Blue Highways: Mount Tom, Vermont

Unfolding the Map

In this post, as William Least Heat-Moon (LHM) spends a day on Mount Tom outside of Woodstock, Vermont, he seems a little distracted.  We'll reflect a little on the healing prospects of nature, and the double-edged sword of protecting oneself.  To find Mount Tom, let the map be your guide.

Book Quote

"I spent the day on Mount Tom.  Had I owned a ghost shirt, I'd have danced madly all over that mountain.  Instead, I tried to keep from looking inward, tried to reach outward, but, as Black Elk says, certain things among the shadows of a man's life do not have to be remembered - they remember themselves."

Blue Highways: Part 8, Chapter 9

Trail on Mount Tom near Woodstock, Vermont. Photo by "ikur" and hosted at Panoramio. Click on photo to go to host page.

Mount Tom, Vermont

If you ask me, LHM did this all backwards.  But first, a little back story that I didn't provide in the quote.  If you're joining for the first time as we follow Blue Highways, one of the reasons LHM took off on a trip around America is that his marriage fell apart.  At various points along the trip, he tried to talk with his estranged wife, who he named "The Cherokee."  In the passage preceding this quote, he wakes in Woodstock, Vermont from difficult dreams involving remarriage with her.  He spends the day on Mount Tom to clear his head and soothe his emotions, but by the end of the day when he is back in Woodstock he calls and has a frustrating talk with her which only serves to get him angry.

In my experience, nature is best experienced from a stable platform.  By that, I mean that if one is in an emotionally unstable state, the healing value of nature, of being in a calming, soothing environment like that of Mount Tom is hindered or muted.  It's not that nature wouldn't be able to calm and heal someone in that state, it's just that the healing forces of nature would have to work harder and would probably need to be applied repeatedly to have an effect.  A simple day outing would not suffice.

I think of myself when I have entered nature in an emotionally unstable state.  A few years ago, my wife and I went for an outing in the Tent Rocks, a geologically fascinating area near our home in New Mexico.  At the time, our marriage was troubled with many issues, and my mind was focused on those things.  We walked the trails of the Tent Rocks, through the hoodoos and fantastic geological formations created through volcanism, erosion and time.  I saw them, but I didn't really see them.  I was too preoccupied, my mind racing with potentials and possibilities and pitfalls.  Therefore, while being in the wilderness in an amazing place took me superficially from my everyday surroundings where all of my troubles and difficulties were stacking up, I didn't really absorb the Tent Rocks.  I saw but did not see.  I need to go back to see the Tent Rocks now that I am in a more stable emotional place.

It's not that LHM didn't try to calm his emotions.  He states that he tried to focus outward, rather than inward, but to paraphrase him, a man's shadows will manage to make themselves known.  In my experience again, those shadows seem to come when one is ungoing emotional unrest.  LHM makes reference his quote above to the ghost shirt, which to Native Americans were a protective garment.  The ghost shirts were adopted by many Native tribes in the late 1800s and were initially worn to protect the wearer from the certain doom, notably earthquakes, that were believed to be the punishment for the white invaders in North America.  However, some Natives believed that the ghost shirts would protect the wearer from the white man's bullets.  They didn't, as was proved at the Wounded Knee massacre in 1890.  It is believed that the idea of the ghost shirts were adopted from Mormon temple garments that are supposed to protect the wearer from evil.  However, throughout history there have been many beliefs that the wearing of garments, or even the shedding of clothes, offered one protection.  One of the most interesting cases I've read is about General Butt Naked, in Liberia, who led his troops into battle while nude believing that it protected him from bullets.  He hasn't been proved wrong yet, as he is still alive!  Although I think that his butt-naked battle days are over. 

However, the ghost shirts and other forms of protection are all focused on dangers from without.  How do you protect from the turmoil within?  If you are surrounded by a cloak of protection, such as a ghost shirt, a protective bubble ala Green Lantern, a safe room, or a Romulan or Klingon cloaking device, it doesn't actually mean that you are able to vanquish the doubt, madness or rebellion that can brew within the individual or individuals within the protective device.

Here we get back to LHM.  From my lofty perch thirty years in the future, I might have advised him to get his compulsive act of calling his ex-wife over with before he went up to Mount Tom.  He could have had his despairing, angry moment where he yelled and hit the telephone booth door.  After, a drive up to Mount Tom and it's clean air and forests would have helped calm him.  The views from the top of the mountain could have given him perspective.  Perhaps Black Elk's wisdom, "I did not know then how much was ended," would have come with less desolation and more inner peace.

But then again, I have been known to act exactly as LHM did.  Lucky for me, I have had access to good people who provide me that perspective, and the slightest bit of wisdom to know that should I need healing energy, calm and perspective, that I can always reach out to Nature.  In a week, I will be doing just that.  I will go camping for a weekend in New Mexico's Pecos Wilderness.  I will hike on mountain trails, take in the vistas, and observe wildlife going about its business in the moment.  I will watch my dog joyfully leap into the car, not caring for a moment where she's going but just happy to be going somewhere, and then her joy at being outside for an entire weekend.  For a few days, I will heal, and then come back to civilization, work, and relationships, put up some protective cloaks and live, taking the buffets to my psyche and soul that life brings, until I realize I need rejuvenation and peace again.

Musical Interlude

For the musical interlude, I am posting Protection.  Written by Bruce Springsteen for Donna Summer, who recently passed away, both of them recorded their own versions of the song, as well as a duet that has never been heard.  This version is a fan remix, putting these legendary musicians' voices together.

Addendum

At the risk of giving in to my own hubris, I once wrote a sonnet that sort of fits LHM's situation in this chapter.  Here's what LHM writes about his phone call to The Cherokee:

"By evening, my judgment had given way, and I called home.  I was talking fast, talking, talking, trying to find where we stood, how our chances were.  She talked.  No matter how we tried, our words - confounded - ran athwart and, as usual, we ended up at cross-purposes.  Neither of us knew where to go from there.  Nothing to do but hang up.  When I put the receiver down and heard the line ding dead, I tried to excuse the failure by thinking that nothing ever works out over a telephone."

Blue Highways: Part 8, Chapter 9

I wrote this sonnet after a similar experience with a girlfriend a long time ago, in the late 1980s.  It has similar themes to LHM's quote, including dancing, nature, a dead telephone line, and loss.  I humbly offer it to you here:

Autumn Thoughts
by Michael L. Hess

A click, and then the lifeless droning hum,
As I replaced the phone upon its hook;
I walked outside, into the setting sun,
And sat upon the porch to think and look.

A cavalcade of brightly colored leaves
Ran helter-skelter down the somber street,
Driven by a soft, yet forceful, breeze
That pushed them onward to an unknown fate.

How I wished that I could join them there,
And also dance away my lonely grief;
Until, with growing pain, I was aware
That life is but the wind, and I, a leaf.

I thought of love and loss, and thus entranced,
I ran into the street to join the dance.

If you want to know more about Mount Tom

Climbing Mount Tom
Hiking around Woodstock
Mount Tom
Mount Tom and the Pogue Trail

Next up:  Quechee Gorge, Vermont

Blue Highways: Woodstock, Vermont

Unfolding the Map

Sometimes it's very nice to stop in a quaint, picturesque, historic town and just hang around.  As William Least Heat-Moon (LHM) gets the feel of Vermont in Woodstock, I'll look at historic towns and how sometimes they are what they seem, and other times they are not.  To locate Woodstock (sorry folks, not the Woodstock of concert fame), find your way to the map.

Book Quote

"It looked like the set for an Andy Hardy movie - things quaint in the manner of Norman Rockwell...Maybe the town wasn't the prettiest village in America, but if the townspeople wanted to make the claim, I wouldn't have disputed them.  It was Woodstock, Vermont.

"....the village lived by the tourist - the well heeled tourist.  But few places in the country fused tourism and town life so well.  In Woodstock, they were parts of the whole.

"If the village had a fault, it lay in both a hubris about its picturesqueness and in its visitors with new money and new facades...."

Blue Highways: Part 8, Chapter 7

Covered bridge in Woodstock, Vermont. Photo by "traaaacey" and seen at Tripadvisor. Click on photo to go to host page.

Woodstock, Vermont

I grew up in the shadow of a town like Woodstock.  I saw "shadow" because really, Mendocino, California wasn't a big place.   A few hundred people in a picturesque, New England village by the ocean.  Mendocino looked so much like a New England town that it was used as such for the Murder, She Wrote mystery series that had a long run on television.

But I didn't grow up there.  I grew up in Fort Bragg, it's more down to earth, blue collar, lumber town sister about seven miles north of Mendocino.  Where Mendocino was cute, Fort Bragg was gritty.  Where Mendocino was picturesque, Fort Bragg was utilitarian.  Where Mendocino had a great coastal access, Fort Bragg was blocked from the coast by a large lumber mill.  Where Mendocino was filled with "hippies," really counter-cultural artists, writers and musicians, Fort Bragg was filled with loggers, millworkers, fishermen, and other salt-of-the-earth types.

I wouldn't say there was a lot of animosity between the two towns, though one thing was clear.  The well-heeled tourists went to Mendocino and only really used Fort Bragg if they couldn't find lodging.  After all, while I was growing up the options to stay in Mendocino were limited.  Things were more expensive in Mendocino also - restaurants and lodging all cost more.  Now it's a little different.  Fort Bragg, since the closing of the lumber mill, has marketed itself to tourists, with much success.  Festivals, art, restaurants and other attractions, such as the Skunk Train, have managed to draw a lot of tourists to my home town.  Yet if I compare the two, Mendocino is still, by far, perceived as the more arty, counter-cultural, foodie, and picturesque of the two.  And, it prides itself on that.

I find it interesting that all the states that I have lived in or visited have some such type of town.  It is usually a town or village that has tried to keep a flavor of its historical and cultural past, or one epoch of its historical and cultural past, even if that flavor has been sanitized somewhat.  Colonial Williamsburg in Virginia, where you can see a colonial town with reenactments.  Cedarburg, Wisconsin.  Fredericksburg, Texas. Virginia City, Nevada.  Sometimes a state doesn't have to work too hard to maintain that cultural heritage.  In Shipshewana, Indiana cars mingle with Amish buggies on the main street, and men with straw hats and long beard and women with gingham dresses and bonnets knock shoulders with tourists in shorts and t-shirts.

What I really find fascinating is that with all our technology, and all our modern progress, we still feel that it's important to have these historic, picturesque, quaint, throwbacks to an earlier time.  A time when there were few telephones if any at all, and televisions, computers and the Internet were not even a remote conception.  What is it in our psyche that preserving these time capsules, state by state, is so important?  Where I live, in Albuquerque, nobody would ever think of razing Old Town for new business today, even as most of the action takes place in the newer downtown or in the even newer Nob Hill district.

Even more interesting is that some places are so adamant in preserving some ideal sense of past that they actually cover up the real past, intentionally or not, to create that idealized vision.  Or sometimes, the actual past has been covered up already, and has to be resurrected.

For example, underneath many of the brown adobe-like walls of Santa Fe, for instance, are original brick and mortar buildings that were converted after a law passed in the 1950s mandating that all new and rebuilt buildings take on the pueblo adobe style.  While there has been important historic preservation of the actual adobe buildings that remain, many others that look adobe, especially the two-story downtown buildings, are not.  A building style, adobe, that was once considered backward and inferior to the false-front saloon style buildings of the old west, is now celebrated again and even mandated by Santa Fe law.  In this case, buildings that were historic in their own right were changed to reflect an even earlier history.

We saw this in California also, where in San Diego preservation of its Old Town has been very important for the city.  Yet in many ways historical preservation covers up much that was neglected.  My wife visited the Old Town State Historical Park museum, and most of the pottery was collected from New Mexico pueblos and is not indigenous, even though it might be similar to pottery once made in the San Diego area.  San Diego is also one of the earliest homes to a phenomena I have touched upon in other posts.  Helen Hunt Jackson wrote a wildly successful novel in the late 1800s about the Santa Diego area called Ramona.  It was a romantic view of the indigenous Native Americans of the area through the eyes of a half Scots-American, half Indian woman.  The novel was so popular it turned San Diego into a tourist destination, especially for its depictions of the Spanish missions and the "nobility" of the Natives.  To appeal to tourists, entrepreneurs marketed area attractions for their supposed connections to Ramona, including Estudillo House in Old Town San Diego which began to call itself "Ramona's Marriage Place."

This romanticized past, taking hold of the public imagination in a time when the Native American population of Southern California had been reduced by disease and the oppressive governments of Spain, Mexico and the United States, put San Diego on the map and sparked a rejuvenation of interest in saving what little remained of that earlier time.  Because there was so little, San Diego had to recreate that past, but since the past was romanticized, it never quite existed in that way to begin with.

By far, for me, the most successful and authentic representations of the past and of cultures have been in cultures that preserve themselves.  For example, some New Mexico pueblos have done very meticulously preserved their heritage because these places are where Native Americans still work and live using techniques that date a thousand years.  In Zuni Pueblo, Native women still cook bread in horno ovens.  In Sky City at Acoma Pueblo, the historic adobe town on the top of a small, 300 foot high mesa, about 30 families still maintain homes, sell art and pottery, and try to continue the lifestyle of their ancestors.

Other places around the United States have similar experiences - the Amish communities for example.  Sure, such places appeal to tourists with their arts and culture, and have been come destinations.  But these villages and cultures also strive to maintain an authenticity because the culture of those people, Native and Amish, depends on the survival of their communities.  That's the difference between the "cute" American towns that echo the past, and the places where cultures live in both the past and present.  If Mendocino, Williamsburg, Cedarburg, Virginia City or even Woodstock, Vermont disappear, American culture will survive.  If Acoma Pueblo, or Zuni Pueblo, or even Shipshewana, Indiana disappear, it will be a huge blow to these unique cultures that live in and around modern American culture, but also live apart from it as well.

Musical Interlude

There's been a number of songs about Mendocino, the village I mentioned above near where I grew up.  Here's a song, Talk to Me of Mendocino, performed by songwriting legends Kate and Anna McGarrigle with Scottish chanteuse Karen Matheson.

And for a more upbeat vibe, here's an old song by the Sir Douglas Quintet with their classic number Mendocino, performed on Hugh Hefner's Playboy After Dark television show in 1969.

If you want to know more about Woodstock

Billings Farm and Museum
Woodstock, Vermont
Wikipedia: Woodstock

Next up:  Mount Tom, Vermont