Quock Walker (Barre Massachusetts) Entry #7

Coming soon.

God's Ten Acres (Worcester Massachusetts) Entry #6

God's Ten Acres, or Deed Rock, is the story of God, the end of the world, sincere ambition, and a deep desire for peace. It is the story of Solomon Parsons and the idealism that lived in our country at the turn of the 19th century. (It's also a pretty cool place to find, buried in the woods of Worcester Massachusetts.)

Solomon Parsons Sr. (the father of our protagonist) served in the Revolutionary war. He was also the first Puritan Pastor in Leicester Massachusetts. In 1812, Solomon Sr. moved his family to Valley Falls (an area that now encompasses South High), Worcester after some dispute about his theology among the Puritans. Unswayed in his religious beliefs, Solomon Sr. became a founding member of the First Baptist Church in Worcester (now located by the campus of WPI). He settled and had children.

Solomon Jr. (the focus of this article) was born to a peaceful and religious family. He served in the

Worcester Light Infantry as an officer (something that may have lead to his later pacifism) and married the granddaughter of a Hessian soldier. He had several children, 2 sons and 3 daughters. He became a focused, successful and happy farmer. Solomon left his father's baptist church and was a founder of the First Methodist Episcopal Church in Worcester. Up until this point, his recorded life is void of larger conflict. His father may have had some upheaval in  leaving Leicster, but he landed squarely on his feet, and Solomon Jr seems to have had a special knack for farming. Accounts of his success were known throughout the region. Unseen by Solomon Jr., all of this success was about to be sidelined by a divine force by the name of William Miller, or as some have called him, the Prophet of Doom.

William Miller was born in 1782. He lived in Vermont as a farmer and privately, and adamantly studied the scriptures. Miller was a Deist (followed the belief that God created the world and then abandoned it to natural laws), but during his service in the war of 1812, saw evidence that indeed God did still intervene on humanity's behalf. Miller began to focus strongly on the Book of Daniel and all of its eschatological (end-of-the-world) depths. Using a system of translating dates, counting one day for one year, he derived that Daniel 8:13-14
 (13 Then I heard one saint speaking, and another saint said unto that certain saint which spake, How long shall be the vision concerning the daily sacrifice, and the transgression of desolation, to give both the sanctuary and the host to be trodden under foot?14 And he said unto me, Unto two thousand and three hundred days; then shall the sanctuary be cleansed.) pointed to Christ's second coming (second advent), and using a year to day ratio saw the subsequent, violent, ending of the world happening sometime in the year of 1843. He struggled privately with this news. According to his private writings, he spoke aloud his frustrations to God for years. Finally, after eating breakfast one Saturday, he felt God impress upon him strongly to "Go and tell it to the world." His immediate response was that he couldn't. He felt God respond, "why not?" Through a large amount of inner turmoil at this calling, Miller made a pact with God. If he would "open the way," (specifically open up places for him to publicly speak, something that had never happened before) he would announce his revelation to the world. Within half an hour, he was told by a friend that a church 16 miles distant would be vacant of a preacher the coming Sunday, and that he was requested specifically to preach about the coming of the Lord. William Miller held true to his word, and thus began a movement that spread like wild fire up the eastern coast of the United States. Miller was soon preaching nonstop, and continued to do so for the next 13 years. His records indicate that he preached at 3200 occasions, an average of 266 times a year. His followers gained the title of "Millerites" and they numbered in the 100,000's, a massive amount for that time in American History. 

Solomon Parsons, the son of a religious revisionist,  felt the pull. Many Millerites prepared for the coming armageddon by selling off their property. Solomon did more than this, he bought the eastern slope of Tetasset Hill (renamed Rattlesnake Hill by the colonists due to the massive amount of tumbled boulders lining the steep slopes, a perfect location for Timber Rattlers. It contained, in fact,

the last bastion of Rattlers in Worcester county before they were completely eradicated) from William G. Hall for $125 in 1840. In a move that still confounds the law today, Solomon Parsons did not deed the land to himself, but instead payed a lawyer to deed all of the ten acres to God Himself. To make sure that this was known and recorded beyond the leather covers of the law books, he payed Sylvester Ellis to carve it meticulously into a flat boulder at the entrance of his land. This engraving was so well done, that it is still visible, and plainly legible in most places hundreds of years later. He also built a temple to worship God in while the Millerites, and any other God-fearing Christians were awaiting Christ's second coming (second Advent). Indeed, many people (hundreds according to records) came to worship there. The land was imbued with a peace and natural beauty that can still be felt today. 

Solomon had adopted a strict adherence to pacifism, possibly due to the violence that he had witnessed in the war as well as the death of one of his sons in service. He also began to follow a vegetarian dietary code that flowed over to an early form of Veganism, he refused to use animal based products such as leather. Although his religious beliefs and earthly practices could be seen as severe, especially for the time, Solomon Parsons was still regarded as solid and trustworthy individual. The temple he made was made of stone and sheet metal and was designed to be solid enough to survive the coming cataclysm. Five pillars lined the front of the building and emblazoned across the stone lintel of the front door were the words "Thou Shalt Not Kill." Subsequent scriptures were chiseled into the entrance pillars: "Peace on earth." "Good will to men." 

The "Second Coming" never came, and thus came a time in American history known as "The Great Disappointment." The Millerites reacted to this by stating that the math was off and some of his followers quickly set a subsequent date for Oct 22, 1844 as the true date. This date also came and passed and the disillusioned Millerites quietly disbanded. Two great churches were born from Miller's teachings however. The Adventist and Seventh Day Adventist churches find their roots in Miller's "Second Advent" teachings. The latter of these came to be through the subsequent efforts and

teachings of Ellen G. White, a Millerite and follower. Her writings regarding Miller find him to be something of lasting hero. She found hope and instruction in Miller's post-dissapointment writings. Miller never gave up hope, and reacted fairly well to his misinterpretation of scripture. Instead of despairing and scratching around for retributive reasoning, Miller simply retracted and allowed for his misunderstanding to pass. He states in his final writings: "I have fixed my mind upon another time, and here I mean to stand until God gives me more light, and that is today, TODAY and TODAY until he comes and I see for whom my soul yearns." Solomon Parsons seemed to have persevered much the same way. 

Solomon continued to open his Temple to the public. His farms were massive and successful  in fact Parson's Cider Mill survived for years in Worcester as an Inn.  Solomon's surviving son dammed up the brooks that cut through the propriety and built several mills grist, saw etc and some of these were later equipped with electricity and made into successful businesses. Even Robert Goddard, of rocket science fame used part of Parson's land to test his rockets. Solomon Parsons Jr. survived to 93 years of age, a fact that he adamantly contributed to his avoidance of meat. He finally got to see the God of peace he served so devotedly on December 16, 1893. 

His land, "God's Ten Acres" now is something of an interesting predicament. The land was indeed trusted to God, but the lawyer that filed deed never engraved his name on the boulder to which the deep writing still remains. God has also never come to claim his land. The city of Worcester instead has held the land in something of a trust. The Worcester Airport owns all of the remaining surrounding land, and I am sure would be loathe to sell it. So Solomon Parson's "God's Ten Acres" sits, much as it was, in the hands of no one but God. 

The land presently is crisscrossed with trails. It is very beautiful. Tetasset Hill is a wonderful tumble of huge stones. Ben clamored his way through these for a while, while we were searching for the deed stone, and came out saying that it would take some serious scrambling to get to the top. We followed spray painted markers all over the place. There is a rainbow of colors marking the tangle of trails that cut through this land: orange dots, red stripes, blue stripes, red and blue stripes, light blue rectangles, white triangles.... on and on. One official marker stated that we were on a "East-West Trail" that we followed on a snipe hunt forever. Near the apex of our confusion, we found this little

beauty of a warning. "Life can end in a minute, so enjoy now." This, hinting at the fact that there have

been several recorded suicides on this property, did throw a bit of an anxious shadow on our being lost in the woods looking for the Deed Stone. One of the advantages of being lost was that we found many other things that we would never have located if we had found the inscription (our chief goal on this adventure) earlier. We saw (dried up) fishing ponds that were obviously channeled for the flow and overflow of water. Culverts, now exposed, created by lining the path with stone slabs, that redirected water into irrigation funnels. If these were indeed created by Solomon, it was still readily obvious that he had a knack for land management. We also found several foundations, one of which seemed a bit more modern, because of the inclusion of mortar. One foundation though, I believe to be the original foundation of the temple, was laid out strongly with walls that were still sharp and well formed. 

The Deed Stone itself is actually very easy to find, if you know what to look for. Our couple of hours, and miles, of exploration was really just misfiring because we didn't know where to look. The road, Swan Drive, to the trail head, is winding, pitted and dirt. (good for my jeep). It doesn't actually seem like the Worcester that I know of. It seemed very rural and backwoods. Actually, a bit isolated and

kind of scary to be caught on your own in. I did, and would, go with friends. If you are paying attention to the right hand side of the road, you will see several trails break into the woods just beyond a pull off. This is where I parked and entered. The road ahead, seems like it dead-ends into a house. I mistakenly thought that this whole road ended in a type of private driveway. It does, in fact, turn sharply there and if you continue to drive around the corner, there is another pull off with two steel gates. The main trail system starts here as well as the foundations and fish pools. If you want to shorten your trip and just hit the crux of the thing right away, walk up the road a tiny bit and look for as sign carved into a wooden plank on the right hand side stating Deed Rock.

Just a tiny walk will lead you to a beautiful little grotto set against the wall of Rattlesnake ledge. It still has that abandoned look and words are still quite visible on the stone. Maybe it was the hours of searching, or maybe it was just that this land, possibly beyond any other land that I have ever been on, belongs to God, but there is a peace there. It is a beautiful place, in remembrance of, by all recorded instances, a beautiful and sincere man whose final wish still holds place in the sanctuary he created: God's Ten Acres. 

Abandoned Train Tunnel (Clinton Massachusetts) Entry #5

Right out of the line of sight, tucked into the side of the road bordering a fairly large dam in Clinton Massachusetts, sits an abandoned beauty of a train tunnel. When you start searching out places like this, as with any "slightly off" hobbies like: bird watching, rock collecting and the entire field of entomology, people that share your interest sometimes become excited (or really, really, overly excited) and like to tell you, in rapid succession, about their own happenings. That was the case with

this site. I was speaking to someone this winter and they, with a sparkle in their eye, told me about a tunnel that was still open, but not commonly known, and was completely abandoned by the state. I heard... and let it fall into the files I keep in the back of my head about these things. (These files are the reason that other things like taking out the trash every week and returning library books, don't seem to find a place in my memory.) So I,  flanked by a small but pretty awesome assortment of friends, their children and my own children, set out to find it. (Props to Ruben, Ben and Keri... I think we may be setting out on more of these "adventures" in the future.)

Finding the place was actually really easy. There is the remains of a trestle still visible on the side of the road

The trestle

opposite the dam. The tunnel lies directly in back of that. Also, you could just reference the map at the upper corner of this website to find out the exact location. The dam on the opposite side is also worth exploring. It is actually quite beautiful and has trails that run both sides of the valley. At one point people were allowed to walk across the top. I don't think that that is still a possibility, but the trails are really worth the trip. Just one more thought before we get back to the tunnel, there is also a museum dedicated to Russian Icons that is actually pretty extensive and worth the time it takes to go through it.

Right... back to tunnels. This tunnel, as you can see by the picture at the top, was really big. The

construction was kind of breath taking. It went way above utilitarian in my opinion. Massive stone blocks, nicely splayed out at the main entrance, led into a smooth walled, enormously tall tunnel. I estimate the tunnel to be maybe a quarter of a mile long, but it really does feel longer when you are walking through. A little over half way through the walls change from manicured cement, to roughly chiseled out stones. I think the stones are more impressive than the cement. They have fallen in places, but I think it all remains reasonably sound.


The temperature drops a good twenty degrees on the inside. When Ben and I stood in front of the

tunnel waiting for the others to arrive, the breeze carried through the tunnel was like air conditioning. The floor of the tunnel is wet in places, especially near the end where it gets pretty swampy. If you are considering going past the far end of the tunnel, I strongly recommend boots. Cracks in the roof have begun to develop stalactites. There is some graffiti, as can be expected, but I was surprised by the overall lack of trash. There was some, and evidence of party fires, but it was kind of minimal for an open tunnel hidden from view. Parts of the wall had broken off in places revealing the wooden supports structure beneath.

There is internet talk about this place being haunted by ghost trains. Oh if there were only ghost trains, my life would be so much cooler. In truth the creepiness factor is sadly missing here. It is awesome, but it isn't creepy despite a couple of traditional ghost-hunteresque happenings: Keri's newly bought flashlight did inexplicably run out of batteries half-way through. Ben and I did have one moment where we stopped and looked at each other as what sounded like a large truck, or by a small stretch of the imagination, a train, sounded like it was roaring its way through the tunnel. The sound was deep, the kind  that you can feel in your chest. There is nothing but woods on top of the tunnel, so the best that we could figure it, the sound of trucks going by on the nearby road

might sometime get amplified in the tunnel. The only scary part of the tunnel really was the poison ivy that lines the left had trail leading to the tunnel.  My son summed up the tunnel by calling it similar to something out of Indiana Jones. I agree, there are parts of it, surrounded by woods that have completely retaken it that did seem like an ancient ruin. The far end for example does seem have that grand, abandoned feel. All in all, this is a pretty cool place and totally worth the trip. I heard talk about the Rail Trail claiming it. That would be very, very cool.
As with all good tunnels, trips also have to have an end. We ended ours by going to another secret worth sharing, the nearby Rota Springs Farm for ice cream. I highly recommend the Lemon Sorbet... little chunks of lemon rind right in the sorbet... yes!

The Naramore Grave (Barre, Massachusetts) Entry #4

This is a sad place. I wanted it to be a creepy place, but the tragedy that took place here is really beyond the facade of creepiness. It had the right ingredients: a mass grave hidden miles into the woods, the murder of children, social ostracism, abuse, creepy dolls, the grave, set in a separate part of the cemetery, nicely sits by an ancient tree that has obviously been struck by lightning (see above), hell even the name Naramore sounds like "Nevermore." If I am to be completely honest... there were a couple times that I felt a little tingle in my spine, but really, sadness is the pervading feeling that I walked away with.

This is the Naramore grave. It was erected in 1992 to commemorate a massive tragedy that happened in 1901 in Oakham. It truly was a failure of both individuals and society to prevent a collision of events that ended in a mother's mass murder of her own six children and a failed attempt at her own life. The grave lies at the end of an old railroad track that has been converted into a rough two to the three-mile trail. To find it, park on the right-hand side after the bridge that spans the Ware river on the Barre/Rutland line on rte 122. Find a gated road (an old train track) that traces the left-hand side of the river and follow it out for about two and half miles. Where the road ends at another gate, take a right and the Riverside Cemetery sits quietly there on the right.

The main entrance is obvious and immediate, but continue down the road a small bit and you will see another smaller entrance. It is here, separated from the main cemetery that you will find a small commemorative stone and six small indentations in the ground. The Naramore's did not have the money to bury their children in the main cemetery.  The stone itself has been quarantined off by some fallen branches laid in a small box around it. Well-meaning people have laid toys completely around it and on the top of the stone. The front lists the names: Lena, Elizabeth, Chester, Walter, Charles, and Ethel; children ranging in age from Lena's six months to Ethel's nine years. The back of the stone tells a small summary of the tragedy that violently ended the lives of these children. 

Their mother murdered them, of that there is no question. She did so with an axe and a small club. She waited till her husband had left for work, locked and barred the doors shut with sticks and then proceeded to kill her children from oldest to youngest, the oldest with the backside of a double bladed axe and the youngest with a small club. She laid the two oldest children in their bed in one bedroom and the other four in another bedroom. She then tried to cut her own throat. She was unsuccessful and proceeded to cut into an artery in her leg. She laid down with her four youngest children and began to die.

Her husband, Frank, had stopped by a grocery store on the way to work and had bought some flour and other small supplies. He paid the delivery person to bring them to his house. It was this boy that found the house. He could not enter and suspected that something was wrong due to the missing children and the barricaded door. He noticed a pool of blood under one of the beds and smashed in the front door. The scene was gruesome, to say the least. It had been a violent and bloody death for the children and the house reflected this. He ran to find Mr. Naramore. A newspaper from that day reported that upon arrival, Mr. Naramore lay prostate in grief. Members of the town were quick upon the scene. Initially, they thought that Mrs. Naramore was dead, but when they tried to remove Lena, her six month old from her arms, she started. She was rushed to a nearby hotel and was eventually revived and saved by some area doctors. 

She was only tried for the murder of her eldest. She was found insane and was sent to the Worcester Asylum for five years after which she was released. 

Underlying the physicalities of this tragedy, were layers of deep, long-term tragedy. It is no small insanity to dent the face of humanity like this. The children were buried in the Riverside Cemetery, not the Baptist Cemetery because the family lacked the funds to bury them there.  The Rev. Charles Talmage, from neighboring Barre MA, spoke at the funeral. He had been digging into the surrounding facts in the case, and his speech was nothing short of shocking. He stood firmly, raised his voice, and soundly accused the father, Frank Naramore, of being the one responsible for his family's death. 

The Naramores were poor. Among the poorest in the area. They lived in a run down house and Frank Naramore did not keep a solid job. He worked for a lumber mill two miles from their house, but was found to be "undependable." The family was starving. In desperation, Mrs. Naramore reached out for help at a nearby "Overseers of the Poor" office in Baldwinville (the town that they had originally come from). The office came to visit and promptly told Mrs. Naramore that they were going to take away all but the youngest of her children and put them in foster families. This, I can only imagine, was not the help that Mrs. Naramore expected. Upon further exploration, Rev. Talmage found that Mr. Naramore was well known for his drunkery and abuse. It was abuse and poverty, coupled with the despair of losing her children that may have moved Elizabeth Naramore to violence. Jenny (my wife) also smartly theorized that she may have been suffering from post-partem psychosis. Her daughter Lena was only six months old.

Frank Naramore vanished into the population after his wife's trial. He fled the town and remained single for the rest of his life. Mrs. Naramore followed suit after her release from the asylum. As far as the specifics go of the Naramore family, this is the end. But the stone inscription at the base of the lightning scarred oak tree that shades the Naramore children continues a bit more. It states that many of the laws protecting children in Massachusetts find their origin in the Naramore case; a small silver lining in a terrible chain of events. 

The stone is covered with children's toys. Nora and Henry picked their way through, surprised I am sure to see toys in such a solemn setting. I let Nora examine each one. She picked up a Teletubby that still spoke a bit when she squeezed it. A matchbox car. A stuffed animal. Somewhere in the back of my mind, in that part that had learned about these things from TV, I twitched at Nora's innocent curiosity. But I thought to myself that at least she is enjoying these things, laid here at the graves of children who will never use them. Henry started to read the back of the stone. He stood there for a bit, asked me what a couple of words meant, and then walked away. I plan on following up with him about it tomorrow. 

It is our responsibility to help those around us. Just under the facade are people that truly are in need. I think that it takes more than laws passed to ease the burdens of those that are feeling the weight of the backside of society. It might seem like a quick vindication to blame the husband, but something in me nags at that quick indictment. We always look to blame, and in a way, it is this that may have been the final undoing of the Naramore family. 

The main part of the Riverside Cemetery is beautiful. Stones are well cared for and small personalized objects find their way into the place. A wind chime hangs from a nearby white pine. A small, metal, garden seat sits rusting near a newer stone. Even the stones themselves seem to speak of a love of life, such as the

Marchand stone that doubles as bird bath. We looked through the stones after leaving the Naramore's site, and I found one that particularly moved me. Under some momentos  and an inscription engraved in stark white letters for Jack P. Remington "A good son, a good dad, a good man" were the words  "Hold Fast."

"Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful." Hebrews 10:23.

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Moore State Park (Paxton Massachusetts) Entry #2

To find this secret place on the map click here.

This isn't quite so hidden as my former entry but it really needs to be mentioned. You know, there are so many good places that are free to go, places that are free monetarily, but also free from the kind of crappy touristy stuff that normally costs money to see. This park is lovingly taken care of, and I use that word specifically. Just a tiny bit down the blocked off road into the park and you will be able to see what I mean. Also, you should go visit right now. This park, at one point, was owned by one of the first licenced, female landscapers in Massachusetts, and she loved rhododendrons and azaleas. They are in full bloom right now and this park sparkles with their presence.  Let me show you a bit of what I mean.

The park has an interesting history and isn't simply just filled with these enormous flowering bushes...

although they are pretty much everywhere. It's original purpose was that of a series of mills used by the surrounding farmers. The brook hits waterfalls here and gains enough push to power the mills. The stonework and canals are still there to be seen, funneling the brook toward the still-standing mill house. The water cascades over the slate falls and off into the woods. After the mills lost their feasibility in 1930, the property was purchased by as a private property by the Mortons, who were wealthy and owned a store in Worcester. It was Mrs. Morton that began planting the flowers that now define Moore State Park. The property was then sold to the Spauldings who named the house and surrounding lands "Enchanta." They continued the process of planting and finally sold the property to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts in 1956. We should all be glad of this and for the conservatory efforts this state has made to preserve and open these special places to the public.  This is a place to come and stay for a while... let the sounds and beauty wash away the day. At this time of year there are plenty of people there, but the place has a magic that keeps everyone pretty quiet. It is peaceful and inspiring.

Even Henry and Nora are fascinated. There is an open pond and waterfall... Adirondack

     chairs and ample opportunity for exploration. Henry walked the low stone wall bordering

the pond for quite some time looking for Dragonfly nymphs. There is no beach. Dogs are allowed when leashed. (Not the place for Chaucer unfortunately. He would be in that pond in a heartbeat) On researching the park, I found that there are a pretty serious amount of trails winding their way through the park: as there are mapped out here. There is even a bird sanctuary up there... hmmmmm. I think this deserves a return trip. The people of Paxton keep this park as a jewel tucked away and kept special and beautiful. It is a place to spend an afternoon... maybe a picnic... and to enjoy.   

Hidden Cemetery (Rutland Massachusetts) Entry # 1

So I figured... why not start with something good... juicy... old and dead. Maybe those adjectives don't really mesh together well, but this is all of those things. This is the stuff Urban Legends are born from: An unmarked,  hidden cemetery tucked deep into the woods behind another cemetery. Not only is it old, unmarked, and tucked deep into the woods, it is a prisoner cemetery. Yes, now we have a blog entry. Here is the link to the map so you could go and find it yourself.

This is Goose Hill Cemetery in Rutland. It is, in its own right, a good old cemetery. It dates from the early 1700's through the 1800's. The ground is so thick with moss that I literally sunk into it as Henry, Nora and I examined the stones. It is old and out of the way, so many of the stones are broken, but there is something special about these old cemeteries. The flowers here aren't in pots. Some have been

planted years ago in front of the stones and have come back every year. Others weren't planted at all. Wild flowers have taken over where human interest has faded and lady slippers and wild columbine now mark a more wild remembrance. If you have never

investigated the old cemeteries of Central Massachusetts, you are missing out. There are gems hidden throughout: murderers, witches, victims... all the makings of a Stephanie Meyer best seller. This one though, only has hints of the past. One stone told of a man with four wives. Depending on your outlook, this man's life was either really good or really bad :).

Directly beside the cemetery is a small cart road. It is unmarked except for a small Rutland Historical Marker that could easily be taken as representing the Goose Hill Cemetery, and maybe it is. But, this road leads to another cemetery tucked away in the woods behind the Goose Hill Cemetery. There is no sign here. No way of knowing that anything is back there. Just another of those barely-there cart roads that branch off of nearly all of the roads in Central Mass. The road eventually turns into a path and the path eventually fades to nearly not a path. About a quarter of a mile in the way opens up to a small clearing. Even this is overgrown now and if not for the Boy Scouts of troupe 141, you could almost

walk right over the small rise of earth that was the Rutland Prison Camps Burial Ground. I say almost because, if you were paying attention at all, you might see the indentations in the ground where 59 prisoners were buried between the years 1900 and 1933. That, by the way, strikes me as a lot of dead prisoners for thirty years at one prison. A bit of research unveils that this prison was an experiment. Prisoners with tuberculosis were sent here and were given instructions for farming and for clean living. There were 100 prisoners imprisoned here. More than half of them succumbed to their disease the rest... potentially, through the care they were given and the healthy lifestyle the lived, lived through it.

The grounds here are over grown with shrubs and small trees. The cemetery isn't protected at all and the markers, 59 iron crosses shown in the old picture here, are now gone. I am sure they are decorating some washed up goth rocker's wanna be apartment somewhere. What is worse, is that someone has

been digging at the graves. The picture doesn't show it very clearly, but this one was definitely dug out. The hole is about five feet deep. Unmarked graves... prisoners dying in discontent... away from their families... disturbed graves... are you with me here?

In all truth, the pervading emotion that I felt, apart from unbridled frustration regarding the clouds of mosquitoes hovering around the woods at this time of year, was sadness. This part of Rutland's past is falling away. Yes they were prisoners, but as William Turner, the superintendent of the Rutland Prison Camps, held as his central ideology, they were people first. He treated them with kindness and with decency and respect. Perhaps effort should be made to continuing his methods. 

The Map

This is an interactive map that I am making of all of the places that I find. I am going to be referring back to this quite a bit.   Feel free to click on the + and - signs on the left to zoom and find exactly where the places are. Also, you can click on the "view in larger map" tag on the bottom to get in nice and close.



View Secret Central Massachusetts in a larger map