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In the morning I brought a week's worth of dirty clothes to the Quik-Wash Laundromat in the Richlin shopping center. My mom managed the laundromat for years when it was known as Poly-Clean. We lived just across Cherry Hill road. While my clothes were being washed I walked across the street to view a grey-speckled rock that I often sat on when I was a small boy. I built a stand there when I was in High School and gave away fresh-grown tomatoes for donations. In 1975 my family and I had a yard sale there. That helped me to clear the junk out of the basement and earn a little money. The new property owners placed a rancid garbage dumpster in front of my ancient rocks and made it unlikely anyone would be sitting on them. I remembered two rocks. I sat on the grey one that had white spots. A reddish-brown one was next to it. I often wondered why the rocks appeared so different. I had to wait until I was 25 years old and studying geology at Wesleyan University before I could answer that question.
The grey rock was the oldest. It was created about 400 million years ago when tall, granite mountains dominated the landscape. The present Appalachian mountains are the eroded remnants from which my grey rock originated. About 200 million years ago the earth's crust started to stretch and the mountains split along a fault line that runs through Branford and to Keene, New Hampshire. The fault was only about 700 feet from the present position of my grey rock chair. As the earth's crust continued to stretch, the land to the west of the fault line started to sink. At the same time, molten magma traveled up the cracks in the earth and flowed out over the sinking valley. Magma is also known as basalt and it is very heavy. The valley sank over several million years. Natural erosion of the tall mountains deposited sand, gravel, and angular rocks into the rift or sinking valley. Alluvial fans and lakes formed next. The area resembled today's Death Valley. But the climate was wet and hot. The land was close to the equator and dinosaurs were common. They left tracks everywhere.
Basalt contains traces of iron. When exposed to air and rain it starts to turn red and orange as the iron rusts. Locally the basalt is called "trap rock". My reddish-brown rock was a chunk of basalt and at least 150 million years newer than my grey granite seat. Along the fault line, now called the Eastern Border Fault, a series of basalt or trap rock ridges rise 500 to 1,000 feet above the valley floor. A blue-blazed hiking path called the Mattabesset Trail weaves over and around them.
I wandered back to the laundromat and put my clothes in a dryer. Then I explored a fresh excavation site on Cherry Hill Road where a small hill once stood. As a child I sledded down this hill for many winters. I tested snowshoes here as a teenager. I enjoyed the flowers Mrs. McCabe planted and the many birds drawn to her feeders. Mrs. McCabe passed on. The hill is gone; leveled at great cost so multi-family houses could be built. Mrs. McCabe's home is abandoned and falling down. When this construction project is completed the homes and property will sell for millions of dollars? But what is lost forever is priceless.
The excavation site was only 300 feet from the border fault which ran down the center of present-day North Main Street. Red rock rose on the north side of the busy two-lane highway. I saw many twisted and heavily scraped grey rocks that were deformed when the valley started to sink. I walked around the neighborhood for a while and continued to read the geological history of outcrops and roadside boulders. It was a joy to look at simple rocks and read their hundred million-year-old history. It all started by wondering why two rocks that sat on the edge of the road by my parent's home appeared so different.
My next destination was the Supply Ponds Preserve.
Red rock cliffs rise behind Starbucks and the Walmart sign on US 1 in Branford. |
Fresh excavation on Cherry Hill Road in Branford. |
The dam and spillway at the Branford Supply Ponds. |
In the fall of 1973 I started to build a log cabin in the forest on land that is now partially part of the Supply Ponds Preserve in Branford. In 1970 the town with federal assistance purchased about 300 acres from the New Haven Water Company. The Boy Scouts led by Eagle Scouts, Frank Twohill and Bob Baker, designed and blazed a series of trails around the property. I chose a place that was far from any trails and sat on private property next to the Supply Ponds border. My friend Bob Bernacki helped me construct the main beam, ridge uprights, and ridgepole in the spring of 1974. That was heavy, two-person work. We used a block and tackle to move some of the large logs into place. Later Bob got permission from a property owner on Branford Hill to remove the tongue and groove planking from an old multi-bay garage roof. The shingles and tarpaper were long gone. The 1 x 6 planking had weathered to a beautiful silver-grey finish. I worked all day on that roof and removed enough wood to complete the interior cabin walls. Jeff Colter, Bob Bernacki and I carried the planks to the cabin on a cool October day. Later, Dave Colter and my friend Bob Rivers assisted in carrying furniture, supplies, and a box spring and mattress through the forest to my new home.
When finished, the cabin measured about 20 feet by 20 feet and was 14 feet high at the peak. It had a traditional gabled roof. The downstairs was one room and contained four windows, a homemade wood stove, a wood floor, a dresser, a kitchen table, an oak swivel desk chair, two upright chairs, a couch, a bookcase, a small bedstand, a kitchen cabinet, and a shelf for dishes, pots, and pans. A homemade ladder led to the upstairs loft which had four big windows, a queen mattress, and box spring, and a skylight. I also had an in-ground refrigerator, like a small root cellar and that worked well. It kept food at about 52 degrees. Outside was an outhouse. Water came from a spring about 1/4 mile away. I moved in just before Thanksgiving in 1975.
In 1979 I added a front porch to my cabin. The cabin lacked electricity, a phone, and plumbing. I used a kerosene lantern and a battery-powered fluorescent light to chase away the darkness inside. Outside I gained a new appreciation for the night in the forest. I saw well in darkness and almost always walked the half-mile trail from the paved road without a light. I rode my bicycle up the trail a few hundred feet, locked it to a tree, and then hiked the rest of the way. Sometimes I saw small animals like raccoons or skunks run across the path. Big animals were rare and I always felt safe walking in the woods at night. Full moon nights were especially beautiful. If snow was present I could see for 1/4 mile or more.
The cabin was a refuge from society. A wonderful place where I had peace and quiet. A place where I could spend the day or many days and rarely see anyone. It was a perfect place for reading and studying. When I was tired of reading or writing I often went for a walk in the woods. I lived there throughout my college years. The cabin provided me with tremendous opportunities for reflection, study, and inexpensive living. Cabin living gave me the courage to take on tasks that seemed impossible. While camping there I started Branford Bike, and went to and graduated from South Central Community College (SCCC) and Wesleyan University. I then built Branford Bike into a thriving business that would support me and assist others for the next 25 years, earned a graduate degree from Wesleyan University, and had new travel adventures almost every year. It was an amazing and happy time in my life. I lived there until September of 1984 when I moved to a small apartment on 81 Rogers Street near the center of town.
Vandels set the cabin ablaze in September of 1984. It burned for several hours deep in the woods. The fire did not spread. I came home late that night and saw small flames flickering in the distance. I was devastated. I continued to live in my beloved woods in a more remote spot in a tent. My mom was insistent that I move into an apartment and I reluctantly relented. The apartment was luxurious compared to the cabin. Running water, electricity, heat, and a telephone. Pretty gardens surrounded the small three-room building. The rent was just $240.00 a month and included everything but phone service. I even had cable TV. But I lacked solitude which was the main reason I lived deep in the forest. I would have happily returned to the forest in an instant if I could find a place that was safe and offered solitude. Instead, I lived in the small, three-room apartment on Rogers Street for 21 years. Then I found my new home in the woods of Montana.
The remains of my old outdoor fireplace. |
The remains of a zeppelin shortwave antenna hangs from a hickory tree. |
A root cellar style in the ground, refrigerator. |
The solitude, peace, quiet, and freedom I discovered in the Supply Pond Preserve may not be available anymore for other intrepid souls. An intricate and closely woven set of blazed trails now crisscross the Preserve. The trails around the West Pond are the most heavily traveled. They are often five feet wide and missing all their topsoil and vegetation. Trails further from the road are less used but I frequently saw signs of walkers and dog poop on them. Overnight parking, camping, and fires are strictly prohibited. Walking is limited to developed trails only.
The onerous rules limit the types of activity and deny the joys of overnight camping and aimless wandering for everyone. No one can sit by a warm fire under a star-studded sky and toast marshmallows or enjoy a cup of hot tea without breaking the law. Cooking a steak on a cold winter day, sleeping under the stars on a warm spring night, and wandering through the woods aimlessly, discovering something new over every hill; all joys I have experienced that are now prohibited. What Thoreau, Emerson, Whitman, John Muir, and many others experienced in nature is no longer possible in the Supply Ponds Preserve. Any young person growing up in Branford could not follow the path of great nature writers and experience what I took for granted.
Since 1970 hundreds of acres have been added to the Supply Ponds Preserve. How could it happen that the right to experience nature in her purest form has been so infringed upon? Must people always stay on the trails and view her beauty from a distance? I think they should be allowed, encouraged even, to embrace nature and discover all she has to offer the human soul.
My original camping spot and log shelter site built in 1971. |
Pisgah Brook - There was a solid walking bridge here. |
Map of the Supply Ponds and Pisgah Brook Preserve. |
After lunch at the Supply Ponds I visited Tom and Carol. Tom wanted to go to the Clinton Crossing Outlet shops to pick up two new ties; one for the wake and one for the funeral. Along the way, Tom told me more about his campaign and how it worked. He explained how they were using the same strategy that brought Obama to the presidency. I listened politely. When we arrived at the shopping center Tom went straight to the Brooks Brothers store. I commented that this was an expensive place to shop. Tom said it was an outlet so the prices were less. We searched their tie collection and found two that matched his suits and shirts. I was surprised at the price of $55.00. The ties were not even made of silk and the colors were a little dull. I needed a suit and tie but wanted to shop around. Tom was in a hurry so I put that task off until the next day.
I ate dinner of a hot dog, a hamburger, and frozen french fries at Tom and Carol's home. Tom asked me to come back the next day and help with landscaping chores. My younger brother Terry was arriving then as well. Tom's son Chris was also going to help. After dinner, Tracy's only child, Marissa shared some of her mom's scrapbooks with me. The scrapbooks were comprehensive and detailed. It was almost like Tracy knew she would never see Marissa get married, have children, and grow old. So she left Marissa with a detailed history of family life and all the happy times they shared. Marissa and I chatted for a while about her mom and my mom. I enjoyed the time we spent together and appreciated getting to know her a little more. I left around 7 pm and drove back to Motel 6.
Irose early and had breakfast at Dunkin Donuts. After breakfast, I visited Sarah's Cupboard, a thrift store my mom used to love. I explained that I needed some nice clothes for a funeral. The ladies were wonderful. In 15 minutes or so they found a like-new wool sport jacket. It was light tan and the wool was incredibly soft. Then they found a cream-colored long-sleeve dress shirt, matching pants, and a beautiful silk tie. Everything fit perfectly and I looked respectable. The bill came to $20.40 and they gave me two homemade chocolate chip cookies as well! This experience was reminiscent of the Branford I grew up with. All I needed was a good-looking pair of leather shoes.
Next, I headed to Tom and Carol's home. There I met Tom's youngest son, Chris, and my younger brother, Terry around 11 am. Terry was driving the tractor and mowing the lawn. Chris was cutting down weeds with a weed whacker. I asked what I could do. Tom wanted me to cut down several large clumps of ornamental grass and save the stalks that had seed plumes. Then he went to get a not needed haircut. About 90 minutes later Tom returned. Like good day laborers we had his truck loaded with weeds and the landscaping was done. Tom directed Chris and Terry to get some chairs and tables for the backyard reception after the funeral on Saturday. They obliged. Tom wanted me to drive with him to the transfer station. Along the way, he asked me to write answers to five questions he had received from a local newspaper called the Patch. It was a notorious liberal rag that was a purveyor of fake and biased news. I used to comment from Emigrant on their articles. Finally, they shut down my account after I exposed the Branford Land Trust for shielding wealthy taxpayers from paying 4 million dollars a year in property taxes. Tom wanted to compare my answers to his, and then use the best answers for the paper and the upcoming League of Woman Voters debate. I was here to pay my respects to Tracy and felt uncomfortable doing campaign work. But I said yes. When we returned, the clock struck 1 pm and I asked if he had anything to eat for lunch. I was used to eating lunch at 11 am every day. We sat at the small kitchen table and made sandwiches. The larger dining room table was reserved for members of his family. All the meals I ate were at the kitchen table. Chris, Terry, Tom and I agreed to meet the next morning at Tom and Carol's. We would then drive to a place in the center of Branford for breakfast.
After lunch I headed to the local Goodwill store to check on dress shoes. I found a well-cared-for pair of brown Italian leather loafers with tassels for just $12.00. They fit perfectly. I picked up a brush and some shoe polish at Richlins. When I was done they looked like new and felt very comfortable.
I rose early and drove to Tom and Carol's home. There I met Chris, his girlfriend Sarah, Terry, and Tom. Together we drove to a small greasy spoon restaurant in the center of Branford for breakfast. The place was crowded and noisy. Many people knew Tom because he was running for First Selectman. That was also the main topic of conversation around the table. Tom directed Terry to cut the lawn again and gave instructions to Chris on how to handle his mom if a health problem arose. He also talked about how if any visitor was rude, they should be dealt with. Tom explained that many of the mourners may be people Carol, Marissa, and Chris did not know because he was running for office. He seemed to expect many political supporters and sympathizers to be at the wake. The breakfast was finished quickly and Chris graciously footed the bill. We then drove back to Tom and Carol's place. Terry pulled his work sneakers out of his truck and headed for the lawn tractor. I had my fill of day labor previously. I walked to my car and told everyone I would see them at the wake that night.
I arrived at the wake at 5:30 in the evening. Tracy was in her white and gold, open coffin at the front of the reception room. Tom and Marissa stood on one side of the long and narrow room. Chris and Carol sat down next to Tom and Marissa. Just a handful of family members attended and most were sitting in the first three rows of chairs. About 40 more, mostly empty rows were behind them. My younger brother Terry sat about six rows from the front and was with someone. So I sat in the almost empty third row and thought about the pleasant times Tracy and I shared. Most of the time we spent together was when she was in High School and worked at Branford Bike. I taught her how to lace wheels, display clothing, price goods, vacuum, and a host of other duties. Tracy learned quickly and enjoyed working. She was always warm and friendly; a joy to have around. Tracy had a wonderful smile and bright, inquisitive eyes. The customers loved her. Happiness seemed to radiate from her. She shared it freely with everyone.
A steady stream of visitors started to pour in around 6:30. Carol asked me something about my brother Terry. I think she wanted me to sit with him. He looked busy so I stayed in the almost empty third row. The room was poorly ventilated and quickly became hot. I took off my wool jacket. More people came in. Some were coughing and perspiring. Many people seemed to be political supporters of Tom. The wake was morphed into a campaign event and I started to feel very uncomfortable. I did not recognize anyone and no one spoke to me. I could hear Tom introducing strangers to Marissa. Marissa wore a long black dress and despite the mournful occasion, looked quite beautiful. She also appeared confused, sad, and lonely. My heart went out to her. The occasion was sad and final. Tracy was gone from this earth and all that remained were memories. My heart was heavy. Around 7 pm I quietly got up, waved goodbye to Tom's family, and left. The hallway was at least 10 degrees cooler and the air was fresh and even cooler outside. I paid my respects to Tracy. She always treated me well. The last time I saw Tracy was in 2015 when my mom passed away and I came back to Branford for the funeral. Tracy gave me a warm hug just before I left to go back to Emigrant. The light in her eyes was already dimming and her voice was softer than usual. She seemed very sad and I wanted so much to replace some of her sorrow with joy. What could I do to give her some of the happiness I had an abundance of? I felt that I was still in her heart and she certainly was in mine. I will always remember Tracy and I treasure the last hug we shared. In 2023 I still miss Tracy and feel sad that she passed long before her time. I think of her occasionally, always on her birthday, and sometimes I see her in my dreams. And always I ask, what could I have done to make her life happier?
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Page 2 Paddling Down the Connecticut River |
Tim's Life Main Table of Contents |
Pursuit of Happiness Table of Contents |
Page 4 A Walk Back in Time |
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