The Kilton Mica Mine

After a recent post about the New Hampshire 5-town rock, my youngest daughter threatened to disown me if wrote any more articles about any more rocks. As I remember it, the words "dork" and "weirdo" were peppered throughout the conversation. So as you wish, Madison. Today I'm not going to write about any rocks. In fact, today I'll do the opposite and write about the absence of rocks; specifically, the Kilton Mica Mine in the western part of our state.

The Kilton Mica Mine is located in the mountains of Grafton New Hampshire, where the Eureka Mining company leased property from M. M. Kilton and began operations in 1914. They were actually in search of a feldspar deposit, but a fair amount of mica crystals were removed from the site which, not being part of the mining lease, were taken by the land owner for himself.

I had spent an unsuccessful afternoon once already looking for this site, but a month later found myself passing through the area and decided to give it one more try. I started off optimistically enough, but after several hours roaming the mountain I was bug-bitten, sweaty, and ready to scratch this place off my treasure map for good. That's when I spotted a group of hikers coming from the direction I was going. We chatted a bit, and I learned one of them had actually been to Kilton Mine as a kid. He pointed me to the next mountain over and said it was somewhere on the far side, and to make sure I was careful of the deep pit near the top. These directions eventually did the trick, and on the crazy chance a hiker named Jason ever reads this blog and remembers that encounter, I owe you an adventure. Or a beer.

I've recently gotten into the habit of doing a couple things with my adventures. One is that I'll shoot a quick video just after finding whatever it was I'd been looking for; the other is that right before I show you that video, I'll find myself having to explain something goofy that I did in it. Here's today's situation. The road that leads to this mountain is called Kilton Road; the pond that sits nearby is called Kilton Pond; and the last name of the former landowner was Kilton. I guess I should have no problem remembering what the name of the mine is, right?

Like many other mines I've visited, the entrance to Kilton begins with a tall, narrow cut through rock.

A cut ending at a place that, with its various pillars and chambers, looked like what you'd get if Ruggles Mine had a child.

To the right were these flooded rooms, a little too deep to mess with on this fall afternoon.

But to the left was the goal of each and every mine I set out in search of; a tunnel.

It extended perhaps a hundred feet into the mountain before dead-ending at the bottom of the pit I'd been warned not to fall into. Light shining down lit up a beautiful cascade of icicles, making a picturesque ending to my day.

But Kilton Mine was such an enjoyable place, I set out last month to revisit it with friends. We arrived to a layer of unbroken snow, confirming my suspicion that this is not a well known of or visited mine.

Several bonuses came from making this return trip during the winter. First is that the ice allowed us to explore those caverns that were otherwise flooded, which subsequently allowed me to plant some easter eggs throughout the cavern walls.

Second was at the bottom of the pit, where this giant sheet of ice extended down like a frozen waterfall.

And it was behind this icefall that I found the third surprise of the day, in that this is not the end of the mine. A crawl space led to another chamber that I'd missed my first time here, and almost missed again if not for the fact I'd been looking so closely at the ice sheet. To enter this new room would require crawling or even sliding along the ice, but our March temperatures were just warm enough that only a thin sheet of ice covered the enclosed room, and when I pushed on it the sheet went floating off into the darkness. I dunked my hiking stick into the water to the point my lower arm was submerged, but still could not feel bottom. This tells me that what I thought was a crawl space was actually the ceiling of a full-size chamber, flooded except for the last couple of feet.

I went home that afternoon still not able to cross the Kilton Mineshaft off my to-do list. That won't happen until next January, when temperatures are cold enough to freeze even the deepest regions of the mine, and I can crawl inside this hidden chamber to find out just what secrets it has to offer.

Precious Blood Cemetery

Some guys choose to romance their wives with run-of-the-mill gifts such as flowers or jewelry. These old-fashioned tricks may still work on some women, but the way to my wife's heart is an afternoon spent exploring a brand new cemetery. And if the name of that cemetery resembles something out of a Stephen King novel - such as the Precious Blood Cemetery - well, you probably just earned yourself a night of free beers, mister.

Precious Blood Cemetery is located in Woonsocket, RI, and the first thing to know about this place is that don't go judging a book by its cover. Or its name. This is a cemetery that above all else is known for its beauty. There are monuments here that would rival the best that nationally famous cemeteries such as Mt. Auburn have to offer.

Where it differs from Mt. Vernon, or some of the other "Garden Style" cemeteries, is that the majority of Precious Blood is actually filled with very modest headstones. It's the remaining 25% that will stop you in your tracks.

Most impressive of them all, and what originally put this cemetery on my treasure map of places to visit, is Aram Pothier's family mausoleum. Pothier was a six time Governor of Rhode Island, who served at various times from 1909 until his death in 1928. He was once the town's most notable resident, and with his peristyle monument standing atop one of the highest peaks, he is perhaps the cemetery's most notable resident as well.

But amidst all this extravagance, there was just as much charm to be found in the simplest of memorials.

In addition to its beautiful side, Precious Blood Cemetery has an ominous one, as well. In 1955, Hurricane Diane came roaring through town, breeching a dam along the Blackstone River and flooding Woonsocket, creating the worst natural disaster the town had every seen. Saturation pushed over 50 coffins out of the earth, with many being carried away before breaking apart and scattering bones all throughout town. Care was taken to piece the skeletons back together and return them to their original graves, but legend says that at the end of cleanup townsfolk were left much like I was after assembling our gas grill this past summer - thinking they'd completed the job but still staring at a bag of leftover parts. Because of this, spirits are said to roam the cemetery to this day, searching for their missing bones.

For a while last summer, while I was rehabbing a hip that would qualify for replacement if Mother Nature offered a lemon law, Tina and I took to spending our weekends walking cemeteries as an enjoyable way to get some non-strenuous exercise. Some were more interesting than others, but Precious Blood was in a category almost by itself. Which got me to thinking.

I googled a list of art museums in and around Boston, and according to the folks at tripadvisor.com at the time of this writing, the average ticket price for the top ten art museums near Boston is just over $15 per person. Not to take anything away from what those great places have to offer - in fact learning there was a Normal Rockwell museum added a new place to my treasure map - but if you're simply looking for a way to enjoy some beautiful sculptures, I'll argue that you cannot do much better than an afternoon spent wandering the Precious Blood Cemetery.

And the cost of admission? Only the gas it took to get you there.

Links:
Blackstone River Flood, Bodies Recovered - Providence Public Library
Images of America, Woonsocket - by Robert R Bellerose
Top Art Museum In The Boston Area - tripadvisor.com

On The Hunt For Abandoned Vehicles II

Life for me is one big treasure hunt, and some of my favorite things to find throughout this never-ending game are abandoned cars. Every vehicle left forgotten and rusting in the woods somewhere has a story to tell, and if cars could talk I'd sit down and have a beer with each and every one of them. Here is part two of my search for the abandoned vehicles of New England.

This first day of treasure hunting found me exploring a set of railroad tracks where I was actually in search of some graffiti, said to be very spectacular and hidden somewhere below one of the bridges. Unfortunately, the only graffiti I found was artwork by young boys just learning the human anatomy, but during the course of my exploration I came across this mostly buried car by the edge of the woods. I guessed it to have been sitting there for at least the past few decades, but remarkably when I returned to this area just a few weeks later, it was gone.

Unlike that first car which I stumbled upon purely through good karma, this next one I found after specifically marking it's location on Google Earth, then following a very weak cellphone signal to track it down. Adding to this challenge was that I went searching for it the same week a nor'easter came rolling through town. But telling myself that the harder the search the more rewarding the find, I was able to snowshoe my way out and catch a few glimpses of it beneath the snow. This car is located next to the Ellis River just north of Storyland, a place we visited often when our kids were younger. They're teenagers now and our Storyland days are long past, but you can bet my wife is counting the days to grandkids so she can go howling down that Polar Coaster once again.

Driving through the countryside one afternoon, this apocalyptic farming vehicle caught my eye just as we were passing a field. I pulled to the side of the road and pretended to read my phone until a lady disappeared back into her house from across the way, then I darted across the field as best a 48 year old with one hip can dart, and I snapped this picture.

Somewhere in eastern Massachusetts, abandoned within the no-mans land that separates a public hiking preservation and a private farm, sits this crane. Figuring it was close enough to the public side of things for us to stop and look at, Tina and I soon found ourselves taking turns in the drivers seat and snapping pictures. Only problem was, the cabin door had been rusted shut and it took quite a bit of banging for me to get it open. That attracted the attention of a farmhand who came wandering over, and he was none too happy to see me at that very moment tight-rope walking the boom. I tried explaining that because it sat right next to the trail we figured it was purposely left here for hikers to play on, but this guy was not in the mood for jokes. We got our pictures, but we also got an unexpected cardio workout, double-timing it out of there while the farmhand went yelling for his boss.

Back to my hometown of Dover, where I first spotted this truck in the woods off Tolend Road while driving an area we don't normally travel. Into my mental filing cabinet it went, until later that summer while on a bike ride I took the long way home for a closer look. I'm not very good with all the settings my camera has to offer, but given enough chances even a monkey on a typewriter is going to bang out a sentence every now and then. By this same law of randomness I was able to get all the colors just as I wanted them, for this final picture in today's edition of abandoned vehicles of New England.

Related Links:
On The Hunt For Abandoned Vehicles - Part One

The Medfield Insane Asylum

What do you do with a former insane asylum that is no longer being used to house patients?  You could fence it off to prevent people from getting near it, or you could tear it down to make room for yet one more condo association. But if you're the really cool folks of Medfield Massachusetts, you turn the entire area into a walking park and open it up to the public.

The Medfield Insane Asylum began operating in 1896 as a way to ease overcrowding among the state's existing facilities. By 1914 it had changed its name to the politically correct Medfield State Hospital, at which point its campus style grounds consisted of over 50 buildings and was home to 1,500 patients; a number would swell to over 2,300 in later years.

Today this entire area sits abandoned and boarded, and although some of the buildings have been destroyed in recent years, on the day we went I counted at least 30 of them still standing. Medfield was a community as much as a hospital, and what's left has the creepiness of a ghost town but the pleasantness of a city park.

We passed several people along the streets that day - including a family with young kids and a pair of elderly ladies - and all were doing exactly the same thing we were; getting some exercise while at the same time enjoying this glimpse into Massachusetts' past.

Anyone who remembers the cars I drove as a youth can tell you that I find beauty in the decrepit. Put me in a place like this and I'm a big old kid in a 900 acre playground, trying to see it all in one afternoon. I probably made Tina take a dozen pictures standing by this clocktower just to make sure I’d have a least one or two that wouldn’t end up in my recycling bin.

A few of the buildings were residential houses where I believe management kept themselves separate from the population, but mostly the staff lived in the upper floors and attics of the same brick buildings patients were housed in.

For a variety of reasons - least of all the hazardous materials released by the deterioration of the buildings - the town doesn’t want people going inside any of them. In addition to boarding up all the windows, security guards regularly patrol the grounds and signs everywhere warn of all the bad stuff you’ll be inhaling should you enter. I'm also convinced they have the buildings alarmed. Why I think that, I'll never tell.

Outdoor activities were a part of life for many patients of Medfield Hospital. They farmed the hundreds of acres surrounding the hospital, providing enough food not only for the hospital but excess to ship to surrounding towns. This was important not only for the hospital to help sustain itself, but for patients to keep busy while at the same time learning to lead productive lives. It wasn't all work for them, though - playtime did exist, at least according to a fenced-in yard and basketball court toward the back of the complex.

It took me the better part of a full beer to figure out how to write these next few sentences. I didn't want to finish this post by just putting up more pictures of boarded up buildings, or by stating a bunch of random facts I'd looked up about the hospital, but I couldn't translate that into figuring out how I did want to finish it. Finally I tried looking at things from a different perspective. The day we explored here I spent most of my time running around trying to get the perfect picture, and the rest of it wondering what the buildings looked like on the inside. But did I ever stop to think about the people who actually lived here, who considered this place home? I'm sure I didn't. At best I probably offered up a few stinks to have been them type comments before moving on.

So I forced myself to think about what this place must have meant to the people housed here, especially during those early years. I'm a healthy and free individual who is able to live the life I choose. Sometimes what I choose takes me in crazy directions - such as this past weekend when I drove 80 miles in search of some obscure cave on some even more obscure mountain - but that's the beauty of being free. I can do whatever makes me happy, even if it is something that leaves my wife muttering and scratching her head. With the limited health care and rehabilitation knowledge of their time, this was a choice residents of the Medfield Hospital did not have. For some of them, even if they only wanted to go outside for some fresh air, they had to wait for someone to come along and give them permission.

Rehabilitation methods vastly improved during the years Medfield State Hospital was in operation, and in direct relation to that came more patients being re-introduced into society and less need for them to be permanently housed. The population continued dropping, and by 2003, down to less than 200 patients, the hospital closed for good.

Although a public park (and occasional movie set) for now, attempts to turn this site into a massive housing complex have come up in the past, and will come up again. One day, nothing will remain of this place thousands of patients once called home and over 800 of them died, in many instances simply because they were born in a less fortunate era than those of us today.

Links of Interest:
Visit the Medfield State Hospital