I am from New England. And walking in the woods almost anywhere in southern New England, you will continually come across stone walls running through the underbrush. As in the late 18th and early 19th century, before the industrial revolution and the birth of the great mill towns, New England was ports and farmland. Like the Cotswolds of England, small farms defined by stone walls, hamlets and villages, the occasional market town on a river.
But then factories offered wages, and year round work which lured everyone off the farms into the towns and the farms were abandoned and overgrown with second growth.
So if I am really lucky I can take a walk in Connecticut I love to do in March or April. Winding around a bit of ledge you come across a foundation of what was likely the house, for it is bounded by lilac and forsythia around its perimeter, All coming alive with color against the tannin laden floor of leaves from last year. But the best is just beyond, what at first looks like unmelted snow, but no! An apple orchard! 12 trees in blossom. The gnarled trees in nice pattern.
That is how I want to be remembered. I see that orchard and as much as I delight in the resilience of the place, I think of the farmer that envisioned it and laid it out, tended it in its infancy. Nameless, faceless and yet leaving behind a place of beauty.
Beautiful. Out here in California, our old stone walls aren’t so old, but they are out there. And the occasional apple tree from some long forgotten orchard is such a great find on a hot afternoon hike. I love a good slightly bitter and dry apple from these old remnants. Here in Sonoma we have Jack Londons old place (now a state park) and his old orchard is still hanging on and produces a few of those bitter and dry apples. Delicious.
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She loved and lived fully.
Yes! ♥️
I am from New England. And walking in the woods almost anywhere in southern New England, you will continually come across stone walls running through the underbrush. As in the late 18th and early 19th century, before the industrial revolution and the birth of the great mill towns, New England was ports and farmland. Like the Cotswolds of England, small farms defined by stone walls, hamlets and villages, the occasional market town on a river.
But then factories offered wages, and year round work which lured everyone off the farms into the towns and the farms were abandoned and overgrown with second growth.
So if I am really lucky I can take a walk in Connecticut I love to do in March or April. Winding around a bit of ledge you come across a foundation of what was likely the house, for it is bounded by lilac and forsythia around its perimeter, All coming alive with color against the tannin laden floor of leaves from last year. But the best is just beyond, what at first looks like unmelted snow, but no! An apple orchard! 12 trees in blossom. The gnarled trees in nice pattern.
That is how I want to be remembered. I see that orchard and as much as I delight in the resilience of the place, I think of the farmer that envisioned it and laid it out, tended it in its infancy. Nameless, faceless and yet leaving behind a place of beauty.
Yes Howie . . .
I know these stone walls.
Like you,
I’ve always wanted
the places I leave
to better than when I met them. ♥
Beautiful, I live in New England also, Moved away for about 4 yrs and came back.
Beautiful. Out here in California, our old stone walls aren’t so old, but they are out there. And the occasional apple tree from some long forgotten orchard is such a great find on a hot afternoon hike. I love a good slightly bitter and dry apple from these old remnants. Here in Sonoma we have Jack Londons old place (now a state park) and his old orchard is still hanging on and produces a few of those bitter and dry apples. Delicious.
Howie, I joined you on your walk. Thanks for the history lesson and the images. I truly felt that I was walking with you.
He was a compassionate man.
… as someone
who gave a damn. ♥
Love it!