Relaxing, Rejuvenating at Rock House Reservation

When it comes to weekend hiking excursions, this one really rocked.

But the rocks were only the beginning of what delighted me about Rock House Reservation in West Brookfield. This was one of those outdoor gems where as soon as my foot hit the trail, as soon as I smelled the heady mix of fragrant fauna and fresh earth, I knew I wanted to return again and again.

I'd never heard of Rock House Reservation until a few weeks prior, when I was scrolling through some recently logged photos at the newspaper where I work. At first glance, I thought the pictures of children climbing on gargantuan rocks were taken at the popular Purgatory Chasm in Sutton (see our blog post from April 17).

Managed by the Trustees of Reservations, the 196-acre RHR features a natural rock formation -- 20- to 30-feet high -- that was exposed after a glacial retreat 10,000 years ago. The cave-like structure is believed to have been used as a winter camp by Native Americans. The property features three miles of hiking trails, a man-made pond, a butterfly garden, and a small museum (which turned out to be empty but whose elevated deck offered a lovely view of the water below).

After a leisurely and scenic drive from Worcester to West Brookfield, we arrived at a small parking lot, where we greeted by no less than four dogs. Fortunately, as I was not in much of a dog mood, they were the only canines we saw that day. (We didn't see many other hikers at all, for that matter. Lucky us!)

A short uphill jaunt from the parking area led us to a lovely pond. A nearby sign explained something about the ecosystem, but I was smitten as soon as I saw the words "painted turtles." Jordyn and I examined the water from several vantage points on shore; alas, no turtles were to be spotted that day. However we did see a snake wend its way into the water, proving to us novices what skillful swimmers snakes can be.

Looking for painted turtles. Or as I like to call them, "teer-tles."

Off to our left was the unmistakable rock house. Jordyn was eager to find the butterfly garden, but we assured her she wouldn't regret making a pit stop at the rocks. As we approached, I was overcome by a feeling of awe. It was the rocks, yes -- but it was something more, something in the air. Let's call it a perfect combination of serenity, song (the birds provided a virtual chorus!) and satisfaction -- satisfaction that nature's perfection could so quickly bring one back to balance after a perfectly crappy week. 

As we meandered through the natural shelter, we spied myriad "chairs" and "tables" provided by ledges and nifty little "hallways" between rocks. It took me back to my grandfather's steep, rocky backyard in Malden, where I used to spend hours climbing and looking for secret hiding spots.

I believe I could have spent hours among the rocks, but Jordyn was eager to find butterflies, so we pressed on. It was a good choice, as I found the trail we traversed every bit as pleasing as the rocks. Something about the particular feel of the earth under my shoes, the delicious coolness provided by the tree canopy and the aroma of dozens of white flowers dotting the ground made it just about the most perfect walk ever.

Soon we approached a sunny clearing that was the butterfly garden. Jordyn was momentarily confused, as she likely had been expecting the type of indoor butterfly haven she had visited before. But this was cool -- really, really cool. We didn't see too many winged wonders, but the ones we did see were dazzling in color and teased Jordyn just enough to make her think she could catch them. After a few minutes, I started to get hot and told Arlen I would be waiting in some nearby shade. While he watched Jordyn in her futile attempt to bag a butterfly, I sat down on the forest floor and took out my journal. Those were a wonderful few minutes, ones I wanted to shove into a bottle from which I could sip during my next stressful week. It was bliss. It was ... real.

But sometimes reality bites -- reality, in this case, being a hungry group of mosquitoes that soon had me covered in welts while my companions remained delightfully itch-free. Such are weekends in the woods (Sara)

Jordyn finds her heart's delight in the butterfly garden,

For the love of rustic language.

Backtracking Through History at Blackstone

Yosemite, Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, Rocky Mountain ... these are the names that come to mind when you think America's national parks. But the U.S. National Park Service encompasses more than just protected wilderness areas, weaving in many areas of historic significance among its vast roster, albeit to much less fanfare outside of the realm of elementary school field trips.

Actually, for anyone interested in the outdoors, history and our country's "greatest idea" as noted filmmaker recently documented, it's certainly nice to have these sites especially here in New England. We're not as spoiled with the great traditional parks as the West, with Acadia National Park (where Sara and I honeymooned, by Bar Harbor, Maine) the closest option.

So I loved the idea of a quick trip down Route 146 to hit a few of the spots that comprise part of the Blackstone River Valley National Heritage Corridor, which runs from Central Massachusetts into Rhode Island. Plus it's also a notch on our Massachusetts state parks and forests tour. Granted, Jordyn's not quite old enough to appreciate the importance of the Blackstone Canal and mill culture on early-to-mid 1800s society, but being able to combine some hiking and history lessons (okay, I'm partial to the latter as an undergraduate history major and trivia buff) doubles the reason to visit.

It was warm and sunny the morning we went to the Blackstone River and Canal Heritage State Park visitor center (pictured above), so we stayed in the lovely shade along the canal's Towpath Trail for a peaceful walk, where almost everyone we passed exchanged greetings in good spirits. That always puts a smile on my face, as did the abundant wild (and domesticated) animals we spotted: a snake, a beaver, fish, birds, turtles sunbathing on rocks, and dogs on their morning trots.

After our walk we headed south for two more suggested stops on the corridor tour: the Millville Lock and Blackstone Gorge. I took a solo walk in the woods to reach the lock, which is billed as the best preserved one from the era and felt like a nice little transport back in time to see and think about the barges that passed through it. Then we went to the Blackstone Gorge (pictured below) and checked out the impressive falls that drop the tranquil river into the rocks where it swiftly goes on its way, far removed from its time one of the region's chief transportation hubs. (Arlen)