sometimes the path is narrow.
Of all the paths you take in life, make sure a few of them are dirt.
— John Muir
Christine once again drops us off where we left off on our last hike. She lives only about 15 minutes away, but still, she’s been very gracious about doing that. I ask her, “You know, by the fall, when the weather is cool enough for Waldo and me to continue on this trek, your plantar fasciitis should be healed. Do you want to join us then?”
“Absolutely,” she answers. “My foot better be improved by then! I miss walking with you guys.”
“We miss walking with you too.”
Waldo wags his tail.
For now, though, it’s not to be and Waldo and I head out on our own.
At first, we follow a paved highway, then a paved street. The temperature is somewhere in the high 50s to the low 60s and I’m in shirt sleeves, so I’m feeling a little chilly, bur it isn’t long before I generate enough body heat to be comfortable. This is Waldo weather and he’s happily trotting along up front, to the extent the leash will allow.
Before too long, the trail turns into the woods and becomes a dirt track weaving its way through ferns, bushes and saplings. This part of New England is very green in the spring and summer and the world is drowning in emerald splendor. I spent my early life out west in semiarid desert and was astounded that a place could be this green. It’s always made me feel comforted, subliminally assured that there is plenty of food and water. A true Garden of Eden. Maybe that’s because most of my life took place in areas relatively bereft of verdancy.
We’re well off the highlands of the mountains and we pass by many swampy areas and slowly flowing streams. There are places where we walk through a tunnel of foliage, surrounded by leafy bushes and ferns, then climb up a small hill to a path meandering through new growth trees with little undergrowth. Eventually, the trail turns into a two-rut road, heading west. The road is no longer used by motor vehicles, at least without special waver, and the walking is fast and easy.
The road then turns north and the path continues on west toward a large stone dike. The ground is a large grass field and there is no place to put trail markers. We get somewhat lost and wander around a bit, looking for the trail. The general direction of where to go is obvious, but it has become a challenge to find the actual path. After some circuitous exploration, we end up on top of the dike on a road.
The dike is large enough to be a dam, but there is no reservoir – at least none that has any water in it. Water flows freely underneath the rocks of the dike. A sign tells me that what we’re walking over is the Barre (pronounced “berry”) Falls Dam. It is a dry reservoir dam, designed for flood control. The reservoir can hold several million gallons of water, if need be, but there is nothing but a small river there now. It turns out that it is the east branch of the Ware River, a river well known to Waldo and me from our trek along the Central Mass Railroad bed of last year. If it became necessary to fill the reservoir, much of where we walked today would be under water.
The path continues on past the dam, down Coldbrook Road and to our car where we left it in a small parking lot next to a tiny old cemetery, called Parker Cemetery. In the cemetery are some small, thin, frail headstones that are so old and weathered, I can read none of the text they once carried. I can identify no dates or names at all. There can’t be more than a couple of dozen graves here and I wonder what community they once served, because there is no one living near here now. There is a Parker, who was a minister in nearby Hubbardston in the late 18th century, but he was buried in another cemetery. It’s just another piece of history lost to the sands of time.
Today’s walk has been a nice leisurely stroll, 5.91 miles in 2:37 with 239 feet of elevation gain. Quite a change from the grueling hike we had at the beginning of this trail. One more leg and we’ll be very close to being halfway done. The plan is to finish that piece the day after tomorrow. After that, NOAA says we’ll have to take a hiatus until the cooler temps of fall.
For right now, I hear my recliner calling and Waldo needs to make his presence known on his balcony.
Sometimes we walk on a road.