories/farms, they were located in Cabot, VT, Waterbury, VT, and St Johnsbury, VT. These towns lined up more or less in an east-west line, so it was obvious we had to stay on either the east end or the west end. We had already decided to stay at the Trapp Family Lodge, in Stowe, VT (very close to Waterbury, the west end) as one of our hotels. Margo loves “The Sound of Music”. So it should have been decided. But when I researched the opening and closing times, I discovered that Maple Grove Farms, in the east side of our line (St Johnsbury) stopped tours at 2 PM. There was no way we would make it working west to east. Hence our hour and half drive last night, just so we could
We got up and ended up running behind again. That put be in a bit of bad mood, and we decided to skip breakfast to make up some time. Neither of usually eat breakfast anyway, but I was looking forward to having a country breakfast in Vermont. It would have to happen today or tomorrow, as those were the only days we would wake up in the Green Mountain State.
Our primary reason for staying in St Johnsbury was because Maple Grove Farms was there. When we picked New England as our destination, I wanted to see a place that made cheese, apple cider, and maple syrup. When I finally settled on the three places that had these factories/farms, they were located in Cabot, VT, Waterbury, VT, and St Johnsbury, VT. These towns lined up more or less in an east-west line, so it was obvious we had to stay on either the east end or the west end. We had already decided to stay at the Trapp Family Lodge, in Stowe, VT (very close to Waterbury, the west end) as one of our hotels. Margo loves “The Sound of Music”. So it should have been decided. But when I researched the opening and closing times, I discovered that Maple Grove Farms, in the east side of our line (St Johnsbury) stopped tours at 2 PM. There was no way we would make it working west to east. Hence our hour and half drive last night, just so we could
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That long winded explanation has accomplished at least one thing. I can probably get one extra picture in the body of this blog. This is a good thing. Between Margo and me we took 462 pictures. Anyway, the plan was to be at Maple Grove Farms when it opened at 8 AM. We would be with the first tour and be finished by 9:30.
It was only about a 5 minute drive from our hotel, so with skipping breakfast we got there early. When we went in, instead of catching the first tour, we discovered we were the first tour. My bad mood had vanished by the time we signed the guest book. We were directed into a room where we saw a short video on the history of Maple Grove Farms
We discovered that their first product was not maple syrup, all those many years ago. It was a maple candy. We later got to try some straight from the packing line. It was very good. The maple flavor was not over powering, but it was very sweet. The video showed us the manufacturing process of both the syrup and candy. It was interesting to see that technology had barely touched the maple syrup process. They still use the exact same basic methods, with only metal buckets replacing wood and more efficient uses of heat to reduce the syrup creeping in. After seeing the video, combined with our breakfastless morning, had convinced me that I had to try some maple syrup.
It was only about a 5 minute drive from our hotel, so with skipping breakfast we got there early. When we went in, instead of catching the first tour, we discovered we were the first tour. My bad mood had vanished by the time we signed the guest book. We were directed into a room where we saw a short video on the history of Maple Grove Farms
We discovered that their first product was not maple syrup, all those many years ago. It was a maple candy. We later got to try some straight from the packing line. It was very good. The maple flavor was not over powering, but it was very sweet. The video showed us the manufacturing process of both the syrup and candy. It was interesting to see that technology had barely touched the maple syrup process. They still use the exact same basic methods, with only metal buckets replacing wood and more efficient uses of heat to reduce the syrup creeping in. After seeing the video, combined with our breakfastless morning, had convinced me that I had to try some maple syrup.
The tour took us to the packing room, where hairneted and white labcoated workers were taking the candy out molds, doing a quality control check, and then putting perfect pieces of candy into gift boxes. One of the workers gave Margo and me a sample as we went by. It was very good. From there are guided portion of the tour ended. Our guide directed us out a door, on the grounds to see a replica Sugar House, which is where the maple syrup is boiled down, on the farm. The last thing our guide told us, while pointing across the street, “That is a Sugar Maple Tree. It is about 120 years old. You don’t start tapping a tree until it is at least 40 years.”
The Sugar House and the displays were interesting, especially the taps. Those are the spike-like things they drive into the tree to get the sap out of the trees. We also thought it was interesting that some farms instead of putting buckets on the taps to collect the sap, use plastic tubing and channel it into a central location. We snapped a few pictures, which we had failed to do during the tour, and then made our way to the gift shop.
The Sugar House and the displays were interesting, especially the taps. Those are the spike-like things they drive into the tree to get the sap out of the trees. We also thought it was interesting that some farms instead of putting buckets on the taps to collect the sap, use plastic tubing and channel it into a central location. We snapped a few pictures, which we had failed to do during the tour, and then made our way to the gift shop.
The first thing that I did was look to see if they had samples. They did and I headed straight for them. I had never had real maple syrup before. They stuff I had was synthetic. Real Maple Syrup is expensive. After trying it, I’m thinking it’s worth it. The maple flavor was not overwhelming, like I expected.
If anything, the word subtle describes it. And, this was on Grade B syrup, the most pronounced kind. I wanted to try other grades, there are five, but this was late in the year. More importantly we were told that this had not been a good year for syrup. So, they were out of a lot of the grades and sizes of bottles. And only Grade B was available for sampling. We picked out a bunch of stuff and decided to have it shipped home. It might cost a little more, but it would be worth avoiding the hassle.
I had stressed to Margo that today we really needed to stay on schedule. I wanted to make sure we got to our hotel, the Trapp Family Lodge, with plenty of time to spare. This was the one thing Margo was most looking forward to, and I wanted to make sure we got some daylight hours to spend there. When we left Maple Grove and St. Johnsbury, we were right on schedule. Our next stop was going to be Cabot, VT and Cabot Creamery.
If anything, the word subtle describes it. And, this was on Grade B syrup, the most pronounced kind. I wanted to try other grades, there are five, but this was late in the year. More importantly we were told that this had not been a good year for syrup. So, they were out of a lot of the grades and sizes of bottles. And only Grade B was available for sampling. We picked out a bunch of stuff and decided to have it shipped home. It might cost a little more, but it would be worth avoiding the hassle.
I had stressed to Margo that today we really needed to stay on schedule. I wanted to make sure we got to our hotel, the Trapp Family Lodge, with plenty of time to spare. This was the one thing Margo was most looking forward to, and I wanted to make sure we got some daylight hours to spend there. When we left Maple Grove and St. Johnsbury, we were right on schedule. Our next stop was going to be Cabot, VT and Cabot Creamery.
Cabot, VT was only about a half hour’s drive from St. Johnsbury. We would be traveling the same highway to head back west as we did on our eastbound journey into town. On the eastbound leg of this journey we had spied two things that caught our interest. The first was a turnout on the highway that promised a scenic view. I had been expecting to see a lot of these on this trip. I figured that the New England states, wanting to prevent near death experiences from people just pulling over on the shoulder would have specific areas in which they could pull over to take pictures. This was the first one of them we had seen. We would have pulled over yesterday, but as it was dark, I didn’t think anyone would believe how great the foliage looked if the pictures all looked liked the inside of coal mine.
The second thing was a “Moose Crossing” sign. Moose are a pretty scarce sight in Colorado. Although they are coming back, sign warning of their presence are somewhere between non-existent and uncommon. But, not so in Vermont. They were all over the place. The signs I mean. We still hadn’t seen a real moose, at least not here in New England. As you may recall from the Quechee Gorge part of this blog, we had a very long and protracted moose sighting in Colorado, at our friends’ cabin.
Margo really wanted to take a picture of a road sign that demonstrated that the Moose was a pedestrian in Vermont. She thought our cabin friends would get a kick out of it. The problem with that is that as soon as you got close enough to tell that the yellow, diamond shaped sign was warning of the moose crossing, you were whizzing past it. It didn’t strike us a prudent to lock up the brakes, pull over, and either reverse or run back a quarter of a mile, for the sole purpose of bagging a picture of a sign. I was pretty sure that if this was witnessed by one of Vermont’s Finest, the reason we would provide would not earn us a good natured chuckle. And good ole’ Juan, back at Thrifty Car Rental, had made a point of telling us that if Thrifty had to pay some sort of fine for us, with respect to a moving violation, there was a stiff penalty. I really didn’t want to give Juan the satisfaction.
The second thing was a “Moose Crossing” sign. Moose are a pretty scarce sight in Colorado. Although they are coming back, sign warning of their presence are somewhere between non-existent and uncommon. But, not so in Vermont. They were all over the place. The signs I mean. We still hadn’t seen a real moose, at least not here in New England. As you may recall from the Quechee Gorge part of this blog, we had a very long and protracted moose sighting in Colorado, at our friends’ cabin.
Margo really wanted to take a picture of a road sign that demonstrated that the Moose was a pedestrian in Vermont. She thought our cabin friends would get a kick out of it. The problem with that is that as soon as you got close enough to tell that the yellow, diamond shaped sign was warning of the moose crossing, you were whizzing past it. It didn’t strike us a prudent to lock up the brakes, pull over, and either reverse or run back a quarter of a mile, for the sole purpose of bagging a picture of a sign. I was pretty sure that if this was witnessed by one of Vermont’s Finest, the reason we would provide would not earn us a good natured chuckle. And good ole’ Juan, back at Thrifty Car Rental, had made a point of telling us that if Thrifty had to pay some sort of fine for us, with respect to a moving violation, there was a stiff penalty. I really didn’t want to give Juan the satisfaction.
But, our eastbound trip had yielded a sign and I watched as we continued east for it’s twin on the westbound side. I found it, and made a mental note of it’s general location. Now we could just slow down when we got in area and keep a sharp eye out for the shape, knowing that in all likelihood it would be one warning of Bullwinkle’s presence.
We bagged our moose (crossing) first. We noted its approach and passed it slowly as not to spook it. Then we quietly pulled over. Then Margo exited the car. She crept cautiously back to the sign, camera ready for a quick shot. She then leapt into action, getting in front of it, aiming and releasing the shutter. She nailed it with her first shot, negating the need for another shot. Within seconds we were driving down the road with our quarry safely stowed in a memory chip.
We bagged our moose (crossing) first. We noted its approach and passed it slowly as not to spook it. Then we quietly pulled over. Then Margo exited the car. She crept cautiously back to the sign, camera ready for a quick shot. She then leapt into action, getting in front of it, aiming and releasing the shutter. She nailed it with her first shot, negating the need for another shot. Within seconds we were driving down the road with our quarry safely stowed in a memory chip.
The Scenic Overlook proved to be worth the trouble, but I couldn’t help but think how much prettier it would have been a week earlier and under a sunny sky. Of course the other part of my brain whispered and it could have been buried under a foot of Vermont snow, and you stuck in a hotel or airport. So, I wasn’t complaining. Margo and I both took a few shots together. Then I worked my way down a few hundred yards to get different angles and a shot of a house. Margo decided to release the tripod from the trunk, and use it take a picture of both of us together. There had been little traffic, and it might have been a long wait for other leaf peepers to assist us. After a few practice shots to line everything up, she was ready for me.
The picture looks sooooo much better with me in it. My hair sticks up on one side and even my smile does not seem to warm up the picture. But, there we are, together and with the glorious foliage a back drop.
The picture looks sooooo much better with me in it. My hair sticks up on one side and even my smile does not seem to warm up the picture. But, there we are, together and with the glorious foliage a back drop.
We continued through the overcast weather. We got a little bit of rain, but not much. It was not long before we turned off onto the little highway that took us into Cabot. Ten minutes later we were pulling into the parking lot of Cabot Creamery. Cabot Creamery makes a variety of products, but is most famous for it’s cheese. When we were in Quechee we stopped in their outlet store there. We didn’t buy anything, as we knew we would be heading to the source today.
Luck served us again when I purchased our tour tickets. We were taking part in a tour only about ten minutes after we arrived. We spent that ten minutes looking around the gift shop. But that did not last long. We were called up pretty quickly. Our group was about 15 people, and as with Maple Grove, our first stop was to watch a short video. It told the Cabot story. Basically the dairy farmers in the area were producing more milk than they could sell. So they got together and formed a co-op. This was Cabot Creamery. The creamery’s job was to create a market for their milk by producing products from the milk they would sell to it. This worked out well, as Cabot’s cheese is now sold across the country and they have many other products as well. The video told us that their cheddar cheese has won many awards at cheese competitions. Who knew that cheeses competed? But they do, and evidently Cabot’s can kick ass and take names. I wanted to try some of this. I like cheese, and am very fond of a sharp cheddar.
I couldn’t wait for the sampling part of the tour. But first we got to see some of the production. Our guide led us from the Video Room, into a long windowed hall, in which we could see some long metal bins with cheese curds in them. Our guide didn’t do a great job of telling us what we had missed in the cheese making process, but I knew from watching “Dirty Jobs” on the Discovery Channel, that milk had been poured into these large vats, and an enzyme had been added. The enzyme had broken the mild down into curds and whey. This was where we were at now. There were three large vats, each in a different stage of the process. One was still had the enzyme working on the milk. One was in the process of having the whey (the liquid part) drained from the curds. The other was completely drained and workers were raking the curds forward to be further processed.
Luck served us again when I purchased our tour tickets. We were taking part in a tour only about ten minutes after we arrived. We spent that ten minutes looking around the gift shop. But that did not last long. We were called up pretty quickly. Our group was about 15 people, and as with Maple Grove, our first stop was to watch a short video. It told the Cabot story. Basically the dairy farmers in the area were producing more milk than they could sell. So they got together and formed a co-op. This was Cabot Creamery. The creamery’s job was to create a market for their milk by producing products from the milk they would sell to it. This worked out well, as Cabot’s cheese is now sold across the country and they have many other products as well. The video told us that their cheddar cheese has won many awards at cheese competitions. Who knew that cheeses competed? But they do, and evidently Cabot’s can kick ass and take names. I wanted to try some of this. I like cheese, and am very fond of a sharp cheddar.
I couldn’t wait for the sampling part of the tour. But first we got to see some of the production. Our guide led us from the Video Room, into a long windowed hall, in which we could see some long metal bins with cheese curds in them. Our guide didn’t do a great job of telling us what we had missed in the cheese making process, but I knew from watching “Dirty Jobs” on the Discovery Channel, that milk had been poured into these large vats, and an enzyme had been added. The enzyme had broken the mild down into curds and whey. This was where we were at now. There were three large vats, each in a different stage of the process. One was still had the enzyme working on the milk. One was in the process of having the whey (the liquid part) drained from the curds. The other was completely drained and workers were raking the curds forward to be further processed.
We watched workers rake and the machines stir the curd-whey mixture. It was interesting, thinking how this unappetizing conglomeration could some how end up looking and tasting like cheese. Our guide explained that curds were raked into a press that squeezed the curds together. This machine compacted them into squares, then packaged and sent to their cooler to be aged. Margo and I listened and watched the machines, and tried to take pictures. It was hard to capture anything of real meaning, but we tried. Earlier, after the video but before this portion of the tour our guide had asked for questions. I started the ball rolling asking why their cheddar was white.
Almost all of the cheddar in Colorado is orange. She only had a partial answer. She explained that all cheddar cheese starts out as white, and must be dyed to get the orange cheese color. The only reason that they dyed some of there cheese is that it would not sell out west, unless it was orange. No explanation as to why us westerners had become accustomed to orange cheese. I suspect a Cheesehead conspiracy of sorts. We all know how obnoxious those Packer fans are.
Almost all of the cheddar in Colorado is orange. She only had a partial answer. She explained that all cheddar cheese starts out as white, and must be dyed to get the orange cheese color. The only reason that they dyed some of there cheese is that it would not sell out west, unless it was orange. No explanation as to why us westerners had become accustomed to orange cheese. I suspect a Cheesehead conspiracy of sorts. We all know how obnoxious those Packer fans are.
Our tour ended and we were led back into the gift shop. This was both a delight and a curse. Margo and I were hungry. We had sacrificed breakfast on the Alter of Schedule and were now paying the price. So with a dozen different kinds of cheese, a couple of kinds of cream cheese dips, and a few crackers to play with we began a tour of the gift shop.
We sampled if not most, certainly many of the cheeses. Flavored (Jalapeno or Pepper) cheeses don’t appeal to me. But, they had several flavors of sharp cheddar. I quickly discovered a favorite. I was called McCadams Adirondack Wicked Sharp Cheddar. It was a deeply sharp cheddar. Most yummy. I later found out that McCadams is a sister company to Cabot’s and is based in upstate New York. I went back to that stack of cubes, time after time. After the first taste I knew there was no way we would be leaving without some of that to sample at home. Margo agreed. We ended up with about $40 worth of cheese. This included 8 oz of the Adirondack and 8 oz of Cabot’s Private Stock Extra Sharp. This was supposed to be Cabot’s finest, and it was pretty tasty. We again decided to have shipped to us back home. I was really looking forward to that order arriving.
We sampled if not most, certainly many of the cheeses. Flavored (Jalapeno or Pepper) cheeses don’t appeal to me. But, they had several flavors of sharp cheddar. I quickly discovered a favorite. I was called McCadams Adirondack Wicked Sharp Cheddar. It was a deeply sharp cheddar. Most yummy. I later found out that McCadams is a sister company to Cabot’s and is based in upstate New York. I went back to that stack of cubes, time after time. After the first taste I knew there was no way we would be leaving without some of that to sample at home. Margo agreed. We ended up with about $40 worth of cheese. This included 8 oz of the Adirondack and 8 oz of Cabot’s Private Stock Extra Sharp. This was supposed to be Cabot’s finest, and it was pretty tasty. We again decided to have shipped to us back home. I was really looking forward to that order arriving.
We were still doing OK on time, but we had pretty much done all that we could do. Oh, I almost forgot to mention why the gift shop was a curse. It had nothing to do with all of the tempting goodies. It was here that Margo and I discovered that tour buses make up a significant portion of the business of the same attractions that Margo and I would be doing today and tomorrow. These tour companies cater to the elderly, which I have nothing against. I hope to be an Elderly one day. But when they disgorge 50 people apiece, these buses can turn a leisurely gift shop experience into a day at Space Mountain. I didn’t come to Vermont to visit Disneyland. By the time we had finished out tour there were two buses in the parking lot. Some were on a tour, and some were outside, but at least half of them were competing for space with us in the gift shop. We conceded to their greater need and numbers and made our way to our car. Our next stop was back in Waterbury, Cold Hollow Cider.
We had about an hour’s drive west to Cold Hollow Cider, in Waterbury. It was a lot nicer drive in the sun shine, then at night. Not only could you see, the area was worth seeing. There were lots of farms and the Green Mountains kept getting bigger as we approached. We were both getting a bit excited. I know Margo was looking forward to stay at the Trapp Family Lodge, and so was I. I was anxious to see what $350 per night bought. But, there we still needed to see how apple cider was made.
We arrived, parked and took a picture of the old cider press they had out front I had only the barest idea of what the cider press did. I had no idea of the apple preparation. I figured it was more than piling apples on a plate and then squishing them until cider appeared. As I would find there is more to it than that, I wasn’t very far from the truth.
Cold Hollow Cider, as we quickly discovered, didn’t really have a formal tour. They had a viewing area where you could watch the apple pressing. We found that section of the store/factory after wandering around for 10 minutes or so. Not complaining, mind you. Their store was very interesting and had a large variety of homey and edible items. Plus, the smell of apple cider donuts was making us both hungry. What is an Apple Cider Donut, you ask? A donut made from a special spiced mix and using only apple cider as the only liquid.
We arrived, parked and took a picture of the old cider press they had out front I had only the barest idea of what the cider press did. I had no idea of the apple preparation. I figured it was more than piling apples on a plate and then squishing them until cider appeared. As I would find there is more to it than that, I wasn’t very far from the truth.
Cold Hollow Cider, as we quickly discovered, didn’t really have a formal tour. They had a viewing area where you could watch the apple pressing. We found that section of the store/factory after wandering around for 10 minutes or so. Not complaining, mind you. Their store was very interesting and had a large variety of homey and edible items. Plus, the smell of apple cider donuts was making us both hungry. What is an Apple Cider Donut, you ask? A donut made from a special spiced mix and using only apple cider as the only liquid.
Even though we were both hungry the store itself and the viewing area of the factory seemed to call us more. It did not take long before we were standing in front of the big window watching the two men work. The area we were viewing consisted of a large hefty looking machine to the left, and to the right the two men were building a tower of apples to press. But, as we looked up above the window, we saw several drawings that explained the process, and made it clear that what we were witnessing was the middle of the whole cider making process.
It all starts with a whole bunch of McIntosh apples. Cold Hollow only uses that variety of apple. They get them in by the truckload and store them on site. The apples are washed and the sent into a grinder. I always had pictured apple cider being pressed from a whole apple. I guess I watched too much Gallagher in my youth. But what the apples are instead poured into this grinder and are turned into something resembling mashed potatoes. Now would come the part that we actually get to see. This mashed apple mixture is pumped into the press room via a tube that looks like a vacuum cleaner hose. The press room has a two man crew. Guy #1 operating the vacuum cleaner looks like he has the fun job. He sprays the mixture onto a large (four ft square) plate that is covered with a large cheese cloth. Once he has a good layer of apple mixture, they turn off the pump, and Guy #2 pulls up the sides of the cheese cloth, making an apple dumpling out of the whole thing. Then he throws another plate on top of the first layer, and they start over.
It all starts with a whole bunch of McIntosh apples. Cold Hollow only uses that variety of apple. They get them in by the truckload and store them on site. The apples are washed and the sent into a grinder. I always had pictured apple cider being pressed from a whole apple. I guess I watched too much Gallagher in my youth. But what the apples are instead poured into this grinder and are turned into something resembling mashed potatoes. Now would come the part that we actually get to see. This mashed apple mixture is pumped into the press room via a tube that looks like a vacuum cleaner hose. The press room has a two man crew. Guy #1 operating the vacuum cleaner looks like he has the fun job. He sprays the mixture onto a large (four ft square) plate that is covered with a large cheese cloth. Once he has a good layer of apple mixture, they turn off the pump, and Guy #2 pulls up the sides of the cheese cloth, making an apple dumpling out of the whole thing. Then he throws another plate on top of the first layer, and they start over.
This is repeated many times. As plenty of juice had already been liberated during the grinding process, and the weight of the top layers acts on the bottom layers some juice is already soaking, oozing, and pouring out of the cheese cloth. It runs down the sides and collects in the holding tray that the first plate was stacked on. The holding tray has sides and a hole in which the juice drains. Once the two men have stacked layers about five feet or so high, the real fun begins. The stack is pushed under the large machine in the room. This as we had known all along is the cider press. After the apples where centered, they turn on the hydraulics and the pressing begins. After about five minutes of pressing, and rearranging of cheese cloth to make sure everything is good, then men leave the room while the press does its thing.
It takes about half an hour to compress this over 60 inch tower down to about 1/3 it’s original size. And for the first 5-10 minutes of that juice is coming out in copious amounts. It was quite dramatic at first, but quickly got a little boring.
It takes about half an hour to compress this over 60 inch tower down to about 1/3 it’s original size. And for the first 5-10 minutes of that juice is coming out in copious amounts. It was quite dramatic at first, but quickly got a little boring.
Boring was our signal to go explore the store some more. (Hey, that rhymes.) Plus I wanted a donut. So I got in line and while I waited, I snapped a few pictures to show the donut making process as well. If you have ever been to a Krispy Kreme you have already seen how donuts are made. These are done the same way. Their machine squirts batter into hot oil. The oil is moving like a stream. Well, a stream that is three foot long and 8 inches wide. By the time the donuts have floated to the end, their done. The lady operating it picks the pastries out of the oil with a stick. Then they are shortly gobbled up by some lucky patron.
And as if Apple Cider Donuts were not enough, Cold Hollow also had a machine for making Apple Steamed Hot Dogs. I kid you not. It looked like a normal hot dog steamer, but they used apple cider with the water. I’m not sure what the cider does to the machine, but it makes the steam smell great. The hot dog tasted (like I was going to pass this up) like a hot dog. I didn’t really detect any additional flavor. They did have an apple-corn relish to use as a fixin’. That was something special. I wish I had looked harder to find a jar of that to bring home. Maybe they sell it on their website. Margo had also tried the donuts and a hot dog.
This served as our lunch. We didn’t really feel like looking for some place else to eat anyway. Margo and I wandered around the store for about a half hour. Sometimes together and sometimes separate. But, that was about all we could take. As was the case in Cabot, there were at least two tour buses in the lot, and many geriatrics were also looking at the same stuff and competing for the aisles. We again decided to surrender to their masses.
And as if Apple Cider Donuts were not enough, Cold Hollow also had a machine for making Apple Steamed Hot Dogs. I kid you not. It looked like a normal hot dog steamer, but they used apple cider with the water. I’m not sure what the cider does to the machine, but it makes the steam smell great. The hot dog tasted (like I was going to pass this up) like a hot dog. I didn’t really detect any additional flavor. They did have an apple-corn relish to use as a fixin’. That was something special. I wish I had looked harder to find a jar of that to bring home. Maybe they sell it on their website. Margo had also tried the donuts and a hot dog.
This served as our lunch. We didn’t really feel like looking for some place else to eat anyway. Margo and I wandered around the store for about a half hour. Sometimes together and sometimes separate. But, that was about all we could take. As was the case in Cabot, there were at least two tour buses in the lot, and many geriatrics were also looking at the same stuff and competing for the aisles. We again decided to surrender to their masses.
We liked Cold Hollow and learned a lot. The samples of the cider, over near the pressing room, were enough to convince me to buy at least a small jug. Margo discovered some dog biscuits made from apples. We were told our furry kids back home would just love them. I planned to have the cider with breakfast one day this week. The dogs would have to wait until we got home for theirs. But, it was time to move on. Next stop; The Trapp Family Lodge and the Sound of Music
We left Cold Hollow at about shortly before 2 PM. That put us ahead of schedule. Our destination was our hotel for the night, The Trapp Family Lodge. The name may sound mildly familiar. It comes from the family who started it, George and Maria Von Trapp. You remember the ex-submarine Captain and his eight children, who were joined by a novice nun, to act as a nanny, and then the Captain and the Nun married? The hills are alive with “The Sound of Music”. That’s them. They really existed. When the Von Trapps fled Austria during World War II they went to America. There they had a singing career and eventually bought property in Vermont and started the lodge. They chose Vermont because it reminded them of their home back in Austria.
We left Cold Hollow at about shortly before 2 PM. That put us ahead of schedule. Our destination was our hotel for the night, The Trapp Family Lodge. The name may sound mildly familiar. It comes from the family who started it, George and Maria Von Trapp. You remember the ex-submarine Captain and his eight children, who were joined by a novice nun, to act as a nanny, and then the Captain and the Nun married? The hills are alive with “The Sound of Music”. That’s them. They really existed. When the Von Trapps fled Austria during World War II they went to America. There they had a singing career and eventually bought property in Vermont and started the lodge. They chose Vermont because it reminded them of their home back in Austria.
But, returning to our regularly scheduled program. It was only a leisurely 20 minute drive from Waterbury to Stowe, VT, where the Lodge is located. We had not gone north on VT-100 very far, when we came across several businesses. One of them was a glass shop, Ziemke Glass Blowing Studio The sign under the sign said “Glass Blowing Today” Now who could pass up a man molding molten glass with just his wind and will?. We turned around and in a few minutes we had walked through the door. The owner and glass blower, Glenn Ziemke, was at work in the back. He had set up an observation area where potential customers could watch him create his works of art.
We watched for about twenty minutes as Mr.Ziemke would heat the glass, roll it, shape it, and use the blow pipe to make what looked like a vase take shape. I don’t know anything about blowing glass, but it was obvious that he did. It was fascinating to watch it take shape, and to see how he created the whirled design. After we finished watching we walked into the store portion of his shop and looked around some. There were a lot of pretty items, but they were a bit pricey. But, as there was another customer inside placing a big order, I got over my guilt of not buying something pretty quickly.
We watched for about twenty minutes as Mr.Ziemke would heat the glass, roll it, shape it, and use the blow pipe to make what looked like a vase take shape. I don’t know anything about blowing glass, but it was obvious that he did. It was fascinating to watch it take shape, and to see how he created the whirled design. After we finished watching we walked into the store portion of his shop and looked around some. There were a lot of pretty items, but they were a bit pricey. But, as there was another customer inside placing a big order, I got over my guilt of not buying something pretty quickly.
We left Waterbury, tuned left when we got to Moscow (which is below Stowe, and not in Russia) and headed deeper into the Green Mountains. The directions that I had printed out from Mapquest did not correspond to the signs directing us to the Lodge. We wisely chose to follow the signs and we arrived in short order.
I’m not sure what I was expecting when we pulled into the parking lot, which sits across the street from the hotel. Maybe something made of large logs or perhaps something resembling a Victorian mansion. What I saw was somewhere in between. Not complaining, mind you. The Lodge is very large and has beautiful grounds. It sits up on a hill overlooking a pasture (with Ben and Jerry cows, no doubt), a valley, and the scenic Green Mountains.
We checked in and I immediately inquired about the documentary they show. It is called “The Real Maria” and told Maria’s story, with Maria Von Trapp herself (who looks nothing like Julie Andrews) doing much of story telling. I knew Margo, who loves the movie, would very much want to see it. They had two remaining showing for the day. The first one was at 4:30 PM and the 2nd at 7J0 PM. We planned to do the 7 PM one, so as not to waste our valuable daylight hours. But first we had to find our room.
The lady who checked us in summoned a bellman and cart for us. I’m not used to that. I usually carry my own. But as we had plenty to haul up, it was on the third floor, and it sounded like quite a convoluted path to get from the desk to our bed, I didn’t hesitate long before accepting the offer.
Once up, I discovered to my horror, that the smallest bill I had was just one single, and then $20s. I wasn’t going to tip a $20, and Margo couldn’t come to me rescue either. I ended up giving him the single, and apologizing. I promised to catch up with him later. He acted like it was no problem in the least, so I didn’t feel too bad. I did get the front desk to break a larger bill and I got him a $5 for his trouble.
I’m not sure what I was expecting when we pulled into the parking lot, which sits across the street from the hotel. Maybe something made of large logs or perhaps something resembling a Victorian mansion. What I saw was somewhere in between. Not complaining, mind you. The Lodge is very large and has beautiful grounds. It sits up on a hill overlooking a pasture (with Ben and Jerry cows, no doubt), a valley, and the scenic Green Mountains.
We checked in and I immediately inquired about the documentary they show. It is called “The Real Maria” and told Maria’s story, with Maria Von Trapp herself (who looks nothing like Julie Andrews) doing much of story telling. I knew Margo, who loves the movie, would very much want to see it. They had two remaining showing for the day. The first one was at 4:30 PM and the 2nd at 7J0 PM. We planned to do the 7 PM one, so as not to waste our valuable daylight hours. But first we had to find our room.
The lady who checked us in summoned a bellman and cart for us. I’m not used to that. I usually carry my own. But as we had plenty to haul up, it was on the third floor, and it sounded like quite a convoluted path to get from the desk to our bed, I didn’t hesitate long before accepting the offer.
Once up, I discovered to my horror, that the smallest bill I had was just one single, and then $20s. I wasn’t going to tip a $20, and Margo couldn’t come to me rescue either. I ended up giving him the single, and apologizing. I promised to catch up with him later. He acted like it was no problem in the least, so I didn’t feel too bad. I did get the front desk to break a larger bill and I got him a $5 for his trouble.
There were four things we wanted to accomplish at the Lodge. We wanted to see the Maria documentary. A visit to the Von Trapp Family cemetery was a must. We wanted (needed) to eat dinner, and we (as in my Margo and her imaginary friend) had to get souvenirs. Sundown was about 6 PM. The film was at 7 PM. Dinner could be had until 11 PM at The Lounge. But, the gift shops closed at 5 PM, and we would be gone before it reopened. It was now about 3 PM. That put the gift shop number one on the Hit Parade. About an hour, three shops, and $160 later we had gotten something for everyone who even might be interested in “The Sound of Music”.
Next up was the Von Trapp family cemetery and the beautiful grounds of the lodge. I have a fascination with cemeteries. I always feel when I’m visiting a historical grave that I am somehow closer to the person. It’s like finding the monument puts the stamp of reality to them and the stories told. The cemetery here is very pretty. The Lodge spends a great deal of effort on the flowers and other fauna. We easily found the graves we were looking for, as there were only about ten people buried there.
Next up was the Von Trapp family cemetery and the beautiful grounds of the lodge. I have a fascination with cemeteries. I always feel when I’m visiting a historical grave that I am somehow closer to the person. It’s like finding the monument puts the stamp of reality to them and the stories told. The cemetery here is very pretty. The Lodge spends a great deal of effort on the flowers and other fauna. We easily found the graves we were looking for, as there were only about ten people buried there.
The only disappointing part about the visit to this graveyard was Maria and The Baron’s (George) markers were the old German iron crosses. While traditional, and reasonably rare in the United States, they don’t allow for much information, nor do they look as impressive as a heavy granite memorial. But that did not stop us from snapping a few pictures or paying our respects. We did both and were soon on our way.
With our shopping done and respects paid, we took a short look around the front grounds looking at the plants, shrubs, and trees that add luster and beauty to the place. Margo noticed that they were using cabbages as a decorative plant. They had pruned the leaves in such away as to make them look like large roses. It was like some large tropical flower, in the heart of Vermont. But our stomachs were complaining loudly. We had taken a quickie lunch in Waterbury, and now we wanted real sustenance. The Lounge beckoned.
There are three places to eat on the Trapp property; The Main Dining Room; The Austrian Tea Room, and The Lounge. I like to eat, but I’m not a foodie. My idea of high cuisine is a thick steak. I am of the opinion that sushi is for cats or bait and that most French food sounds a whole lot better than it tastes. I know this makes me some sort of barbarian, but someone has to do it. After looking over the menus (none of which really would have offended Bill the Barbarian), the dress codes, and the prices, The Lounge looked like our best bet.
With our shopping done and respects paid, we took a short look around the front grounds looking at the plants, shrubs, and trees that add luster and beauty to the place. Margo noticed that they were using cabbages as a decorative plant. They had pruned the leaves in such away as to make them look like large roses. It was like some large tropical flower, in the heart of Vermont. But our stomachs were complaining loudly. We had taken a quickie lunch in Waterbury, and now we wanted real sustenance. The Lounge beckoned.
There are three places to eat on the Trapp property; The Main Dining Room; The Austrian Tea Room, and The Lounge. I like to eat, but I’m not a foodie. My idea of high cuisine is a thick steak. I am of the opinion that sushi is for cats or bait and that most French food sounds a whole lot better than it tastes. I know this makes me some sort of barbarian, but someone has to do it. After looking over the menus (none of which really would have offended Bill the Barbarian), the dress codes, and the prices, The Lounge looked like our best bet.
It was still pretty early in the evening for Dinner (shortly after 5 PM), so we nearly had the place to ourselves. We got settled in and looked over the menu. I decided to order the Wiener Schnitzel and Margo had the Trapp Potato. Wiener Schnitzel means Viennese Cutlet and is a breaded veal cutlet. The closest American dish would be a Chicken Fried Steak. I learned all of this after the fact. I ordered it because I had heard of the dish, and while I am a barbarian, I do like to at least try new things. Sometimes these culinary daring-dos work out, like today and the yummy cutlet served with Lingonberry Sauce. And sometimes they don’t, like when I tried Poi in Hawaii. Poi’s closest American dish would be wallpaper paste.
Anyway, Margo’s entrée, the Trapp Potato, was a large Baked Potato (think half a football), split wide open, and filled with Beef Tenderloin, Onions, Peppers, Cheese, and Sour Cream. It tastes as good as it sounds. I know, because Margo couldn’t finish it all, and us barbarians have large appetites. We, (mostly me) finished off with a slice of Black Forest Cake. More yummyness. We finished up and paid the tab.
It came to $71.25. That included the 15% tip that they automatically added in. That bothered me a tad bit, but I usually tip at least that much, so I didn’t let it bother me too much. I don’t think the waiter was too pleased that I didn’t add more to it, but he was only average, so I thought 15% worked out OK. I usually round my tip to the next dollar, but I thought adding 45 cents would be more of an insult than leaving the line blank.
Anyway, Margo’s entrée, the Trapp Potato, was a large Baked Potato (think half a football), split wide open, and filled with Beef Tenderloin, Onions, Peppers, Cheese, and Sour Cream. It tastes as good as it sounds. I know, because Margo couldn’t finish it all, and us barbarians have large appetites. We, (mostly me) finished off with a slice of Black Forest Cake. More yummyness. We finished up and paid the tab.
It came to $71.25. That included the 15% tip that they automatically added in. That bothered me a tad bit, but I usually tip at least that much, so I didn’t let it bother me too much. I don’t think the waiter was too pleased that I didn’t add more to it, but he was only average, so I thought 15% worked out OK. I usually round my tip to the next dollar, but I thought adding 45 cents would be more of an insult than leaving the line blank.
We still had 50 minutes until our documentary started, but after wandering the hotel for a little while, we headed to St George’s Hall to wait for the movie to begin. St Georges Hall is one of their meeting rooms. It had a large projection screen set up at the front and a few dozen chairs set in front of that. We got seats up front and figured that the rest of the crowd would be very jealous. The other six people that showed up didn’t seem too disappointed with what was left
The film lasted about an hour. I learned a number of things about Maria Von Trapp. First the movie got the basics about her and the Baron’s life pretty much right. The actual courtship was closer to an arranged marriage than the love story in the movie. They did flee Austria because of the impeding trouble with the Nazi’s. But rather than leaving in the middle of the night, they took a bus. Maria did not organize the children (none of whose actual names matched the movie) into a group. None of them had any training until a local priest began working with them. They did all have an abundance of natural musical talent, and they eventually began performing in Austria.
By the time the movie was over Margo and I were both dead tired. It had been a long three days with little sleep. So we ended up in bed by 8:30 PM. It would have been 6:30 back home. I don’t think I’ve been to bed that early since I was a baby. I would like to say that we slept like a baby, but our next door neighbor had both a cell phone and alcohol induced hearing loss. When he and his companion got back from a late dinner, we were kept apprised of his travels and conquests on their vacation, while he was out on his balcony. No doubt he was sent there so his wife could get some sleep. That started at about 11 and lasted until after midnight. But after he finally went to bed, we drifted off again and didn’t stir until our alarm went off.
The film lasted about an hour. I learned a number of things about Maria Von Trapp. First the movie got the basics about her and the Baron’s life pretty much right. The actual courtship was closer to an arranged marriage than the love story in the movie. They did flee Austria because of the impeding trouble with the Nazi’s. But rather than leaving in the middle of the night, they took a bus. Maria did not organize the children (none of whose actual names matched the movie) into a group. None of them had any training until a local priest began working with them. They did all have an abundance of natural musical talent, and they eventually began performing in Austria.
By the time the movie was over Margo and I were both dead tired. It had been a long three days with little sleep. So we ended up in bed by 8:30 PM. It would have been 6:30 back home. I don’t think I’ve been to bed that early since I was a baby. I would like to say that we slept like a baby, but our next door neighbor had both a cell phone and alcohol induced hearing loss. When he and his companion got back from a late dinner, we were kept apprised of his travels and conquests on their vacation, while he was out on his balcony. No doubt he was sent there so his wife could get some sleep. That started at about 11 and lasted until after midnight. But after he finally went to bed, we drifted off again and didn’t stir until our alarm went off.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
We needed to get another early start today, as we had a full day planned. Our first major stop was going to be in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, where we planned a number of activities. Time and weather, would dictate how much we could get done. But, in addition to these fun activities I wanted to have a genuine Vermont breakfast. Bacon, Eggs, French Toast with real Maple Syrup, and such. I figured as we would be driving through several little towns on the way to NH, we would be able to make this happen.
We got started sometime around 6:15 AM. The sun is not up yet that time of the morning in October and tried to take a picture of two of the moon over the Trappe Lodge, but there wasn’t enough light for our point and shoot digital cameras.
So we finished loading up and headed north on Vt-100. I figured there would be a small country restaurant beckoning us for breakfast almost immediately. But we didn’t see anything in Stowe. We passed Morrisville about 10 minutes later, nothing off the highway. About 15 minutes later we passed Walcott and Portersville. Again nothing. I was getting a little worried. Not that we wouldn’t find a place to eat. Please, it was only a matter of time before something came along. But, I had my little heart set on a slice of Americana. I didn’t want a just a country breakfast, I wanted a Vermont country breakfast, and we were rapidly running out of Vermont.
We made a quick stop to try to take a sunrise picture or two, but the timing of the sunrise did not coincide with a great picture taking spot, but Margo still got one with some pretty orange clouds. Then it was back in the car. The next two was Hardwick, VT and it was here we saw the sign for The Village Restaurant. So we pulled into the parking lot and made our way inside. It was about what I expected booths and tables. A waitress that had been there for many years and a much younger one, likely just out of school was handling the serving duties. The restaurant wasn’t packed, but it didn’t lack of customers either. It was obvious pretty quickly, that we were the only non-locals. Not unexpected and it wasn’t like we in Nigeria. People gave us one look and went back to their business.
We got started sometime around 6:15 AM. The sun is not up yet that time of the morning in October and tried to take a picture of two of the moon over the Trappe Lodge, but there wasn’t enough light for our point and shoot digital cameras.
So we finished loading up and headed north on Vt-100. I figured there would be a small country restaurant beckoning us for breakfast almost immediately. But we didn’t see anything in Stowe. We passed Morrisville about 10 minutes later, nothing off the highway. About 15 minutes later we passed Walcott and Portersville. Again nothing. I was getting a little worried. Not that we wouldn’t find a place to eat. Please, it was only a matter of time before something came along. But, I had my little heart set on a slice of Americana. I didn’t want a just a country breakfast, I wanted a Vermont country breakfast, and we were rapidly running out of Vermont.
We made a quick stop to try to take a sunrise picture or two, but the timing of the sunrise did not coincide with a great picture taking spot, but Margo still got one with some pretty orange clouds. Then it was back in the car. The next two was Hardwick, VT and it was here we saw the sign for The Village Restaurant. So we pulled into the parking lot and made our way inside. It was about what I expected booths and tables. A waitress that had been there for many years and a much younger one, likely just out of school was handling the serving duties. The restaurant wasn’t packed, but it didn’t lack of customers either. It was obvious pretty quickly, that we were the only non-locals. Not unexpected and it wasn’t like we in Nigeria. People gave us one look and went back to their business.
I ordered French Toast w/ real Maple Syrup, bacon, hash browns, and eggs, over easy. Margo just had French Toast. I have truly fallen in love with real Maple Syrup. Unless that is all that is available and I am dead set on pancakes or French Toast, I won’t be eating the fake stuff again. One thing I did find a bit interesting about my order. Because real Maple Syrup is much more expensive than the imitation syrup, it is rationed. When our order came out, they had a small disposable cup (called a soufflé cup, if you’re interested) with my little portion of genuine Vermont Maple Syrup. It is much too valuable (I say this in truth, not with tongue in cheek) to put a whole bottle on the table.
By the time we were done, I was just a touch disappointed with the overall breakfast experience. Something was missing that I couldn’t put my finger on. The food was good. The service was OK. Not bad, but nothing to distinguish it either. It was probably unrealistic expectations. But, it really didn’t matter in the end. It was still plenty good stuff. Mission accomplished. We had eaten a genuine Vermont breakfast and we were no fortified for the rest of our day. Or at least until lunch time. We paid our bill, got back in the car, and pointed ourselves south on Vt-15.
By the time we were done, I was just a touch disappointed with the overall breakfast experience. Something was missing that I couldn’t put my finger on. The food was good. The service was OK. Not bad, but nothing to distinguish it either. It was probably unrealistic expectations. But, it really didn’t matter in the end. It was still plenty good stuff. Mission accomplished. We had eaten a genuine Vermont breakfast and we were no fortified for the rest of our day. Or at least until lunch time. We paid our bill, got back in the car, and pointed ourselves south on Vt-15.
Our next stop was unscheduled and even unplanned. Our first “real” destination of the day was the Ariel Tram at Cannon Mountain, NH, in Franconia Notch State Park. That was about a two hour drive from Hardwick, the normal amount of time Margo and I usually spend in the car before one of decides we have to pee. It sucks getting old, but short of wearing Depends or a catheter, what are you gonna do?
But, I digress. We had only driven about an hour, when we reached the Vermont/New Hampshire border. And as soon as we did we came upon a very picturesque valley and view of Moore Reservoir. What was equally important is that the great state of New Hampshire had chosen this spot to put a Welcome Center, so it was almost impossible for us to just drive by. We pulled off Interstate 93 and into the parking lot and went immediately to the task of try to take a few good pictures.
Moore Reservoir, I later found out, was created by placing an earthen dam, Moore Dam, across the Connecticut River, back in the 1950s. We did not see the dam. I’m not even sure if it was visible from the Welcome Center. But, it was very beautiful and the weather was cooperating very nicely today. The weather reports of just a week earlier had suggested today was going to be cloudy, maybe even some rain or snow, and grey. But, it wasn’t the morning was cool, but not cold, with a brilliant blue sky, and plenty of sunshine. I don’t know enough about photography to tell you if these are prime conditions, but if they’re not, I’d settle for what we got.
But, I digress. We had only driven about an hour, when we reached the Vermont/New Hampshire border. And as soon as we did we came upon a very picturesque valley and view of Moore Reservoir. What was equally important is that the great state of New Hampshire had chosen this spot to put a Welcome Center, so it was almost impossible for us to just drive by. We pulled off Interstate 93 and into the parking lot and went immediately to the task of try to take a few good pictures.
Moore Reservoir, I later found out, was created by placing an earthen dam, Moore Dam, across the Connecticut River, back in the 1950s. We did not see the dam. I’m not even sure if it was visible from the Welcome Center. But, it was very beautiful and the weather was cooperating very nicely today. The weather reports of just a week earlier had suggested today was going to be cloudy, maybe even some rain or snow, and grey. But, it wasn’t the morning was cool, but not cold, with a brilliant blue sky, and plenty of sunshine. I don’t know enough about photography to tell you if these are prime conditions, but if they’re not, I’d settle for what we got.
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We took as many pictures as we figured we could without running too much of a risk of repetition, and then we headed inside. Kretzer Rule #1 for Road Trips states that if you stop, you go to the bathroom. So we did. But, we also had the opportunity to grab some flyers for the places we planned to visit in the state park and a New Hampshire map. You can never have enough maps. You might not always have the right one, but you increase the odds if you don’t pass a free one by.
We probably only spent 15 or 20 minutes at the Welcome Center, but we really did need to get moving. I had wanted to be at Cannon Mountain when it opened at 9:00 AM. It was already half an hour past that, and we still had another 20 minutes or so of driving. But, it was definitely worth the time spent.
We left the Welcome Center and continued south on I-93. Twenty minutes later we were pulling into the parking lot at Cannon Mountain. The reason for this stop was to take the aerial tram to the top of Cannon Mountain and take in the view of the White Mountains. Margo and I had made this week long trip to see the world famous fall foliage and were hoping for some spectacular scenery. We had missed peak here in Franconia Notch (a notch, by the way, is gap between mountains. We know them as a “pass” here in Colorado. It’s the easiest way to gain passage through mountains), but it was still beautiful.
We probably only spent 15 or 20 minutes at the Welcome Center, but we really did need to get moving. I had wanted to be at Cannon Mountain when it opened at 9:00 AM. It was already half an hour past that, and we still had another 20 minutes or so of driving. But, it was definitely worth the time spent.
We left the Welcome Center and continued south on I-93. Twenty minutes later we were pulling into the parking lot at Cannon Mountain. The reason for this stop was to take the aerial tram to the top of Cannon Mountain and take in the view of the White Mountains. Margo and I had made this week long trip to see the world famous fall foliage and were hoping for some spectacular scenery. We had missed peak here in Franconia Notch (a notch, by the way, is gap between mountains. We know them as a “pass” here in Colorado. It’s the easiest way to gain passage through mountains), but it was still beautiful.
We bought our tickets and some batteries for the cameras. It’s amazing how quick you blow through them, and we didn’t know if there would be any for sale up top. The tram arrived shortly, and we and about ten of our newest friends climbed in. If you have never taken a trip to the top of a mountain, you will likely be surprised by two things. One, it’s cold. If it was pleasant at the bottom of the hill, when you get to the top it’s chilly. If it was chilly, then the top is cold. If the bottom is cold, you’re an idiot for going to the top.
Fall in New Hampshire has its ranges, and today was below pleasant (upper 50s, but climbing), so the top was a bit chilly. Number two is the wind will almost certainly be blowing. Calm days at elevation are not very common. Today was no exception, but it wasn’t too bad.
Our ride up had come with a tour as well. The ranger on duty was very good about telling us some of the history of the area, and pointing out various geological and geographical features. One of the geographical being that on a clear day, which today was, you could see four states (NH, VT, ME, & NY) and Canada. Covering geology we learned a little bit about the Old Man of the Mountain.I wish we had been here a week earlier. The color would have been something.
Fall in New Hampshire has its ranges, and today was below pleasant (upper 50s, but climbing), so the top was a bit chilly. Number two is the wind will almost certainly be blowing. Calm days at elevation are not very common. Today was no exception, but it wasn’t too bad.
Our ride up had come with a tour as well. The ranger on duty was very good about telling us some of the history of the area, and pointing out various geological and geographical features. One of the geographical being that on a clear day, which today was, you could see four states (NH, VT, ME, & NY) and Canada. Covering geology we learned a little bit about the Old Man of the Mountain.I wish we had been here a week earlier. The color would have been something.
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Obligatory description of what I learned. The Old Man of the Mountain was a granite silhouette of a man with a very prominent chin that juts off of Profile Mountain and overlooks Profile Lake. The natural granite formation is very much beloved in New Hampshire. The Old Man is on the back of New Hampshire’s state quarter. Daniel Webster said words to the effect of;
“Whereas men hang a picture of a shoe in front of a cobbler shop to show that shoes are made here, God had hung a picture of a man to show what men are made of in New Hampshire”.
Very cool words. Unfortunately despite much effort to starve off the effects of gravity and weather, the Old Man collapsed back in 2003. I would have liked to have seen the Old Man, but we were five years too late. The people of New Hampshire are working up some sort of park that will recreate the view, using an optical illusion created by five ground level silhouettes. I’d like to see that one day.
Once at top we walked around the viewing area and saw all there was too see. There was a trail that let to a viewing tower. Since viewing is what I came to the top of the mountain to do, I was going to do walk on over. Margo was not. My wife likes uphill walks and stairs almost as much as cats like to take baths. She decided to wait inside the mountain top café, out of the wind, cold, and away from evil stairs. We had a small snack before I left.
“Whereas men hang a picture of a shoe in front of a cobbler shop to show that shoes are made here, God had hung a picture of a man to show what men are made of in New Hampshire”.
Very cool words. Unfortunately despite much effort to starve off the effects of gravity and weather, the Old Man collapsed back in 2003. I would have liked to have seen the Old Man, but we were five years too late. The people of New Hampshire are working up some sort of park that will recreate the view, using an optical illusion created by five ground level silhouettes. I’d like to see that one day.
Once at top we walked around the viewing area and saw all there was too see. There was a trail that let to a viewing tower. Since viewing is what I came to the top of the mountain to do, I was going to do walk on over. Margo was not. My wife likes uphill walks and stairs almost as much as cats like to take baths. She decided to wait inside the mountain top café, out of the wind, cold, and away from evil stairs. We had a small snack before I left.
The walk wasn’t too bad. It was about a quarter mile, and the grade was pretty easily. The viewing platform, built around a radio antenna, had four flights of stairs. The elevation shouldn’t have bothered me. Where I live in Colorado, the elevation is already 4200 ft. Cannon Mountain is only 4100 feet above sea level. But, climbing those stairs had me breathing hard by the time the last tread had been conquered. The view was better than what I had seen a couple hundred feet lower, but it was just too cold and windy to really enjoy, so I didn’t linger.
The walk down was hindered somewhat by a couple who were older, and much less fit than I am. (The bar isn’t set too high here). But, they found a spot to rest and I got around them. I met Margo and she asked how it was. I wanted to lie and say it was a life altering experience, and that she should kick herself forever for passing up, but I didn’t. We made our way to the tram and rode back down.
The walk down was hindered somewhat by a couple who were older, and much less fit than I am. (The bar isn’t set too high here). But, they found a spot to rest and I got around them. I met Margo and she asked how it was. I wanted to lie and say it was a life altering experience, and that she should kick herself forever for passing up, but I didn’t. We made our way to the tram and rode back down.
Our original plan, after conquering Cannon Mountain, was to drive down to the Lost River Reservation and tour that area. But, this attraction, while fun sounding, also was more geared towards warmer weather and was probably at the limits of what Margo likes to do, physically. So as we were running behind, sidetracked by the beauty we had encountered along the day’s drive, we decided to skip it and head straight to the Hobo Railroad, where we planned to take a scenic drive.
Hobo Railroad is located in Lincoln, NH.Margo and I have ridden many railroads in our travels. We find them relaxing, and a good way to seen the countryside. Most of those that we end up riding are old steam engines that were built at least a hundred years ago. I didn’t know what type of train we would be riding on, but judging by both some unflattering reviews online (not Travbuddy) and the price of the tickets ($12.00). I was expecting something small, cheesy, or both.
We arrived, parked, and got our tickets. Outside they had various railcars parked on auxiliary tracks. They all looked over fairly recent vintage, but that did not mean anything. We have seen many companies that had a collection of odd and disjointed rail inventory. I took a quick look at the tracks and saw that they were standard gauge. That told me that at least it would be a full size train. The whole trip was supposed to be 1 ½ hours. That’s not very long as fare a train trips go, so I figured that must be why our tickets were only $12 per ticket.
We still had about 45 minutes until we were supposed to board and begin our trip.The depot has a nice gift shop and sold drinks and snacks. We were a little hungry, so we decided grab something, plus a drink. When I travel this great nation I like to sample local cuisine and food. When we were in Hawaii, I made a point of trying poi (tastes like wallpaper paste), and when in Wisconsin I made sure I had a slice of apple pie, with cheddar cheese (Yummy!)
In the self serve drink cooler was a bright orange can that said “MOXIE since 1884”. I thought “Well, if it’s been around for better than 120 years, it must be some good stuff”. Cue the buzzer. Wrong answer. To me it tasted like a Root Beer that had gone bad. It was somewhat bitter to start with and then the after taste even more so. Margo was looking when I took a drink of mine, and when she saw the face I made, she didn’t even bother to open her can. She sent me back to gift shop to swap it out for a Pepsi. I later found out that Moxie is the state beverage of Maine. Those Mainers must be stout people.
Hobo Railroad is located in Lincoln, NH.Margo and I have ridden many railroads in our travels. We find them relaxing, and a good way to seen the countryside. Most of those that we end up riding are old steam engines that were built at least a hundred years ago. I didn’t know what type of train we would be riding on, but judging by both some unflattering reviews online (not Travbuddy) and the price of the tickets ($12.00). I was expecting something small, cheesy, or both.
We arrived, parked, and got our tickets. Outside they had various railcars parked on auxiliary tracks. They all looked over fairly recent vintage, but that did not mean anything. We have seen many companies that had a collection of odd and disjointed rail inventory. I took a quick look at the tracks and saw that they were standard gauge. That told me that at least it would be a full size train. The whole trip was supposed to be 1 ½ hours. That’s not very long as fare a train trips go, so I figured that must be why our tickets were only $12 per ticket.
We still had about 45 minutes until we were supposed to board and begin our trip.The depot has a nice gift shop and sold drinks and snacks. We were a little hungry, so we decided grab something, plus a drink. When I travel this great nation I like to sample local cuisine and food. When we were in Hawaii, I made a point of trying poi (tastes like wallpaper paste), and when in Wisconsin I made sure I had a slice of apple pie, with cheddar cheese (Yummy!)
In the self serve drink cooler was a bright orange can that said “MOXIE since 1884”. I thought “Well, if it’s been around for better than 120 years, it must be some good stuff”. Cue the buzzer. Wrong answer. To me it tasted like a Root Beer that had gone bad. It was somewhat bitter to start with and then the after taste even more so. Margo was looking when I took a drink of mine, and when she saw the face I made, she didn’t even bother to open her can. She sent me back to gift shop to swap it out for a Pepsi. I later found out that Moxie is the state beverage of Maine. Those Mainers must be stout people.
We wandered around the gift shop and as it got closer to dispatch time several bus loads of people showed up. This had long since become a pattern in our New England travels. Every attraction that we visited depended on tourists (obviously) for their livelihood. But, they all also heavily catered to chartered groups. As the gift shop began to get crowded Margo and I went outside, to play.
Hobo Railroad caters to families, too. They had a nice little playground with an elementary school sized swing. As the busloads that had recently pulled up were full of retirees they did not seem too interested in the playground. We had it, and the swings, all to ourselves. So we pretended like we were 40 years younger and swung (is that a word?) for a bit. I went much higher than Margo did. NaneeNanee. There were also some wooden cutouts for fun photos, and we took a couple of pictures, pretending like it was really fun.
About this time our train pulled up and we could not fail to notice that it was a modern diesel electric locomotive. We also did not fail to notice that it was pulling only three cars. There seemed to be a lot of people for just that amount of room. We wandered back in and overheard (Is it really eavesdropping if you are supposed to hear the information?) that there were two tour groups. Each one would be given a separate car. We orphans would have the third. It turned out to be more than just Margo & I in the third car, but we still had plenty of room.
“All aboard!” was called so we aboarded and found a seat. The only bad news about our seating arrangements was that our car did not have any dining tables. Yes, I know. Poor baby. But, the porter/conductor/tour guide did tell us that come lunch time we were free to move back to one of the other cars to eat. Margo and I had a whole bench seat for each of us (they faced each other, so we sat separate) and the seats across the aisle from us were also empty. Lunch was to be a sandwich, chips, and a drink.
The tour guide/conductor/porter then informed us that one of the tour groups was from Quebec and spoke only French. So, come lunchtime, we could either move to another crowded car and sit with people we couldn’t understand, or we could remain where we where and place our lunch beside us, while we watched the countryside go by. Life is full of tough choices.
Hobo Railroad caters to families, too. They had a nice little playground with an elementary school sized swing. As the busloads that had recently pulled up were full of retirees they did not seem too interested in the playground. We had it, and the swings, all to ourselves. So we pretended like we were 40 years younger and swung (is that a word?) for a bit. I went much higher than Margo did. NaneeNanee. There were also some wooden cutouts for fun photos, and we took a couple of pictures, pretending like it was really fun.
About this time our train pulled up and we could not fail to notice that it was a modern diesel electric locomotive. We also did not fail to notice that it was pulling only three cars. There seemed to be a lot of people for just that amount of room. We wandered back in and overheard (Is it really eavesdropping if you are supposed to hear the information?) that there were two tour groups. Each one would be given a separate car. We orphans would have the third. It turned out to be more than just Margo & I in the third car, but we still had plenty of room.
“All aboard!” was called so we aboarded and found a seat. The only bad news about our seating arrangements was that our car did not have any dining tables. Yes, I know. Poor baby. But, the porter/conductor/tour guide did tell us that come lunch time we were free to move back to one of the other cars to eat. Margo and I had a whole bench seat for each of us (they faced each other, so we sat separate) and the seats across the aisle from us were also empty. Lunch was to be a sandwich, chips, and a drink.
The tour guide/conductor/porter then informed us that one of the tour groups was from Quebec and spoke only French. So, come lunchtime, we could either move to another crowded car and sit with people we couldn’t understand, or we could remain where we where and place our lunch beside us, while we watched the countryside go by. Life is full of tough choices.
The train left the station and we and soon saw were abreast of the Pemigewasset River. The Pemigewasset is not very large, but it is very pretty. Throughout the course of this trip it would be the focal point for most of our pictures. The river, the foliage, and the White Mountains made for some of the best pictures we were to take on the whole trip.
As it was already lunchtime when we left the station, they started to serve lunch just minutes after we left the station. The big draw for eating on the train was not the food or even the time of day. It was that it was to be served Hobo style, wrapped in a cloth and tied to a stick.
When it came we were mildly disappointed in that lunch was not served Hobo style, but came wrapped in plastic. The guide told us that they had grown too big to make the sandwiches that quickly and still put them in the cloth and tie them up to a stick. But, they did wrap up a paper plate in a purple bandana, tied that to a stick, and presented it to us with lunch. We considered that an apt substitute, so we weren’t too heartbroken.
As it was already lunchtime when we left the station, they started to serve lunch just minutes after we left the station. The big draw for eating on the train was not the food or even the time of day. It was that it was to be served Hobo style, wrapped in a cloth and tied to a stick.
When it came we were mildly disappointed in that lunch was not served Hobo style, but came wrapped in plastic. The guide told us that they had grown too big to make the sandwiches that quickly and still put them in the cloth and tie them up to a stick. But, they did wrap up a paper plate in a purple bandana, tied that to a stick, and presented it to us with lunch. We considered that an apt substitute, so we weren’t too heartbroken.
The ride to the turn around spot went pretty quickly. It was just as expected, beautiful, peaceful, and relaxing. The spot where we turned around (technically, they just threw the locomotive into reverse) was very scenic. The Hobo railroad had chosen The Jack O Lantern Golf Course in Woodstock, NH as the spot to begin the trip back. With the flat openness of the course, decorated with the occasional tree, the lush green grass, and the color splashed White Mountains in the background, it made for a great visual.
The trip back went quickly, too. We took fewer pictures and enjoyed the scenery more. We got back to the station and both of us wished it could have been a little longer. But for the price we paid, we figured we got a bargain and we left with a smile on our face and fond memories of the Hobo Railroad.
We pulled out of the parking lot at Hobo Railroad and made a left onto Main Street and we were at our next destination of the day. This destination was more like a journey. Main Street is also NH State Highway 112, known as the Kancamagus Highway, or The Kanc. The Kanc has the reputation of being one of the most scenic highways in all of New Hampshire. And in the fall, that means in the whole world. As seeing beautiful scenery is what we had in mind, we made taking a drive on this highway a priority.
The trip back went quickly, too. We took fewer pictures and enjoyed the scenery more. We got back to the station and both of us wished it could have been a little longer. But for the price we paid, we figured we got a bargain and we left with a smile on our face and fond memories of the Hobo Railroad.
We pulled out of the parking lot at Hobo Railroad and made a left onto Main Street and we were at our next destination of the day. This destination was more like a journey. Main Street is also NH State Highway 112, known as the Kancamagus Highway, or The Kanc. The Kanc has the reputation of being one of the most scenic highways in all of New Hampshire. And in the fall, that means in the whole world. As seeing beautiful scenery is what we had in mind, we made taking a drive on this highway a priority.
The Kanc starts by making a 10 mile climb to Kancamagus Pass, elevation 2860 feet. We drove the speed limit these first 10 miles. There was very little traffic and while the scenery was good, there wasn’t much that told us we should pull over. And then when we did see something that inspired up to gape, there was no safe place to pull over. When you are on a winding mountain road, you do not just pull over. You risk life, limb, and insurance deductible.
After we crested the pass and started the down hill leg, the scenery improved. As mentioned before we had missed the peak of the foliage fireworks, and had to settle for the waning display. But, conditions on the east side of the pass allowed for the leaves to linger a bit longer. As the colors brightened and became for eye catching, Margo’s pace slowed down. (She drove. I’m a more aggressive driver, so she gets the wheel duty in any place that might get aggravating or requires a slower pace). We began scanning every turn in the road for a place to pull over.
Well, that isn’t exactly accurate. We were both looking for a place to pull over or into. But, she was driving and waiting for me to make the decision when to stop and check out the scenery. Her thought was I had planned this trip, driving on the Kancmangus was my idea, so where we stopped was my decision. My thought was it all looked pretty good and any place was fine with me. Did you ever hear old married couples explain that they had gotten to the point where they could basically read each other’s mind? Margo and I have been married for 21 years. We aren’t there yet. We passed several places before the decision making hierarchy was firmly established.
We ended up pulling over just three times. But, that worked out fine. The first place, which I failed to note its name, was little more than a wide spot in the road. But, we did take some nice pictures, including the one I used as the photo for this entire blog. We only linger for about ten or fifteen minutes before moving on.
After we crested the pass and started the down hill leg, the scenery improved. As mentioned before we had missed the peak of the foliage fireworks, and had to settle for the waning display. But, conditions on the east side of the pass allowed for the leaves to linger a bit longer. As the colors brightened and became for eye catching, Margo’s pace slowed down. (She drove. I’m a more aggressive driver, so she gets the wheel duty in any place that might get aggravating or requires a slower pace). We began scanning every turn in the road for a place to pull over.
Well, that isn’t exactly accurate. We were both looking for a place to pull over or into. But, she was driving and waiting for me to make the decision when to stop and check out the scenery. Her thought was I had planned this trip, driving on the Kancmangus was my idea, so where we stopped was my decision. My thought was it all looked pretty good and any place was fine with me. Did you ever hear old married couples explain that they had gotten to the point where they could basically read each other’s mind? Margo and I have been married for 21 years. We aren’t there yet. We passed several places before the decision making hierarchy was firmly established.
We ended up pulling over just three times. But, that worked out fine. The first place, which I failed to note its name, was little more than a wide spot in the road. But, we did take some nice pictures, including the one I used as the photo for this entire blog. We only linger for about ten or fifteen minutes before moving on.
By now I was using a map that I had brought that listed the overlooks and other places to stop, so I could give Margo advanced warning. The next stop that we came to was an overlook, which again I failed to note its name. I hate it when I do that. I also hate when I forget to take pictures. Something’s are obvious. You see the sunrise, take a picture. But, when something out of ordinary happens (see my discovery of Moxie in Lincoln, NH) and I develop amnesia. But, I digress.
The stop had a parking lot, and a concrete and stone overlook. The view was into a valley, mostly obscured by near by trees, but still impressive. Margo and I walked and took pictures. We posed for pictures. We sat and took pictures. We took pictures of each other. After we felt that each leave had had its chance to smile for us, we climbed back into the Calibre and continued east.
Our last stop on The Kanc, turned out to be our most memorable. This stop was called Lower Falls. I know this because I managed to capture the sign for it, while taking a picture in the parking lot. I don’t recall if this was intentional or not, but I’m still proud of myself for finally knowing where I was at.
Lower Falls had a trail that led down to the Swift River. The Swift River is a small mountain river filled with granite boulders of varying sizes and shapes. The river is carved through the granite. All of this makes for very picturesque scenery and a bit of fun climbing on the rocks. That is exactly what Margo and I did. Not only did we have lot of leaves that wanted to be in our photos, but now we had many rocks that insisted we take their pictures, too. Who were we to say no to such pretty stones?
The stop had a parking lot, and a concrete and stone overlook. The view was into a valley, mostly obscured by near by trees, but still impressive. Margo and I walked and took pictures. We posed for pictures. We sat and took pictures. We took pictures of each other. After we felt that each leave had had its chance to smile for us, we climbed back into the Calibre and continued east.
Our last stop on The Kanc, turned out to be our most memorable. This stop was called Lower Falls. I know this because I managed to capture the sign for it, while taking a picture in the parking lot. I don’t recall if this was intentional or not, but I’m still proud of myself for finally knowing where I was at.
Lower Falls had a trail that led down to the Swift River. The Swift River is a small mountain river filled with granite boulders of varying sizes and shapes. The river is carved through the granite. All of this makes for very picturesque scenery and a bit of fun climbing on the rocks. That is exactly what Margo and I did. Not only did we have lot of leaves that wanted to be in our photos, but now we had many rocks that insisted we take their pictures, too. Who were we to say no to such pretty stones?
We must have spent another 20-30 minutes climbing around on the boulders, and pretending we were kids again. Granted, we were fat, old, and decrepit kids, but kids none the less. But, all too soon we had to leave. Our original plan was to spend a few hours shopping at the shops in Conway. But, we spent too much time in Franconia, and Lincoln, and now on The Kanc. We didn’t regret one second of it. Nor did I care that we weren’t going to traipse around a retail plaza or discount shops looking at stuff I didn’t have to fly half way across the country to see. Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner.
We pulled out of the parking lot at the Lower Falls stop and proceeded west. We had about another 10 minutes until we came to the end of the Kanc and after that the end of New Hampshire. It was a little hard to believe all of the ground we had covered, and the things we had seen. But, now we were firmly on the downhill side of our day. It was about 4:30 PM. Had we been on schedule we would be stopping in North Conway for shopping, but as we had used up that time, we would be heading straight to our last stop of the day, Portland, Maine.
On my own personal bucket list (which I have had for 9 years now) I have as #67, “Eat a Maine Lobster, in Maine”. So it was obvious that this would be the trip to make it happen. It was a two hour drive from Conway to Portland, but it didn’t seem that long. Every little town was as picturesque as the last. The only thing marring the finish, both visually and audibly were the constant yard signs and campaign ads for the upcoming election. The McCain signs were everywhere in Maine. I immediately wondered if this was an indication of his support. But, I came to the conclusion that it was a contra indicator. All of the McCain people were going above and beyond to show their support. While the Obama people were (not quietly) confident and didn’t boast a lot with signs.
Anyway, the two hour trip went pretty quick and we found our hotel for the night, The La Quinta Inn on Park Ave, pretty easy. It was a bit of a chore to get to it, after finding it, due to the one way streets, but we found the right approach on our second try. The plan was to check in and dump most of our luggage at the hotel and then head to docks for a lobster.
When I set this goal of enjoying a Maine lobster, you kind of need some background to understand. First, I am not a big seafood guy. I just never like the taste of fish. The company I work for at one time serviced Red Lobster, so I made a point of at least eating there to give it a try. I had a lobster tail. My response was “Ahhhh, nothing special. But, then I got to thinking. I live in Colorado. We a few thousand miles from the nearest lobster waters and the closest indigenous seafood we have are Rocky Mountain Oysters.
So I naturally figured that having a frozen lobster tail from a chain restaurant was not giving the crustacean a fair shake. Hence, the goal, Eat a Maine Lobster, in Maine. Factor in that I chose to eat at DiMillo’s, a converted ferry boat, that’s sitting in the water, in Portland Harbor. I figured I couldn’t get a lobster much fresher. If I didn’t like this lobster, it was then official. I’m not a lobster lover.
We had called ahead to add our name to the waiting list, but we didn’t have to wait more than 5 minutes before we were seated. I would like to say that Margo and I took lots of pictures, documenting the décor, and outside of the restaurant, the wait staff, and the food. But, we had had a full day and taking pictures didn’t enter into our minds. We will have to do better on subsequent trips. Anyway, we got seated, got our drinks, and soon ordered. I got a small lobster, 1 ½ lbs. I didn’t want to over do it, even if I liked it. My Dad was allergic to shrimp. I had previously eaten both shrimp and lobster, and never suffered any ill effects. But, my stomach was still unsure about all of this. There is even something about the smell of seafood that seems to set me off. Margo got a steak.
The waitress came back in short order with our meals. Now I had found instructions on how to eat a lobster. My only other experience had been with a tail, and that wasn’t very difficult to figure out. Now, I just looked at it and thought, “Where do I start?” I had casually, but with fore thought, mentioned to my waitress that this was my first lobster. So the blank look on my face gave her a hint, and she asked if I needed help. Yes, I do. So she did some of the work, and told me what parts were edible (most anything you can dig out), and what to avoid. (Most anything that didn’t look white). So after a quick minute culinary tour, I was ready to start.
Margo was enjoying the whole spectacle of things. I could not tell if she was rooting for a huge smile on my face, or projectile vomiting. But, after the first couple of bites she had her answer. “Ahhhh, Nothing special” The verdict was in. I just don’t care for lobster. But, I had ordered it and it wasn’t bad so I finished most of the meat, dunking each piece in the butter sauce provided. The only thing left was to discover if my stomach would reject this unfamiliar meal.
We paid (I left a nice tip) and continued with our original plan for the evening. We walked across the street and headed in the Old Port district to see if anything was open. We soon had our answer. Not much. The bars were open, but it was after 8 PM, by now and all of the shops were closed. I had planned to have a beer at Gritty McDuffs, a bar I had seen featured on TV. But, after we walked in, I just didn’t feel like it. I was tired, and I was still worried about my stomach. I wasn’t acting up, but it didn’t really feel settled either. I decided to be safe rather than sorry. So we turned around and left.
That was the end of our night in Portland and the end of a very long day. I never did get sick, and the uneasy feeling had passed soon after we got to our hotel. So while, I maybe a seafood wuss, at least my stomach isn’t. Tomorrow we would head south to Massachusetts, and a visit to see the capital of Halloween.
We pulled out of the parking lot at the Lower Falls stop and proceeded west. We had about another 10 minutes until we came to the end of the Kanc and after that the end of New Hampshire. It was a little hard to believe all of the ground we had covered, and the things we had seen. But, now we were firmly on the downhill side of our day. It was about 4:30 PM. Had we been on schedule we would be stopping in North Conway for shopping, but as we had used up that time, we would be heading straight to our last stop of the day, Portland, Maine.
On my own personal bucket list (which I have had for 9 years now) I have as #67, “Eat a Maine Lobster, in Maine”. So it was obvious that this would be the trip to make it happen. It was a two hour drive from Conway to Portland, but it didn’t seem that long. Every little town was as picturesque as the last. The only thing marring the finish, both visually and audibly were the constant yard signs and campaign ads for the upcoming election. The McCain signs were everywhere in Maine. I immediately wondered if this was an indication of his support. But, I came to the conclusion that it was a contra indicator. All of the McCain people were going above and beyond to show their support. While the Obama people were (not quietly) confident and didn’t boast a lot with signs.
Anyway, the two hour trip went pretty quick and we found our hotel for the night, The La Quinta Inn on Park Ave, pretty easy. It was a bit of a chore to get to it, after finding it, due to the one way streets, but we found the right approach on our second try. The plan was to check in and dump most of our luggage at the hotel and then head to docks for a lobster.
When I set this goal of enjoying a Maine lobster, you kind of need some background to understand. First, I am not a big seafood guy. I just never like the taste of fish. The company I work for at one time serviced Red Lobster, so I made a point of at least eating there to give it a try. I had a lobster tail. My response was “Ahhhh, nothing special. But, then I got to thinking. I live in Colorado. We a few thousand miles from the nearest lobster waters and the closest indigenous seafood we have are Rocky Mountain Oysters.
So I naturally figured that having a frozen lobster tail from a chain restaurant was not giving the crustacean a fair shake. Hence, the goal, Eat a Maine Lobster, in Maine. Factor in that I chose to eat at DiMillo’s, a converted ferry boat, that’s sitting in the water, in Portland Harbor. I figured I couldn’t get a lobster much fresher. If I didn’t like this lobster, it was then official. I’m not a lobster lover.
We had called ahead to add our name to the waiting list, but we didn’t have to wait more than 5 minutes before we were seated. I would like to say that Margo and I took lots of pictures, documenting the décor, and outside of the restaurant, the wait staff, and the food. But, we had had a full day and taking pictures didn’t enter into our minds. We will have to do better on subsequent trips. Anyway, we got seated, got our drinks, and soon ordered. I got a small lobster, 1 ½ lbs. I didn’t want to over do it, even if I liked it. My Dad was allergic to shrimp. I had previously eaten both shrimp and lobster, and never suffered any ill effects. But, my stomach was still unsure about all of this. There is even something about the smell of seafood that seems to set me off. Margo got a steak.
The waitress came back in short order with our meals. Now I had found instructions on how to eat a lobster. My only other experience had been with a tail, and that wasn’t very difficult to figure out. Now, I just looked at it and thought, “Where do I start?” I had casually, but with fore thought, mentioned to my waitress that this was my first lobster. So the blank look on my face gave her a hint, and she asked if I needed help. Yes, I do. So she did some of the work, and told me what parts were edible (most anything you can dig out), and what to avoid. (Most anything that didn’t look white). So after a quick minute culinary tour, I was ready to start.
Margo was enjoying the whole spectacle of things. I could not tell if she was rooting for a huge smile on my face, or projectile vomiting. But, after the first couple of bites she had her answer. “Ahhhh, Nothing special” The verdict was in. I just don’t care for lobster. But, I had ordered it and it wasn’t bad so I finished most of the meat, dunking each piece in the butter sauce provided. The only thing left was to discover if my stomach would reject this unfamiliar meal.
We paid (I left a nice tip) and continued with our original plan for the evening. We walked across the street and headed in the Old Port district to see if anything was open. We soon had our answer. Not much. The bars were open, but it was after 8 PM, by now and all of the shops were closed. I had planned to have a beer at Gritty McDuffs, a bar I had seen featured on TV. But, after we walked in, I just didn’t feel like it. I was tired, and I was still worried about my stomach. I wasn’t acting up, but it didn’t really feel settled either. I decided to be safe rather than sorry. So we turned around and left.
That was the end of our night in Portland and the end of a very long day. I never did get sick, and the uneasy feeling had passed soon after we got to our hotel. So while, I maybe a seafood wuss, at least my stomach isn’t. Tomorrow we would head south to Massachusetts, and a visit to see the capital of Halloween.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
I was genuinely sorry to be leaving this morning. We had only been in Maine for 12 hours plus some drive time. In no real measure had we given the state its due. I would have loved to head north and take in Augusta, the capital. Then, east to Stephen King’s stomping ground of Bangor. An eastward jog to Acadia National Park, and then we would see some of the coast to take in some lighthouses. But, sacrifices had to be made, and most of Maine got the ax. Sorry, Maine. I hope I am able to make it back someday.
We jumped on I-95, under overcast and slightly wet conditions. We had had pretty good weather to this point, and I was very thankful that today’s weather came today, instead of yesterday when we had so many outdoor activities. It wasn’t long before we passed the exit for Kennebunkport, the retreat for the Bush family. Another casualty, as I would have liked to see what the allure was. Chances are that allure included summer sunshine, so it was just as well.
We soon crossed in to New Hampshire, where we paid a toll, presumedly not for the privilege of entering The Granite State. Out itinerary today is full. We are making our first stop at Gloucester, MA. Then after spending an hour or so there, we continue down the coast to Salem, MA. After most of the day in Salem, we drive past Boston and end the day with a lantern tour of Plymouth, MA. Another full day.
The weather dried out as we headed south, but the sun was not making much of an appearance. As we approached Gloucester, I reviewed our itinerary for the city. We planned to head to the Welcome Center at Stage Fort Park, look around there for a few minutes and then walk up the beach to our primary destination, the Man at the Wheel statue.
The Man at the Wheel statue was made most famous by the movie Perfect Storm. It depicts a man, in rain gear holding a ship’s wheel, while studying the sea and leaning hard against the wheel for balance. He looks to be confronting a heavy storm. Gorton’s, the fish company, uses something similar for their logo. “Trust the Gorton fishermen” Anyway I admired the courage and rugged individualism of these fishermen, and thought seeing the tribute (the statue is part of the Fishermen’s Memorial) would be interesting. That was really our only plan, and then we would head to Salem, and hunt for witches.
We jumped on I-95, under overcast and slightly wet conditions. We had had pretty good weather to this point, and I was very thankful that today’s weather came today, instead of yesterday when we had so many outdoor activities. It wasn’t long before we passed the exit for Kennebunkport, the retreat for the Bush family. Another casualty, as I would have liked to see what the allure was. Chances are that allure included summer sunshine, so it was just as well.
We soon crossed in to New Hampshire, where we paid a toll, presumedly not for the privilege of entering The Granite State. Out itinerary today is full. We are making our first stop at Gloucester, MA. Then after spending an hour or so there, we continue down the coast to Salem, MA. After most of the day in Salem, we drive past Boston and end the day with a lantern tour of Plymouth, MA. Another full day.
The weather dried out as we headed south, but the sun was not making much of an appearance. As we approached Gloucester, I reviewed our itinerary for the city. We planned to head to the Welcome Center at Stage Fort Park, look around there for a few minutes and then walk up the beach to our primary destination, the Man at the Wheel statue.
The Man at the Wheel statue was made most famous by the movie Perfect Storm. It depicts a man, in rain gear holding a ship’s wheel, while studying the sea and leaning hard against the wheel for balance. He looks to be confronting a heavy storm. Gorton’s, the fish company, uses something similar for their logo. “Trust the Gorton fishermen” Anyway I admired the courage and rugged individualism of these fishermen, and thought seeing the tribute (the statue is part of the Fishermen’s Memorial) would be interesting. That was really our only plan, and then we would head to Salem, and hunt for witches.
We arrived at Stage Fort Park, and parked. It was free, one of the reason’s I chose this location and headed for the welcome center. We were met by a nice lady who had just come out and was locking the door. The Welcome Center was closed for the season. Not very welcoming, but at least the day was becoming more so. The sea still looked a bit dark and choppy, but there was blue sky towards the west. The lady gave us some brochures and pointed us in the right general direction, and we were off.
I was aware that in addition to the Fishermen’s Memorial, there was a Fishermen’s Wives Memorial. The city fathers had decided that these two memorials should be close to each other, making for both symmetry and easy locating. We headed north and came across a large ship’s anchor, resting in the center of a flower bed. There was some sort of plaque. As you don’t see this kind of thing every day we detoured slightly and made our way over.
It turned out to be a tribute to the Merchant Mariners from WW II. I later found out that a merchant mariner is the correct way to call a seaman who served on ships involved in commerce during peacetime, but serves as an auxiliary naval force during war. They are commonly, but incorrectly called Merchant Marines.I learned stuff like this every time I travel. It’s one of the things I enjoy the most.
I was aware that in addition to the Fishermen’s Memorial, there was a Fishermen’s Wives Memorial. The city fathers had decided that these two memorials should be close to each other, making for both symmetry and easy locating. We headed north and came across a large ship’s anchor, resting in the center of a flower bed. There was some sort of plaque. As you don’t see this kind of thing every day we detoured slightly and made our way over.
It turned out to be a tribute to the Merchant Mariners from WW II. I later found out that a merchant mariner is the correct way to call a seaman who served on ships involved in commerce during peacetime, but serves as an auxiliary naval force during war. They are commonly, but incorrectly called Merchant Marines.I learned stuff like this every time I travel. It’s one of the things I enjoy the most.
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After a couple of pictures we continued up the coast and soon came upon the Fishermen’s Wives’ Memorial. This statue is of a woman with two children, gazing out towards the sea, waiting for a ship to appear. She holds a toddler, while a boy of about five stands at her side, holding on to her dress. She looks a bit pensive, while her oldest child has an anxious look on his face. I read that even though the idea for this memorial dates back decades, the people governing its creation could not decide on an appropriate statue. They did not want one that suggests a fishermen’s wife’s chief job was to mourn or wait for her companion’s return. It sounds like this association might have been a bit to PC, but we are in Massachusetts after all. Margo and I both got a few pictures, and then we moved on.
We still had a bit of walk until we reached the Fishermen’s Memorial, and we first had to cross the Blynman Canal, also knows as “The Cut”. A sign nearby says that the canal was dug in 1643, by the guy it was name for. It united “ (Annisquam) river and bay (Gloucester Harbor). I wondered how wide and deep the canal was in 1643. Because right now, it looked pretty impressive to have been dug by hand. That would be a lot of shovel’s full of dirt.
We walked across the drawbridge that spanned the canal, and finally made our way to our ultimate destination. The Man at the Wheel statue was just as I remembered. I asked Margo if the statue looked familiar. She said she thought it looked like what was on the Morton Salt box. I couldn’t place that reference, and I later looked it up, and there is a girl with an umbrella walking in rain poring salt. “When it rains, it pours”. But, I must confess when she mentioned Morton Salt, I thought she was right. This wasn’t the pop culture reference I was looking for. I was looking for her to tell me about Perfect Storm, but she had not seen the movie, so that wasn’t going to happen.
We still had a bit of walk until we reached the Fishermen’s Memorial, and we first had to cross the Blynman Canal, also knows as “The Cut”. A sign nearby says that the canal was dug in 1643, by the guy it was name for. It united “ (Annisquam) river and bay (Gloucester Harbor). I wondered how wide and deep the canal was in 1643. Because right now, it looked pretty impressive to have been dug by hand. That would be a lot of shovel’s full of dirt.
We walked across the drawbridge that spanned the canal, and finally made our way to our ultimate destination. The Man at the Wheel statue was just as I remembered. I asked Margo if the statue looked familiar. She said she thought it looked like what was on the Morton Salt box. I couldn’t place that reference, and I later looked it up, and there is a girl with an umbrella walking in rain poring salt. “When it rains, it pours”. But, I must confess when she mentioned Morton Salt, I thought she was right. This wasn’t the pop culture reference I was looking for. I was looking for her to tell me about Perfect Storm, but she had not seen the movie, so that wasn’t going to happen.
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The statue is surrounded on three sides by a series of large plaques that first tell the story of Gloucester fishing, and then goes on to list every Gloucesterman lost at sea while operating in that dangerous trade, from 1623 to the present time. The lists are broken down by year. The plaques were put up in 2000, 75 years after the Man at the Wheel statue was erected.
A ceremony is held in August of each year to commemorate the new names added to the memorial. The list is long, as you might expect 3 3/4 centuries worth of weather and mishap would create. I was interested in the names of the crew from the movie, and I found them listed under 1991. In the movie The Perfect Storm a crew of six, aboard the Andrea Gail goes fishing for swordfish. They later encounter a fierce storm, called "the perfect storm", because a confluence of weather events occurred to create this once a century monster. The storm generates massive (maybe 100 ft) waves, the ship is destroyed, and the crew’s bodies never found. Not a very happy film, but it was a good story. Seeing a memorial always makes me feel closer to the men and history. I like to wander cemeteries for this same reason. We took plenty of pictures and then back track to reach our car. When we reach the Blynman Canal, we happily had to wait for the drawbridge to go up and down.
It was here that we got our next history lesson. Perhaps “civics lesson” would be more accurate. The two boats that went zipping through the canal were obviously police boats. The logo on the side identified them as “Massachusetts Environmental Police”. I wasn’t sure what to think about this. In Colorado we have our critters under control and have no need for policemen to arrest and jail trespassing rabbits or unruly hawks. But, I guess with an ocean on your right flank, there is plenty of opportunity for mischief among the two legged critters. Like I said, we are in Massachusetts.
A ceremony is held in August of each year to commemorate the new names added to the memorial. The list is long, as you might expect 3 3/4 centuries worth of weather and mishap would create. I was interested in the names of the crew from the movie, and I found them listed under 1991. In the movie The Perfect Storm a crew of six, aboard the Andrea Gail goes fishing for swordfish. They later encounter a fierce storm, called "the perfect storm", because a confluence of weather events occurred to create this once a century monster. The storm generates massive (maybe 100 ft) waves, the ship is destroyed, and the crew’s bodies never found. Not a very happy film, but it was a good story. Seeing a memorial always makes me feel closer to the men and history. I like to wander cemeteries for this same reason. We took plenty of pictures and then back track to reach our car. When we reach the Blynman Canal, we happily had to wait for the drawbridge to go up and down.
It was here that we got our next history lesson. Perhaps “civics lesson” would be more accurate. The two boats that went zipping through the canal were obviously police boats. The logo on the side identified them as “Massachusetts Environmental Police”. I wasn’t sure what to think about this. In Colorado we have our critters under control and have no need for policemen to arrest and jail trespassing rabbits or unruly hawks. But, I guess with an ocean on your right flank, there is plenty of opportunity for mischief among the two legged critters. Like I said, we are in Massachusetts.
Gloucester to Salem is only about a half hour drive, so we barely got settled into the car and we were there. Salem is famous for its Witch Trials/Hysteria in 1692. It started when three young girls went into a series of fits and seizures. They claimed to be under the influence of dark magic. They accused three women who were on the social fringes of Salem, a beggar, an infrequent church-goer (major social mistake), and a slave, of causing their ailments. The slave, Tituba, was browbeaten into confessing. She then accused others of being witches, and it gained a life of its own. By the time it was over, about a year later 25 people were dead.
Over the next 300 years they were all exonerated by various decrees and legislation, but the stigma of the witch trials made Salem famous. The city fathers of Salem have embraced this fame using it to attract tourists and increase their tax base. They use a witch on a broom as their city seal, which appears on its police cars and fire trucks. The local high school calls them the Salem Witches. They have a street called Witch Way, and the word “witch” or “witch city” is everywhere. This could be kinda fun.
It was about 11:30 AM when we arrived, so one of our first orders of business would be to get something to eat. But first, I wanted to check and see when the guided tours at the Salem Witch Museum would begin. We found a parking lot not far from the museum. I was looking forward to seeing a real witch.
Salem is supposed to be home to about 5,000 witches. I wasn’t expecting a warty-chinned hag, in a pointy hat. I knew that was the stuff of folklore. I knew that real witches, who for the most part practice a pagan religion, Wicca, and looked relatively normal. More like a resident of Boulder, CO. Beads and Birkenstock sums it up. Still the allure of meeting a real witch appealed to me. So I figured a witch museum had a reasonable chance.
Over the next 300 years they were all exonerated by various decrees and legislation, but the stigma of the witch trials made Salem famous. The city fathers of Salem have embraced this fame using it to attract tourists and increase their tax base. They use a witch on a broom as their city seal, which appears on its police cars and fire trucks. The local high school calls them the Salem Witches. They have a street called Witch Way, and the word “witch” or “witch city” is everywhere. This could be kinda fun.
It was about 11:30 AM when we arrived, so one of our first orders of business would be to get something to eat. But first, I wanted to check and see when the guided tours at the Salem Witch Museum would begin. We found a parking lot not far from the museum. I was looking forward to seeing a real witch.
Salem is supposed to be home to about 5,000 witches. I wasn’t expecting a warty-chinned hag, in a pointy hat. I knew that was the stuff of folklore. I knew that real witches, who for the most part practice a pagan religion, Wicca, and looked relatively normal. More like a resident of Boulder, CO. Beads and Birkenstock sums it up. Still the allure of meeting a real witch appealed to me. So I figured a witch museum had a reasonable chance.
Margo and I went in and purchased a dual ticket, called a Hysteria Pass, that covered a tour of the Witch Village and the near by Wax Museum. We discovered that we had plenty of time to grab a bite to eat before we would take our tour.
Lunch was had at the near by Brothers Deli. I got the impression that this place was a Salem institution, even though tourists were definitely in residence. The food was good, and the sandwich and salad choices were many and varied.
I was looking forward to this tour. Not because I have a great fascination with witches or their history, but because one of the pieces of literature that they gave us with the tickets said that the tours were given by practicing witches. Cool, now I would get to meet a real 21st century witch. When the guide showed up, I wasn’t surprised to see that she was a he. I knew there were male witches. But, I asked anyway to be sure. He replied that he was not a witch and didn’t seem very enthused to even be here. Maybe a real witch had cast a grumpy spell on him.
The tour was kitschy and only mildly interesting. It wasn’t worth what we paid, $26 for two combo tickets. Still I gave him a couple of bucks for his effort and hoped that karma would smile on me for the rest of our trip. Plus, you never know. He might have friends that aren’t of the Sabrina or Samantha variety. I did not want to potentially piss off Julian Sands.
Lunch was had at the near by Brothers Deli. I got the impression that this place was a Salem institution, even though tourists were definitely in residence. The food was good, and the sandwich and salad choices were many and varied.
I was looking forward to this tour. Not because I have a great fascination with witches or their history, but because one of the pieces of literature that they gave us with the tickets said that the tours were given by practicing witches. Cool, now I would get to meet a real 21st century witch. When the guide showed up, I wasn’t surprised to see that she was a he. I knew there were male witches. But, I asked anyway to be sure. He replied that he was not a witch and didn’t seem very enthused to even be here. Maybe a real witch had cast a grumpy spell on him.
The tour was kitschy and only mildly interesting. It wasn’t worth what we paid, $26 for two combo tickets. Still I gave him a couple of bucks for his effort and hoped that karma would smile on me for the rest of our trip. Plus, you never know. He might have friends that aren’t of the Sabrina or Samantha variety. I did not want to potentially piss off Julian Sands.
The Salem Wax Museum was right next door, so onward and upward (it had stairs) we went. The Salem Wax Museum has wax figures of some of Salem’s notable past citizens. Cory Giles, a man “pressed” to death, during the Witch Trials, John Hathorne, the unrepentant judge who presided over the trials, and famous author and gg-grandson of John Hathorne, Nathaniel Hawthorne.
We started out with Cory Giles, who evidently was a 17th century pain in the ass. He was quarrelsome, disagreeable, and sometimes out right mean. What he wasn’t, was a witch, even though he was accused. What is interesting about Mr. Giles is that under Salem law at the time, a man could not be tried for a crime, if he refused to recognize that the court had authority over him.
Being the type of man he was, Mr. Giles evidently told Judge Hathorne to stick his charges of witchcraft in an inconvenient place. The Judge, who was pretty self righteous and cocksure of his cause, decided he would persuade Giles to recognize his authority. To that end Giles was laid on the ground, a large board place on him, and then heavy rocks stacked upon the board. He was tortured in this way for a couple of days before he died. He evidently had a stubborn streak as well.
We started out with Cory Giles, who evidently was a 17th century pain in the ass. He was quarrelsome, disagreeable, and sometimes out right mean. What he wasn’t, was a witch, even though he was accused. What is interesting about Mr. Giles is that under Salem law at the time, a man could not be tried for a crime, if he refused to recognize that the court had authority over him.
Being the type of man he was, Mr. Giles evidently told Judge Hathorne to stick his charges of witchcraft in an inconvenient place. The Judge, who was pretty self righteous and cocksure of his cause, decided he would persuade Giles to recognize his authority. To that end Giles was laid on the ground, a large board place on him, and then heavy rocks stacked upon the board. He was tortured in this way for a couple of days before he died. He evidently had a stubborn streak as well.
Next up, was the aforementioned John Hathorne. John Hathorne was a prominent man, from a prominent family in Salem. He was one of several magistrates who oversaw the Salem Witch Trials, but his is the one most remembered. Hathorne, who as a judge was supposed to be impartial, acted more the prosecuting attorney, continually badgering the accused to confess. His behavior which at first was while not universally popular soon turned obsessive. After the shame of the trial was evident to everyone and those in power at the time began to question how things (150 arrested, 29 convicted of witchcraft, 19 hanged, Cory Giles pressed to death, and five others dying in prison) got so far out of hand. Only John Hathorne refused to repudiate his actions. Common lore is that Hathorne’s great-great grandson added a “w” to his surname, to become Nathaniel Hawthorne, to distance himself from the shame.
Nathaniel Hawthorne is most famous for the books The Scarlet Letter and The House of Seven Gables. He was a contemporary and friend of President Franklin Pierce, Herman Melville, Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr., Ralph Waldo Emerson, David Thoreau and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The House of Seven Gables is actually in Salem, but we wouldn’t have time to find it. We did find his wax visage, and those of several other notables.
It didn’t take very long to see all there was to see and we were soon in their gift shop. We didn’t find anything we couldn’t live without, so we left still without seeing a witch. I was a bit disappointed. Neither museum was particularly inspiring. I enjoyed some of the history in the wax museum, but I just didn’t think it was that well done. And, dammit, I still hadn’t seen a real witch.
We headed next to the nearby cemetery, The Burying Point. This is the oldest cemetery in Salem and thought to be the 2nd oldest in the nation. Buried in it were John Hathorne, Richard More (a Mayflower passenger), and several other Salem notables. If I couldn’t see a witch in person, there had to be one buried in this cemetery, right? Nope, it occurred to me much later, that there was no way a witch was going to be buried in consecrated (blessed) ground, but any god fearing people. At least as long as this cemetery was in use, witch (aren’t I hilarious) was sometime in the mid 1840s. We snapped our requisite pictures, including one of a particularly ‘scary” tree. It looked so stereotypical that I had to take its picture.
Nathaniel Hawthorne is most famous for the books The Scarlet Letter and The House of Seven Gables. He was a contemporary and friend of President Franklin Pierce, Herman Melville, Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr., Ralph Waldo Emerson, David Thoreau and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The House of Seven Gables is actually in Salem, but we wouldn’t have time to find it. We did find his wax visage, and those of several other notables.
It didn’t take very long to see all there was to see and we were soon in their gift shop. We didn’t find anything we couldn’t live without, so we left still without seeing a witch. I was a bit disappointed. Neither museum was particularly inspiring. I enjoyed some of the history in the wax museum, but I just didn’t think it was that well done. And, dammit, I still hadn’t seen a real witch.
We headed next to the nearby cemetery, The Burying Point. This is the oldest cemetery in Salem and thought to be the 2nd oldest in the nation. Buried in it were John Hathorne, Richard More (a Mayflower passenger), and several other Salem notables. If I couldn’t see a witch in person, there had to be one buried in this cemetery, right? Nope, it occurred to me much later, that there was no way a witch was going to be buried in consecrated (blessed) ground, but any god fearing people. At least as long as this cemetery was in use, witch (aren’t I hilarious) was sometime in the mid 1840s. We snapped our requisite pictures, including one of a particularly ‘scary” tree. It looked so stereotypical that I had to take its picture.
At the edge of the cemetery is The Salem Witch Trials Memorial. This is a stone memorial consisting “of 20 granite benches cantilevered from a low stone wall surrounding an area adjoining the Old Burying Point. The benches are inscribed with the name of the accused and the means and date of execution.”, as quoted by salemweb.com, a site geared towards Salem tourism. I found the two stones, I was interested in, Corey Giles and Rebecca Nurse.
Rebecca Nurse was a very proper Salem woman of the time. She was elderly and very pious. Her accusal of being a witch sent shockwaves through the community. If a woman like her could be accused, no one was safe. Margo and I wandered for a bit, it wasn’t that big, took our pictures and moved on. But, at least I had now seen an official memorial to a witch.
Rebecca Nurse was a very proper Salem woman of the time. She was elderly and very pious. Her accusal of being a witch sent shockwaves through the community. If a woman like her could be accused, no one was safe. Margo and I wandered for a bit, it wasn’t that big, took our pictures and moved on. But, at least I had now seen an official memorial to a witch.
It was only about 2:30 PM. We could stay as late as 4:30 and still get to our next stop (we were spending the night in Plymouth, MA) so we decided to wander around the shops a bit and pick up a few gifts for the kids back home. We ended up dropping about $80 for T-shirts and such at the Trolley Depot. We bounced around to other shops not really finding anything. Then we stumbled across a shop called “The Broom Closet”. It advertised itself as “Salem’s Largest Shoppe for Witches and Others”. Surely I could find a witch here.
We walked in, and manning the counter was a woman who certainly looked like what I thought a modern witch looked like. Long , straight, blonde hair. Beads and a flowing blouse. We looked around for a few minutes. Margo headed over to the incense to look at something for Jessi and Pete. I was trying to work up the courage to ask her if she was a witch. Margo quickly had a question about the fragrance of one of the samples. When she asked the lady, we were soon graced with the story of her recent life. Auto accident, brain injury, destroyed sense of smell, and so on. I wasn’t sure what to think. She didn’t look like she was recovering, even distantly, from a head injury. Like I said she had long hair. That usually has to go, when you start working on a head wound.
There were no visible scars. But maybe they did not have to shave her head or even a spot. But, she was a bit odd. She would ramble about her situation and repeat herself quite a bit. She was certainly nice enough and as helpful as she could be with the incense, without having smelled it. I never did actually confirm she was a witch. I just couldn’t muster the nerve to ask her outright. But, when I tell this story I am going to assume that she was.
After leaving the Broom Closet, we decided that we had seen enough of this area of Salem. There was a lot more to see and do, but we knew going in that we would only have just a few hours, and had decided to focus on this narrow area of downtown Salem.
There was no time to visit the Peabody Essex Museum, or the docks, or The House of Seven Gables, or any of the various historic homes. .Maybe we would get back another day. But, for now, we were pointing our car south and heading to the land of Pilgrims.
We walked in, and manning the counter was a woman who certainly looked like what I thought a modern witch looked like. Long , straight, blonde hair. Beads and a flowing blouse. We looked around for a few minutes. Margo headed over to the incense to look at something for Jessi and Pete. I was trying to work up the courage to ask her if she was a witch. Margo quickly had a question about the fragrance of one of the samples. When she asked the lady, we were soon graced with the story of her recent life. Auto accident, brain injury, destroyed sense of smell, and so on. I wasn’t sure what to think. She didn’t look like she was recovering, even distantly, from a head injury. Like I said she had long hair. That usually has to go, when you start working on a head wound.
There were no visible scars. But maybe they did not have to shave her head or even a spot. But, she was a bit odd. She would ramble about her situation and repeat herself quite a bit. She was certainly nice enough and as helpful as she could be with the incense, without having smelled it. I never did actually confirm she was a witch. I just couldn’t muster the nerve to ask her outright. But, when I tell this story I am going to assume that she was.
After leaving the Broom Closet, we decided that we had seen enough of this area of Salem. There was a lot more to see and do, but we knew going in that we would only have just a few hours, and had decided to focus on this narrow area of downtown Salem.
There was no time to visit the Peabody Essex Museum, or the docks, or The House of Seven Gables, or any of the various historic homes. .Maybe we would get back another day. But, for now, we were pointing our car south and heading to the land of Pilgrims.
The drive to Plymouth would take about an hour and a half. We left about 4 PM. I had booked a Lantern Tour of Plymouth for 7 PM, so we should have plenty of time to drive down there, eat dinner, and then take the tour. But, as we started driving south I started to wonder about Boston traffic. We would be hitting Boston at the start of rush hour. It was a Thursday, and didn’t have to go through the most congested areas of town, but still. I have driven in Washington DC, Chicago, and Los Angeles. Traffic can stop and crawl for hours at any time. I had planned for us to stop in Quincy, MA, if there was time, and see the graves of the two Adams Presidents. They are buried at an old church, but I decided not to risk the delay. As it turned out things went according to plan and we were in Plymouth by about 5:30 PM.
We pulled into town and found our hotel, the Best Western Cold Spring. It didn’t take us very long to get unloaded, and then we drove down to the waterfront to find a place to eat. We had grabbed a local guide map and using that as a guide we found a nice place to park, near an Italian restaurant named Mamma Mia’s. I don’t know what kind of food I thought I would be eating in Plymouth, (maybe Turkey and Stuffing) but pasta and pizza wasn’t it. No matter, it was good.
We really had only killed about an hour with the hotel and dinner, so we still had 30 minutes before our tour began. So we wandered a bit on the waterfront. The shops were all closed, but across Water Street is Pilgrim Memorial State Park. The park covers just 11 acres, the smallest state park in Massachusetts, but it is the most visited on in the state as well. That is because it contains both a replica of The Mayflower and Plymouth Rock. We saw both, with Plymouth Rock being our final stop. Our lantern tour was going to start near there.
7 PM came and we met our guide and our tour group. This walking tour was called a Lantern Tour, because you really carry an old lantern. It serves the dual purpose of supplying a little light and to help traffic see you. My plan was take this tour, on our night here, because it would add some gravity and would educate us on what to see during the day. Since we didn’t take many (just one) pictures during the tour, and we ended up covering a lot of the same ground the next day, I’ll leave the history lesson for tomorrow.
But we had a great time. We saw and heard the stories of The Mayflower, Plymouth Rock, Governor William Bradford, Myles Standish, Massasoit, Squanto, Burial Hill, The First Winter, The First Parish Church, The Church of the Pilgrimage, The Engagement Tree, and Brewster Gardens. Our guide was very knowledgeable. He looked like a college professor with glasses and long thinning hair. The tour took about 90 minutes and we walked all over the waterfront and surrounding area.
We had gotten a look at Plymouth Rock while we waited for our tour to begin. It had been light then, and we weren’t terribly impressed by the rock. I kind of already knew that the Pilgrims didn't really first set foot on Plymouth Rock, so the bar wasn't set very high there. Plus with the Rocky Mountains in my backyard, seeing a large boulder is nothing to get excited about. And this was just a big rock, with 1620 carved into it. I guess I will be conferred to some circle of tourist purgatory for that remark.
But, we were impressed by the columned structure they had built around it. To me it looked like a portico, with no building. But, it just seemed to project a sense of grandeur that seemed misplaced. But, after all, it is still Plymouth Rock, so just a wrought iron fence was not going to do. Still, I had to take a picture, which ended up being the only one we took today, in Plymouth. Tomorrow we would re-walk most of the tour to see it in the light, and actually visit Burial Hill.
We pulled into town and found our hotel, the Best Western Cold Spring. It didn’t take us very long to get unloaded, and then we drove down to the waterfront to find a place to eat. We had grabbed a local guide map and using that as a guide we found a nice place to park, near an Italian restaurant named Mamma Mia’s. I don’t know what kind of food I thought I would be eating in Plymouth, (maybe Turkey and Stuffing) but pasta and pizza wasn’t it. No matter, it was good.
We really had only killed about an hour with the hotel and dinner, so we still had 30 minutes before our tour began. So we wandered a bit on the waterfront. The shops were all closed, but across Water Street is Pilgrim Memorial State Park. The park covers just 11 acres, the smallest state park in Massachusetts, but it is the most visited on in the state as well. That is because it contains both a replica of The Mayflower and Plymouth Rock. We saw both, with Plymouth Rock being our final stop. Our lantern tour was going to start near there.
7 PM came and we met our guide and our tour group. This walking tour was called a Lantern Tour, because you really carry an old lantern. It serves the dual purpose of supplying a little light and to help traffic see you. My plan was take this tour, on our night here, because it would add some gravity and would educate us on what to see during the day. Since we didn’t take many (just one) pictures during the tour, and we ended up covering a lot of the same ground the next day, I’ll leave the history lesson for tomorrow.
But we had a great time. We saw and heard the stories of The Mayflower, Plymouth Rock, Governor William Bradford, Myles Standish, Massasoit, Squanto, Burial Hill, The First Winter, The First Parish Church, The Church of the Pilgrimage, The Engagement Tree, and Brewster Gardens. Our guide was very knowledgeable. He looked like a college professor with glasses and long thinning hair. The tour took about 90 minutes and we walked all over the waterfront and surrounding area.
We had gotten a look at Plymouth Rock while we waited for our tour to begin. It had been light then, and we weren’t terribly impressed by the rock. I kind of already knew that the Pilgrims didn't really first set foot on Plymouth Rock, so the bar wasn't set very high there. Plus with the Rocky Mountains in my backyard, seeing a large boulder is nothing to get excited about. And this was just a big rock, with 1620 carved into it. I guess I will be conferred to some circle of tourist purgatory for that remark.
But, we were impressed by the columned structure they had built around it. To me it looked like a portico, with no building. But, it just seemed to project a sense of grandeur that seemed misplaced. But, after all, it is still Plymouth Rock, so just a wrought iron fence was not going to do. Still, I had to take a picture, which ended up being the only one we took today, in Plymouth. Tomorrow we would re-walk most of the tour to see it in the light, and actually visit Burial Hill.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Today just did not get started right. I didn’t know it then, but I should have taken that as a harbinger of things to come. I don’t remember what it was about or how it got started but Margo and I got into a spat this morning. I think it’s part of the hazard of my vacation planning. I pack them full of things to do, so we end up a bit tired. Anyway we ended up eating our continental breakfast in silence.
We checked out and headed for our first stop. One of the things our guide talked about last night was the Jenny Grist Mill. We had walked part of what is called the Town Brook. This small river was a chief reason the Pilgrims hung around this area. It was spring fed, so it never went dry. It was a spawning ground for herring, so fresh fish and fertilizer could be had. Plus it ran down a reasonably steep grade, so there was enough water flow to build a mill. The Jenny (surname of the guy who built in) Grist (a quantity of grain to be ground) Mill (a machine for grinding grain into powder form) was the first one built. I thought it would be a good idea to take a tour of the mill.
So we parked our car and made began walking upstream on the Town Brook, retracing part of our tour. We walked through Brewster Garden, a small but very beautiful park that has the Town Brook winding though it. There were plenty of ducks and other birds to see. There are several natural springs along the way that feed the river. It was kind of interesting to see water bubbling up from the ground. It looked like a sprinkler system had suffered a major breach.
We checked out and headed for our first stop. One of the things our guide talked about last night was the Jenny Grist Mill. We had walked part of what is called the Town Brook. This small river was a chief reason the Pilgrims hung around this area. It was spring fed, so it never went dry. It was a spawning ground for herring, so fresh fish and fertilizer could be had. Plus it ran down a reasonably steep grade, so there was enough water flow to build a mill. The Jenny (surname of the guy who built in) Grist (a quantity of grain to be ground) Mill (a machine for grinding grain into powder form) was the first one built. I thought it would be a good idea to take a tour of the mill.
So we parked our car and made began walking upstream on the Town Brook, retracing part of our tour. We walked through Brewster Garden, a small but very beautiful park that has the Town Brook winding though it. There were plenty of ducks and other birds to see. There are several natural springs along the way that feed the river. It was kind of interesting to see water bubbling up from the ground. It looked like a sprinkler system had suffered a major breach.
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We walked the path along the stream until we reached the mill. It is a pretty good sized exhibit with a large water wheel to power the mill. But, for some reason my desire to actually take a tour had all but evaporated. Maybe I was still in a surly mood from earlier. The mill looked inviting enough, but all of a sudden I didn’t feel it was worth the effort. So after asking Margo’s opinion, she didn’t care one way or the other, we headed back down the trail, towards the oldest section of Plymouth.
The oldest area of Plymouth encompasses Leyden St, Church St, The First Parish Church, and Burial Hill. Those run in order eastbound from the water. We were west so our first stop was the church (because there was a restroom nearby) and then Burial Hill.
First Parish Church is the oldest continuous ministry in the United States. But, there is some controversy surrounding that claim. In 1620 when the Pilgrims arrived, they immediately began holding church services aboard the Mayflower, as they had no church yet. They did eventually get a real church building. They had several actually, before the current one, build of stone in 1899. The previous wooden ones, had a tendency to burn, likely from all of the fire and brimstone sermons.
The oldest area of Plymouth encompasses Leyden St, Church St, The First Parish Church, and Burial Hill. Those run in order eastbound from the water. We were west so our first stop was the church (because there was a restroom nearby) and then Burial Hill.
First Parish Church is the oldest continuous ministry in the United States. But, there is some controversy surrounding that claim. In 1620 when the Pilgrims arrived, they immediately began holding church services aboard the Mayflower, as they had no church yet. They did eventually get a real church building. They had several actually, before the current one, build of stone in 1899. The previous wooden ones, had a tendency to burn, likely from all of the fire and brimstone sermons.
Anyway, like I began, in 1620 the Pilgrims came over and were know as “Separatists” because they had separated from The Church of England. Part of the reason for coming to America was to practice this brand of religion. Things went smoothly for about 180 years. Then a new minister, James Kendall, took over. Kendall had different ideas than the Separatists. He leaned towards Unitarianism. I’m sure there are pronounced and specific differences between the two, but I don’t know what they are. I do know that the Separatists were self-governing and that the Unitarian church that Kendall liked had a main office, so to speak. With the preacher going one way, and a couple of hundred years of tradition pulling the other, a rift developed.
In 1801, a vote was taken and the majority decided to become Unitarian. But, the vote was very close, and the losers decided that they would not just go with the flow. They broke off and formed a new congregation, and build a church almost next door. That church is now known as the The Church of the Pilgrimage.
So depending on who you talk to the Unitarian church is the oldest because they got to keep all of the records, furniture, and have been worshiping in the same place for longer.
Or the Church of the Pilgrimage is older because their theology traces directly back to the Separatists in England, in 1606. My vote is for the Unitarian church because it was striking enough for me to take its picture.
In 1801, a vote was taken and the majority decided to become Unitarian. But, the vote was very close, and the losers decided that they would not just go with the flow. They broke off and formed a new congregation, and build a church almost next door. That church is now known as the The Church of the Pilgrimage.
So depending on who you talk to the Unitarian church is the oldest because they got to keep all of the records, furniture, and have been worshiping in the same place for longer.
Or the Church of the Pilgrimage is older because their theology traces directly back to the Separatists in England, in 1606. My vote is for the Unitarian church because it was striking enough for me to take its picture.
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All of that was interesting, but we had to pee. There was a public restroom at the 1769 Courthouse, which was across the town square from the church. With that taken care of, and the aforementioned picture snapped, it was back west and very uphill, past the First Parish Church, to Burial Hill. When the folks of Plymouth say Burial Hill, they aren’t just taking poetic license. This hill is significant. They have installed stairs to climb so you get up to the top to take a look at the ancient and historic graves. I feel sorry for those who had to lug a body or stone up to the top. I suppose they used horsepower for the most part, but not always.
Anyway we got to the top and started searching for the graves. I enjoy cemeteries on the East Coast, because they are so much older than what I see back home. In Denver an old grave dates back to 1850. This cemetery had a 100 years of use by then. The stones are made of slate, instead of granite, and look like they came out of an old movie or cartoon. But, these are very real and historical. I was looking primarily for William Bradford, but I knew from the signage that John and Mary Brewster and James Warren were around somewhere. John and Mary Brewster and William Bradford were both Mayflower passengers.
Anyway we got to the top and started searching for the graves. I enjoy cemeteries on the East Coast, because they are so much older than what I see back home. In Denver an old grave dates back to 1850. This cemetery had a 100 years of use by then. The stones are made of slate, instead of granite, and look like they came out of an old movie or cartoon. But, these are very real and historical. I was looking primarily for William Bradford, but I knew from the signage that John and Mary Brewster and James Warren were around somewhere. John and Mary Brewster and William Bradford were both Mayflower passengers.
William Bradford took over as governor of Plymouth after the first winter killed about half of the colonists. He was elected just about every year of his life thereafter in the position. Those years he wasn’t elected, he asked not to be considered for the job. Being governor was a stressful job. William Bradford has quite a few famous descendants including the TV cook, Julia Child, actor Clint Eastwood, and acting brothers, Alec, Stephen, William, and Daniel Baldwin, to name a few.
William Brewster was Plymouth’s preacher for the first 9 years. That was not his original plan, but because the colony’s original spiritual leader died before the trip across the ocean, the job fell to Brewster, as we was college educated and the senior elder. He, and his wife had at least six children. The Brewsters were fond of what are known as Virtue Names for their children. Examples of Virtue Names are Faith, Hope, Charity, and Grace. Among the Brewsters children were; Patience, Fear, Love, and Wrestling Brewster.That latter one must have a different meaning back then. Margo and I never found the Brewster’s grave. I later found out that he might have been buried elsewhere.
William Brewster was Plymouth’s preacher for the first 9 years. That was not his original plan, but because the colony’s original spiritual leader died before the trip across the ocean, the job fell to Brewster, as we was college educated and the senior elder. He, and his wife had at least six children. The Brewsters were fond of what are known as Virtue Names for their children. Examples of Virtue Names are Faith, Hope, Charity, and Grace. Among the Brewsters children were; Patience, Fear, Love, and Wrestling Brewster.That latter one must have a different meaning back then. Margo and I never found the Brewster’s grave. I later found out that he might have been buried elsewhere.
James Warren was a politician and Revolutionary War general. He saw action at Bunker Hill and was active in the Sons of Liberty. But, he was more a politician than a soldier. We took plenty of pictures and then tried to find the best spot on the top of the hill to take a shot of Plymouth Bay. There was no unobstructed spot, but we did manage to find one that was only partial blocked by a tree. Even so it is a great place to look out over the Bay.
Our next stop was Cole’s Hill. There were several things that I wanted revisit. Cole’s Hill was just down Leyden Street from the Church and Burial Hill, in front of Water Street. Leyden Street is the oldest continually occupied street in America. This is where the Pilgrims built their first homes, and homes have been here ever since. That’s more that 375 years.
Once we got through Leyden Street we turned on to Carver St and went to the top of Cole’s Hill. Cole’s Hill was the first cemetery for the Pilgrims, and it got a lot of use. There were 104 people that came over on the Mayflower in 1620. Nearly half of them died that first winter. They buried them in unmarked graves on Cole’s Hill. But, over the years bones were found after rains, or through construction work.
The finders knew what those bones were and they turned them into the city officials. When a fair amount had been collected it was decided that a box in a closet somewhere was not the best way to handle the remains of the Pilgrims. So a sarcophagus was constructed and the bones interred inside that. The sarcophagus was placed on Cole’s Hill, and is inscribed with their story and a list of the deceased.
Once we got through Leyden Street we turned on to Carver St and went to the top of Cole’s Hill. Cole’s Hill was the first cemetery for the Pilgrims, and it got a lot of use. There were 104 people that came over on the Mayflower in 1620. Nearly half of them died that first winter. They buried them in unmarked graves on Cole’s Hill. But, over the years bones were found after rains, or through construction work.
The finders knew what those bones were and they turned them into the city officials. When a fair amount had been collected it was decided that a box in a closet somewhere was not the best way to handle the remains of the Pilgrims. So a sarcophagus was constructed and the bones interred inside that. The sarcophagus was placed on Cole’s Hill, and is inscribed with their story and a list of the deceased.
Across, on the other side of the hill is a statue of Massasoit, the sachum, or leader of the local Indian tribe, the Wampanoag. Massasoit was a strong leader among his people and a great friend to the early Plymouth settlers. Massasoit has some prior experience with Europeans and thought it prudent to make a treaty with them. The Europeans possessed guns and would make powerful allies against the enemies of the Wampanoag. Massasoit would later warn the Plymouth colonists about an impending attack on Plymouth, by several other Indian tribes. The military protector of Plymouth, Captain Myles Standish organized his men and averted the attack.
My favorite story of the yesternight’s tour involved Standish. A set of circumstances developed, the exact nature told several different way, in which the Captain was brought into the company of an Indian chief called Pecksuot. Though Pecksuot did not have as much political power as Massasoit, he did have the title of Pinese. A Pinese was the Indian equivalent of Delta Force. It was said that a Pinese could chase away 100 men. This particular Pinese commented to Standish, while sharpening his knife, in words that in effect said “Shorty, you don’t look like much to me” Standish was known to be height challenged and possessing a quick temper.
Both Standish and Pecksuot were in the company of friends. The next day, when the two groups met again, Standish initiated a fight, took Pecksuet’s knife away from him and killed him with it. After word got out, that Standish had killed a Pinese in battle, this pretty much stopped troubles with hostile Indians (for a time) But, this not only eliminated hostilities, which was good. But, many Indians moved away, which took valuable trading partners away as well. Not so good.
My favorite story of the yesternight’s tour involved Standish. A set of circumstances developed, the exact nature told several different way, in which the Captain was brought into the company of an Indian chief called Pecksuot. Though Pecksuot did not have as much political power as Massasoit, he did have the title of Pinese. A Pinese was the Indian equivalent of Delta Force. It was said that a Pinese could chase away 100 men. This particular Pinese commented to Standish, while sharpening his knife, in words that in effect said “Shorty, you don’t look like much to me” Standish was known to be height challenged and possessing a quick temper.
Both Standish and Pecksuot were in the company of friends. The next day, when the two groups met again, Standish initiated a fight, took Pecksuet’s knife away from him and killed him with it. After word got out, that Standish had killed a Pinese in battle, this pretty much stopped troubles with hostile Indians (for a time) But, this not only eliminated hostilities, which was good. But, many Indians moved away, which took valuable trading partners away as well. Not so good.
We continued our trip across Cole’s Hill and came upon the Engagement Tree. It is also called the “Wedding Tree”. It was a tradition in days gone by, to plant a Linden tree upon the engagement of a couple. According to the story told to us by our lantern guide the engagement of this one particular couple, back in 1809, was a stormy one. When it was broken off, by the former groom, the abandoned bride pulled the Linden tree out by its roots and threw it in the street. A man happening on it, thought that was a shame and a waste of a nice tree, replanted it on the top of Cole’s Hill, off on Water Street. Today, two hundred years later, the tree is now mostly dead, and will soon be taken out by the city. They have tried most everything to save it. But, nothing has worked. But, they have been able to take cuttings of the tree and are starting new, genetically identical trees to this original. The hope is that when the original tree has to be removed, one of these saplings will take its place. Margo and I accosted another tourist and had her take our picture in front of the soon to be removed tree. Maybe we will go back one day to see its offspring.
With our tour of Cole’s Hill complete we walked down the granite steps that lead from the top to Water Street and headed north. We had pretty much seen everything that I wanted to see, except for the Mayflower II, and Margo wanted to visit the shops.
With our tour of Cole’s Hill complete we walked down the granite steps that lead from the top to Water Street and headed north. We had pretty much seen everything that I wanted to see, except for the Mayflower II, and Margo wanted to visit the shops.
We bopped around the shops on Water Street for an hour or so. We couldn’t make up our minds exactly what to get for the kids back home. We were running out of vacation, so we pretty much had to finish up our shopping here in Plymouth. But, we finally did it. With t-shirts and things in hand we made a detour to our car, and headed back to Pilgrim Memorial State Park.
It was time to finish up the day, so we headed towards the Mayflower II. Our guide last night told us that no one is sure what the original Mayflower looked like or what happened to it. The most credible claim, and it is far from substantiated, has one of the timbers being made into a barn in Buckinghamshire, England. after the ship was scrapped about 1624.
The Mayflower II was built in 1957 in England and sailed across the ocean to Plymouth, MA. We walked over to the ship and decided against touring the ship. We were both a little on the tired side, and we still had to drive up to Boston. So after snapping a few pictures we headed back to Plymouth Rock for a final look see.
It was kind of appropriate to end our day at Plymouth Rock, as we had started our historical tour of the waterfront area there. I took a picture of Margo leaning against the portico and then we both went over to the viewing area. We were both a little bit surprised to see that it was now sitting in four inches of water. Tides are something us land locked Coloradans don’t have to deal with.
It was time to finish up the day, so we headed towards the Mayflower II. Our guide last night told us that no one is sure what the original Mayflower looked like or what happened to it. The most credible claim, and it is far from substantiated, has one of the timbers being made into a barn in Buckinghamshire, England. after the ship was scrapped about 1624.
The Mayflower II was built in 1957 in England and sailed across the ocean to Plymouth, MA. We walked over to the ship and decided against touring the ship. We were both a little on the tired side, and we still had to drive up to Boston. So after snapping a few pictures we headed back to Plymouth Rock for a final look see.
It was kind of appropriate to end our day at Plymouth Rock, as we had started our historical tour of the waterfront area there. I took a picture of Margo leaning against the portico and then we both went over to the viewing area. We were both a little bit surprised to see that it was now sitting in four inches of water. Tides are something us land locked Coloradans don’t have to deal with.
With a final picture of Plymouth Bay, we headed over to our car and headed out of town. Our next stop was Boston, where we had an evening tour of Boston, with stops in two graveyards scheduled. I was really looking forward to this.
One of the hard and fast Kretzer Rules of Travel is “If a city has a subway system, use it” This is because it will suck to try drive yourself around. I know this. I have learned this the hard way in Washington DC, and a little bit in Chicago. I have been to Boston before, and used the subway. It was great. I was prepared to use the Boston subway system this time. I purposefully booked a hotel that was reasonably close to a subway station. But, somehow it went horribly wrong.
Margo and I had left Plymouth, jumped on Highway 3, and were on our way to the Boston suburb of Revere. The drive to Revere was mostly uneventful. We ran into a little traffic when we reached Boston, but drove through it to the north side of the metro area and found our hotel. It was now about 5 PM, and close enough to dinner time where we figured we would like to find something to eat. After dumping everything in our room, we got back into our car and God started to laugh.
Did you ever hear the expression “If you want to make God laugh, tell him you have a plan”. When I travel I have a plan. I know what I want to see, where it is, how to get there, how long it should take to see that something, and what should happen when I am there. I have my hotels and rental cars booked in advance. I have Mapquested and printed directions. I have a printed itinerary. I have printed excerpts from websites. I have phone numbers preprogrammed into my cell phone. I have all of this in a book, with tabbed dividers. Cue the laughter.
I opened my book and proceeded to tell Margo how to get from Revere to the subway station a few miles away, that would carry us to the virtual doorstep of our tour operator. I was so looking forward to this tour. I had seen most of what they were going to show us, during the daylight hours, on a self guided tour. Now we would go at night, with the weather cooperating, and with knowledgeable and entertaining guides.
We turned out of the hotel and immediately the directions started to make no sense. We should have been going one way, but we were going 90 degrees off. We got onto the highway and not so soon realized we were not on the right road. Why did my directions not work!! I had a map, but it was not detailed enough.
One of the hard and fast Kretzer Rules of Travel is “If a city has a subway system, use it” This is because it will suck to try drive yourself around. I know this. I have learned this the hard way in Washington DC, and a little bit in Chicago. I have been to Boston before, and used the subway. It was great. I was prepared to use the Boston subway system this time. I purposefully booked a hotel that was reasonably close to a subway station. But, somehow it went horribly wrong.
Margo and I had left Plymouth, jumped on Highway 3, and were on our way to the Boston suburb of Revere. The drive to Revere was mostly uneventful. We ran into a little traffic when we reached Boston, but drove through it to the north side of the metro area and found our hotel. It was now about 5 PM, and close enough to dinner time where we figured we would like to find something to eat. After dumping everything in our room, we got back into our car and God started to laugh.
Did you ever hear the expression “If you want to make God laugh, tell him you have a plan”. When I travel I have a plan. I know what I want to see, where it is, how to get there, how long it should take to see that something, and what should happen when I am there. I have my hotels and rental cars booked in advance. I have Mapquested and printed directions. I have a printed itinerary. I have printed excerpts from websites. I have phone numbers preprogrammed into my cell phone. I have all of this in a book, with tabbed dividers. Cue the laughter.
I opened my book and proceeded to tell Margo how to get from Revere to the subway station a few miles away, that would carry us to the virtual doorstep of our tour operator. I was so looking forward to this tour. I had seen most of what they were going to show us, during the daylight hours, on a self guided tour. Now we would go at night, with the weather cooperating, and with knowledgeable and entertaining guides.
We turned out of the hotel and immediately the directions started to make no sense. We should have been going one way, but we were going 90 degrees off. We got onto the highway and not so soon realized we were not on the right road. Why did my directions not work!! I had a map, but it was not detailed enough.
After 10 minutes of travel we pulled into a convenience store and I bought a better map, and talked to the store clerk. Her command of English was better than my command of her native tongue, but she still got me pointed in the right general direction. After another 15 minutes things started to make sense again, based on my directions. Ten minutes later we should have arrived. We hadn’t.
I noticed that we passed by our rental car company’s lot. I remember thinking, “I’m sure it is around here somewhere”. It wasn’t, so we turned around and retraced our steps. After another 15 minutes we were heading on Highway 1A South towards Boston. We had given up on finding the subway station. I was ticked. How could my directions have been so far off? Mapquest had never failed me. Never.
15 minutes later we got close to Boston, and I was still doing a combination of stewing over what went wrong and trying to make sure we wouldn’t get lost. Something kept tapping me on the shoulder and saying “Rental Car Company. Rental Car Company” For most of the last half hour I had been telling the little voice to shut up. Now, I grabbed my book and looked really close at the directions and everything was clear. Mapquest had worked just fine. The directions I was using were to take me to the Rental Car Company to return our car in the morning. A combination of anger, embarrassment, and self-loathing hit me. Those three are not conducive to a good mood. I told Margo what went wrong, and she shrugged it off, and asked where she was supposed to turn.
The time is about 6 PM now and it is the heart of rush hour. I told Margo to take this next exit and God started rolling on the floor. Of course the exit was wrong. But, getting back onto the highway turned out to be next to impossible. To start with there are just not that many on ramps to I-90. They are not every mile or so. We tried for half an hour, before we stumbled onto Commonwealth Ave heading east. By now, we were both unbelievable frustrated. We could not even get going west. Everything seemed to conspire against us. One Ways going the wrong way. Streets closed for construction. Traffic too heavy to make a lane change. And streets blocked off for one event or another.
I noticed that we passed by our rental car company’s lot. I remember thinking, “I’m sure it is around here somewhere”. It wasn’t, so we turned around and retraced our steps. After another 15 minutes we were heading on Highway 1A South towards Boston. We had given up on finding the subway station. I was ticked. How could my directions have been so far off? Mapquest had never failed me. Never.
15 minutes later we got close to Boston, and I was still doing a combination of stewing over what went wrong and trying to make sure we wouldn’t get lost. Something kept tapping me on the shoulder and saying “Rental Car Company. Rental Car Company” For most of the last half hour I had been telling the little voice to shut up. Now, I grabbed my book and looked really close at the directions and everything was clear. Mapquest had worked just fine. The directions I was using were to take me to the Rental Car Company to return our car in the morning. A combination of anger, embarrassment, and self-loathing hit me. Those three are not conducive to a good mood. I told Margo what went wrong, and she shrugged it off, and asked where she was supposed to turn.
The time is about 6 PM now and it is the heart of rush hour. I told Margo to take this next exit and God started rolling on the floor. Of course the exit was wrong. But, getting back onto the highway turned out to be next to impossible. To start with there are just not that many on ramps to I-90. They are not every mile or so. We tried for half an hour, before we stumbled onto Commonwealth Ave heading east. By now, we were both unbelievable frustrated. We could not even get going west. Everything seemed to conspire against us. One Ways going the wrong way. Streets closed for construction. Traffic too heavy to make a lane change. And streets blocked off for one event or another.
I finally told Margo just stay on Commonwealth and keep going east. I liked this for two reasons. The first is that we were getting out of the maze of one-ways, closed streets, and the sheer horror of Friday night downtown traffic. The second is that we should be able to find a subway stop.
I finally was able to figure out that the Kenmore Stop on the Green Line was at Commonwealth and Brookline. We pulled in a parking lot at about 7:10 or so. Our tour was 8 PM, and was meeting at the Marriot Long Wharf at State St and Atlantic. It was going to take us about 20-30 minutes, and a transfer to the Blue Line to get there. We had not eaten yet and I was getting concerned. I would be willing to skip dinner and find something later. The tour would be over at 9:30 or so. But, I wasn’t willing to inflict that on Margo. But, I was hoping that we could find a street vendor or something else quick on the way. I had not yet given up hope.
The subway trip was uneventful, just as I had hoped it would be if we had left from Revere, two hours ago. We made our transfer at Government Center Station and got off at the Aquarium stop, just as I had originally planned. But, now instead of it being 6 PM, it was after 7:30 PM. We got up to street level and looked around. It was then that I decided it was hopeless. There was no way we would be able to find something to eat and then find where we were supposed to meet our group in the 20 minutes we had left. All we would do was make a bad situation worse.
So we found our tour and I informed that they wouldn’t be making it. The tour was sold out, so some lucky souls would enjoy that otherwise wouldn’t. For some reason that did not give me any pleasure. My tickets were also non-refundable. Oh, well. Maybe we could get some shopping in.
I finally was able to figure out that the Kenmore Stop on the Green Line was at Commonwealth and Brookline. We pulled in a parking lot at about 7:10 or so. Our tour was 8 PM, and was meeting at the Marriot Long Wharf at State St and Atlantic. It was going to take us about 20-30 minutes, and a transfer to the Blue Line to get there. We had not eaten yet and I was getting concerned. I would be willing to skip dinner and find something later. The tour would be over at 9:30 or so. But, I wasn’t willing to inflict that on Margo. But, I was hoping that we could find a street vendor or something else quick on the way. I had not yet given up hope.
The subway trip was uneventful, just as I had hoped it would be if we had left from Revere, two hours ago. We made our transfer at Government Center Station and got off at the Aquarium stop, just as I had originally planned. But, now instead of it being 6 PM, it was after 7:30 PM. We got up to street level and looked around. It was then that I decided it was hopeless. There was no way we would be able to find something to eat and then find where we were supposed to meet our group in the 20 minutes we had left. All we would do was make a bad situation worse.
So we found our tour and I informed that they wouldn’t be making it. The tour was sold out, so some lucky souls would enjoy that otherwise wouldn’t. For some reason that did not give me any pleasure. My tickets were also non-refundable. Oh, well. Maybe we could get some shopping in.
We decided to go to the Faneuil Hall Marketplace to find something to eat, and maybe do some shopping. We were both starving. We found a directory and decided to do the tourist thing and eat at Cheers. Margo and I had eaten at the Bull and Finch when we were in Boston eight years ago. We figured we may as well check out the new place. The food was good. Nothing special, but it did have a good atmosphere. By the time we were finished eating I was feeling much better. The two beers I had probably had something to do with that.
Once we finished we wandered around the Marketplace, but most everything was closed or closing. So, as we had had another long day and we were flying home tomorrow, we decided to retrace out tracks back to Brookline and head home. I was pretty concerned about getting home, based on the nightmare it took to get to the Waterfront area. But, it worked out reasonably well. I seem to remember getting on to Massachusetts and I think we ended up getting onto I-90 via Cambridge, but once on the turnpike we were golden. Traffic had calmed down some and we made it back to Revere in about 30 minutes.
Our adventure was over for the day. Tomorrow we would fly home. The one good thing about getting lost in downtown Boston was getting to travel through the Ted Williams Tunnel and to drive across the Leonard P. Zakim-Bunker Hill Memorial Bridge. It isn’t often you run across a major piece of roadwork named after a baseball player. So that we kind of neat to do that. The people of Boston must have a nickname for the bridge, but we didn’t have anytime to find that out. It is an interesting looking piece of architecture. I only wish we would have been in a picture taking mood. But, alas, tonight we took no pictures. The ones in Plymouth were the last of our trip. I’ll do better next time.
Once we finished we wandered around the Marketplace, but most everything was closed or closing. So, as we had had another long day and we were flying home tomorrow, we decided to retrace out tracks back to Brookline and head home. I was pretty concerned about getting home, based on the nightmare it took to get to the Waterfront area. But, it worked out reasonably well. I seem to remember getting on to Massachusetts and I think we ended up getting onto I-90 via Cambridge, but once on the turnpike we were golden. Traffic had calmed down some and we made it back to Revere in about 30 minutes.
Our adventure was over for the day. Tomorrow we would fly home. The one good thing about getting lost in downtown Boston was getting to travel through the Ted Williams Tunnel and to drive across the Leonard P. Zakim-Bunker Hill Memorial Bridge. It isn’t often you run across a major piece of roadwork named after a baseball player. So that we kind of neat to do that. The people of Boston must have a nickname for the bridge, but we didn’t have anytime to find that out. It is an interesting looking piece of architecture. I only wish we would have been in a picture taking mood. But, alas, tonight we took no pictures. The ones in Plymouth were the last of our trip. I’ll do better next time.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Our last day of vacation. It is always a combination of panic and depression, which evens itself out to The Blahs. There is a certain rushed excitement about heading home and will soon be reunited with friends, family, and your own pillow But that is tempered by the fact that the fun is over and work looms. The only thing tipping your mood out of the doldrums is basking in the afterglow of recent memories.
This had been a great vacation. We got to see so much of New England and we learned a lot. The landscapes we saw were very pretty and it boggles me that they were even better just a few short days before we got there.
The rest of our day went just as scheduled. We returned our car, and believe it or not, my directions worked just fine. The shuttle dropped us off right in front of our terminal. Our flight to Chicago was on time. Our flight our of Chicago was on time and we only had to wait about 20 minutes for Jessi (daughter), Pete (boyfriend), and our dogs to pick us up.
Next year we are taking a road trip to Texas for our vacation. My wife’s Great Aunt will turn 85. She is the last sibling of my wife’s grandmother and we know there won’t be many more chances to see her again. We have also decided to take a few days and head over to Oklahoma City. I have heard good things about Bricktown and I have wanted to pay my respects to the Oklahoma City Memorial for quite some time.