The three feet of snow and single digit temperature found me trudging along the carriage road in Barbour Woods. This path and I go way back to before I attended Center School and Mom occupied me with walks in the woods. We used the Shepard Road entrance and would go as far as a boulder where Mom sat and watched me climb. After I became a parent I appreciated the strategy she used for an energetic youngster.
Back then the boulder towered over me. Now I am taller than the “boulder,” which might be considered more of a rock outcrop. During my extensive wilderness travels I encountered real boulders that towered over my adult size. Yet none hold the towering presence in my memories as the rock outcrop along a carriage road in Barbour Woods.
I cannot remember my age when I first followed the carriage road beyond the “boulder” to the stone bridge. Old enough to be on my own by then, but young enough to be thoroughly enchanted by the sight. How could a young mind look at a forest path traversing an old stone bridge without conjuring trolls and other fairy tale images?
The stone bridge now lies in total disrepair. To postpone the inevitable, at one point my brother Ernie helped to reinforce the structure. Now wooden fences bar the way across on either side, pieces of stonework fallen into the stream below. As viewed from an alternative steel bridge constructed downstream, the ancient stonework now conjures images of old Middle Earth.
I remember the year when I hung a left at the stone bridge and followed the stream downhill, admiring the frozen cascades along the way. January of 1977 featured less snow but a frigid six degrees when I ventured on my nature walk. I veered from the path with the confidence of someone who already had much wilderness experience. Unfortunately, I also possessed the foolishness of someone without enough experience.
Entranced by one particular cascade I walked on the thick, frozen ice up to the base. Unfortunately, the frozen churning water did not extend in thickness to the shallow pool at the base. The end of that day found me in a hospital bed, with a heating lamp over my toes. A complete stranger dashed into my room to see “the crazy person that ran barefoot over the snow.”
In fairness to me, I made enough good decisions after falling through the ice to prevent hypothermia or losing my toes, but that makes for a story to be told another time.
I trudge through the snow far beyond the stone bridge now, closer to the exit on Lovers Lane. I follow cross country ski tracks up to Beech Hill, which occasionally keeps me from plunging through the deep snow. I pause periodically to catch my breath. Some would caution against such vigorous exercise at my age, but I need to stay fit for two people.
During “outdoor season” I push Cindy in her adult stroller for 5 – 10 miles. In the winter I hike or jog these trails so that I can continue to take Cindy out when spring comes. I have four, six and eight mile routes, with only the latter requiring me to leave Barbour Woods to “conquer” Haystack Mountain on the other side of Route 272.
I think about the trail that heads off to the left before reaching the boulder (rock outcrop) from Shepard Road. The end of this short trail brings you to the top of a steep hill overlooking the Wood Creek watershed and flood control dam. Haystack Mountain rises beautifully in the background. A rock the right size for sitting provides a convenient spot for admiring the scene and reflecting.
After snowstorms our son and other neighborhood kids came here to snowboard down the steep slope. I joined them a couple times. They added jumps to the hill for themselves, but I had enough trouble just negotiating the two drainage gullies that traverse the slope. One time Trent and Glen came by on their cross country skis. In a pure fluke I carved down the slope in front of them and navigated the gullies without falling once. Ever since then I fancied that these two experienced recreationalists mistakenly thought that I could snowboard!
On another wintry day in 2009 I cut down a tree near this spot. The family had been going through our darkest time, dark enough to abandon Christmas traditions that year. Yet snowstorms inspire me. A few days before Christmas I trudged through two feet of snow to defy cruel Fate.
Fate continued to be unkind as I trudged along, offering no evergreens of suitable size and appearance. After reaching the outlook, the spot made for reflection, I decided to cut down the next evergreen tree of suitable height, no matter the appearance. I ended up with a hemlock, the sorriest evergreen that might be used for a Christmas tree. As I trudged back home dragging the sparsely branched and needled tree behind me, I realized I chose the perfect tree for the occasion after all.
The next year I bought a Charlie Brown type tree, less than two feet high, which fulfills a personal Christmas tradition.
I used to call the rock at the top of the outlook Davidson’s Rock. Karen Davidson meditated there often, before passing away all too soon from cancer. Her Mom, the beloved Dottie Satherlie, just passed away at age 102. Dottie earned a reputation as one of the kindest and most charitable souls to ever call Norfolk her home. She sat with Cindy as a volunteer for four years, always making us feel like we were doing her a favor.
I reach the top of Beech Hill where the Norfolk Land Trust placed two Adirondack chairs for viewing Haystack from a different angle. The chairs provide more comfort, but I prefer the view and nostalgia from Davidson’s Rock. The time has come for me to call that place Cindy’s Rock now, as prominent in my memory as the “boulder” a preschool adventurer climbed long ago.
As I head back down Beech Hill part of me wants to veer off to go by the two memorable rocks of Barbour Woods. By doing so I would manifest the impetuous me that fell through ice or dragged a tree through two feet of snow. Instead I literally retrace my footsteps, sensibly landing in the holes I already made. With the older you become, sometimes memories have to be enough.
Beautiful pictures. You tell a great story. Love you both.
Wonderful memories, much like my own, of certain rocks and hiking routes. I still pass the same rocks I played on as a child, whenever I visit my home turf. One of them is where my late father worked hard to landscape after the area was developed for light industry. So I remember him as well, just as you remember Cindy’s enjoyment of Barbour rock.
I discovered the Barbour Woods path when I was in 6th grade with my then “girlfriend” Kathy who lived on Lover’s Lane. The year was about 1980.
My memories of winter are of the Yale Summer School / Ellen Battell Stoeckel estate. My oldest brother, Milo, was friends with the caretaker’s sons John and Joey. My father used to work the lights in the music shed during the summer concerts. We lived on Route 44 in the center of town, right across from the red wall of the estate.
My family was allowed to do runner sledding down the hill and the driveway on the estate. My brothers sometimes piled snow to bank the corners of the driveway for a half mile sled run down the driveway. We would also sled down a path between the trees, cross the driveway, and end up on the field next to the red wall. My brothers would sometimes have to break the top of the snow at the lower wall during really icy conditions so the sleds would stop before hitting the lower wall. I watched the evergreen trees grow taller on the path we used to sled as I grew in to a young man.
My father also had a full sized Toboggan. We would take it down a back hill nearer the music shed on the estate. If you were in the front of the toboggan, you would be in danger of getting a face full of snow. But oh, what fun!
Runner sleds and the toboggan were a big part of my growing up. I still say that a bloody lip or banged elbow during a sledding event meant that you had been integrated in to the “Norfolk sledding club”.
Thank You for the wonderful memories of the Barbour Woods path, the rock bridge which was still passable in 1980, and the other great memories of Norfolk.
Thanks for sharing your memories.
THANK YOU for taking us on these lovely woodsy hikes. Beautifully described! I definitely felt as if I was there. Maybe that’s partly because we have a foot of snow still sitting here on Cape Cod that won’t melt! We were lucky as kids living on West Hill in New Hartford to also have a walk led by Mom to the Big Rock and the Big BIG Rock in the woods. We were so lucky to have those Mamas. I think these kinds of personal stories woven with meaning and nature would be great in a book. I know you have lots of political, economic, and social theories that you also write about, but I think the personal touch is what people connect with. Especially with beautiful photographs like the one here.