I suppose I’m now old enough to join the mall walkers and – Lord knows, I could use the exercise. But walking the mall, or treadin the mill, or exercise of any kind for that matter sets my teeth to grinding, my mind to wandering and – before you know it, I’m on my ass, laptop warming my thighs, thinking but sinking into the couch again.
To put it bluntly, pure exercise bores me to tears.
So I thought, why not take a walk. Not exercise in disguise, no: but perhaps exercise by accident. Why not take a real walk, where I had not walked before, maybe even make it an irregular event (consistency to be avoided at all costs). And, of course, why not share those walks by writing down a mixture of my impressions, the history of the places I’m hoofin it by, and whatever comes into my head at the moment.
It’s true – I think we can all admit, that we tend to ignore, or are indifferent to, what we see every day. We rush past the little oddities of architecture, the alluring dirt roads, the historic markers half hidden in the brush, telling ourselves that we’ll come back one day - when we have the time, when the weather is right, when the stars are aligned: in other words – never.
So I mean to correct that right here and right now.
I mean to act on the whims, the hints of possible adventure, to actually take the turn and rumble up the dirt roads, and discover for myself at the very least how little I know about this town, and to share that ignorance with you – whether you like it or not.
December 26, 2008.
There was a letter to the editor in the Old Colony the other day, a beautiful letter describing Ashley Holmes, and the bogs that his family owned for generations along the Eel River in Plymouth.
In the 25 years I have lived in Plymouth I have probably driven past those bogs – which once bordered both sides of Long Pond Road, a thousand times. In all that time I had never stopped, but had always taken note of how well tended the bogs were – how they were a quilt of changing color, and how obvious it was that special care beyond what was needed to produce the necessary yield of cranberries in the Fall, had been given to them.
The letter revealed that Mr. Holmes had sold those bogs and other properties to the Wildlands Trust, and that they had become part of what is now called The Eel River Preserve.
The day after Christmas I took the long way to the Plymouth Library, intending to drive past the Preserve’s trailhead, before researching the history of the area. As I passed the location of the bogs I could see right away that they had begun to return to their natural state: a process that will probably take decades. Small pine trees had begun to burst forth in the untended bog, and the water level was too low to protect the vines against frost, let alone ice and snow.
Ice and Algae in the Eel River
Past the bogs, around the bend on the left heading north on Long Pond Road – just off Boot Pond Road, a small depression in the land beneath a hillock of trees has been turned into the Preserver’s official trailhead: complete with a parking area, a covered bench, and a single picnic table. I made a note to remember to turn in there on my way back from the library – though I couldn’t see a connection between that site and the old Holmes bogs.
I spent about ninety minutes in the special history collection at the Library and, to be honest, I didn’t find what I was looking for. It’s going to take me far longer, I am sure, to figure out how to efficiently research the history of the areas I consider for these walks, than it will be to actually walk these areas.
So I returned to the trailhead with little more than a map of the site – taken off the web, and the understanding that many of the names of the nearby landmarks, ponds, and such, were older, and more obscure than I imagined.
The trailhead parking lot was still covered in ice and snow, but far less than a few days before. The trailhead, I discovered, was right there – at the edge of the hillock, hiding in the shadow of the trees, the trail itself angling up alongside Boot Pond Road.
They have made a good start. The signs are still freshly painted. A banner boasting of the Community Preservation Act still flaps in the wind. The trail is easy to follow – though it appears that few have taken advantage of the open invitation.
The trail begin with a small climb within sight of the homes on Boot Pond Road – to your right, and ambles for about a hundred yards or so, then angles sharply to the left and downhill to the edge of the old bogs.
To be frank, it is not a particularly appealing setting – not here, not yet. No matter how well tended a bog is, it is still a kind of ongoing construction site. The edges of the woods are scalloped in several places from years of digging and dumping (sand for the bog, materials dredged out of the bog to keep the vines free). The old bog itself is a kind of attractive nuisance now, and the river which allegedly flows through the site is choked from an abundance of algae due, I suppose, from decades of fertilization and the infiltration of septage from nearby homes.
The trail – heading west toward Myles Standish, is at first wide and easily traveled. It is also pocked with an overabundance of metal posts that mark the good intentions of the various conservation groups that played a role in acquiring the land. There are – for example, several posts that dispense plastic bags for cleaning up after dogs. And there are markers that demarcate the border of what is now official wetland – meaning that certain activities are not allowed under any circumstances. Still, like the decades that it will take for bogs to return to a natural state, it will take at least as many years for people to begin to see this property differently.
There is – be aware, plenty of evidence of those dogs running free: step lightly.
There are, as well, unnecessary impediments to walkers.
In too many places the homes along Boot Pond Road intrude, and the sounds of cars along Long Pond Road are prominent for at least the first quarter hour, as you make your way toward the State Forest, away from Long Pond Road.
If you stick to the northern edge of the former bog – perhaps intending as I did to come back along the southern edge, you will also find that you have to traipse a bit too closely to the water’s edge. At one point a patch of briars and narrow branches completely obstructs the path and you can continue only if you drop to your knees and crawl through a thorny opening.
There are several opportunities to cross to the other side though – walking over the concrete and steel remnants of the gates that were used to artificially raise the water level for various bog sections (which could then be harvested one by one). Given the condition of the paths this winter, I would suggest that you take the first opportunity to do so, and continue as far as you can along the southern edge of the Bog.
This was an unplanned walk, and I didn’t have sufficient time to explore beyond the first few kidney-shaped bogs. After a little more than a half hour, I crossed over and came back on the other side of the bogs, noting only the extensive algae growth that gave an unnatural luster to the otherwise sluggish Eel River water.
I’ll go back again, perhaps this winter, and explore the remainder of the Preserve: I might begin from the far end, on Hoyt’s Pond.
It took ten thousand years to make this town. Consider taking an hour or so each week, to see what still remains.
So I thought, why not take a walk. Not exercise in disguise, no: but perhaps exercise by accident. Why not take a real walk, where I had not walked before, maybe even make it an irregular event (consistency to be avoided at all costs). And, of course, why not share those walks by writing down a mixture of my impressions, the history of the places I’m hoofin it by, and whatever comes into my head at the moment.
It’s true – I think we can all admit, that we tend to ignore, or are indifferent to, what we see every day. We rush past the little oddities of architecture, the alluring dirt roads, the historic markers half hidden in the brush, telling ourselves that we’ll come back one day - when we have the time, when the weather is right, when the stars are aligned: in other words – never.
So I mean to correct that right here and right now.
I mean to act on the whims, the hints of possible adventure, to actually take the turn and rumble up the dirt roads, and discover for myself at the very least how little I know about this town, and to share that ignorance with you – whether you like it or not.
December 26, 2008.
There was a letter to the editor in the Old Colony the other day, a beautiful letter describing Ashley Holmes, and the bogs that his family owned for generations along the Eel River in Plymouth.
In the 25 years I have lived in Plymouth I have probably driven past those bogs – which once bordered both sides of Long Pond Road, a thousand times. In all that time I had never stopped, but had always taken note of how well tended the bogs were – how they were a quilt of changing color, and how obvious it was that special care beyond what was needed to produce the necessary yield of cranberries in the Fall, had been given to them.
The letter revealed that Mr. Holmes had sold those bogs and other properties to the Wildlands Trust, and that they had become part of what is now called The Eel River Preserve.
The day after Christmas I took the long way to the Plymouth Library, intending to drive past the Preserve’s trailhead, before researching the history of the area. As I passed the location of the bogs I could see right away that they had begun to return to their natural state: a process that will probably take decades. Small pine trees had begun to burst forth in the untended bog, and the water level was too low to protect the vines against frost, let alone ice and snow.
Ice and Algae in the Eel River
Past the bogs, around the bend on the left heading north on Long Pond Road – just off Boot Pond Road, a small depression in the land beneath a hillock of trees has been turned into the Preserver’s official trailhead: complete with a parking area, a covered bench, and a single picnic table. I made a note to remember to turn in there on my way back from the library – though I couldn’t see a connection between that site and the old Holmes bogs.
I spent about ninety minutes in the special history collection at the Library and, to be honest, I didn’t find what I was looking for. It’s going to take me far longer, I am sure, to figure out how to efficiently research the history of the areas I consider for these walks, than it will be to actually walk these areas.
So I returned to the trailhead with little more than a map of the site – taken off the web, and the understanding that many of the names of the nearby landmarks, ponds, and such, were older, and more obscure than I imagined.
The trailhead parking lot was still covered in ice and snow, but far less than a few days before. The trailhead, I discovered, was right there – at the edge of the hillock, hiding in the shadow of the trees, the trail itself angling up alongside Boot Pond Road.
They have made a good start. The signs are still freshly painted. A banner boasting of the Community Preservation Act still flaps in the wind. The trail is easy to follow – though it appears that few have taken advantage of the open invitation.
The trail begin with a small climb within sight of the homes on Boot Pond Road – to your right, and ambles for about a hundred yards or so, then angles sharply to the left and downhill to the edge of the old bogs.
To be frank, it is not a particularly appealing setting – not here, not yet. No matter how well tended a bog is, it is still a kind of ongoing construction site. The edges of the woods are scalloped in several places from years of digging and dumping (sand for the bog, materials dredged out of the bog to keep the vines free). The old bog itself is a kind of attractive nuisance now, and the river which allegedly flows through the site is choked from an abundance of algae due, I suppose, from decades of fertilization and the infiltration of septage from nearby homes.
The trail – heading west toward Myles Standish, is at first wide and easily traveled. It is also pocked with an overabundance of metal posts that mark the good intentions of the various conservation groups that played a role in acquiring the land. There are – for example, several posts that dispense plastic bags for cleaning up after dogs. And there are markers that demarcate the border of what is now official wetland – meaning that certain activities are not allowed under any circumstances. Still, like the decades that it will take for bogs to return to a natural state, it will take at least as many years for people to begin to see this property differently.
There is – be aware, plenty of evidence of those dogs running free: step lightly.
There are, as well, unnecessary impediments to walkers.
In too many places the homes along Boot Pond Road intrude, and the sounds of cars along Long Pond Road are prominent for at least the first quarter hour, as you make your way toward the State Forest, away from Long Pond Road.
If you stick to the northern edge of the former bog – perhaps intending as I did to come back along the southern edge, you will also find that you have to traipse a bit too closely to the water’s edge. At one point a patch of briars and narrow branches completely obstructs the path and you can continue only if you drop to your knees and crawl through a thorny opening.
There are several opportunities to cross to the other side though – walking over the concrete and steel remnants of the gates that were used to artificially raise the water level for various bog sections (which could then be harvested one by one). Given the condition of the paths this winter, I would suggest that you take the first opportunity to do so, and continue as far as you can along the southern edge of the Bog.
This was an unplanned walk, and I didn’t have sufficient time to explore beyond the first few kidney-shaped bogs. After a little more than a half hour, I crossed over and came back on the other side of the bogs, noting only the extensive algae growth that gave an unnatural luster to the otherwise sluggish Eel River water.
I’ll go back again, perhaps this winter, and explore the remainder of the Preserve: I might begin from the far end, on Hoyt’s Pond.
It took ten thousand years to make this town. Consider taking an hour or so each week, to see what still remains.
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