Clue I.
The first clue awaits you at the foot of Thoreau's "Invisible Mountain" at Monument Square, on the very spot where, legend has it, our Puritan forebears treated with Squaw Sachem and the Original Peoples of Musketaquid, the "Marshgrass River" - once great, they were reduced at that time to a bare remnant by low birth rate, disease, and the ravages of war.
The "plantation" was to become America's first, non-native inland (above tide-water) community - as opposed to a mere outpost or settlement. The name given to it by the settlers bespoke for them the spirit of the treaty, Concord. What "promise" dwells in a name, the name of our town? Imagine . . . .
Once you've found the founding spot, take a moment to read the posted account and give some thought to the "bargain", as described by RWE at the outset of his 200th Historical Discourse. "6 myles of land square" in exchange for "some fathoms of Wampumpeag, hatchets, hoes, knives, cotton cloth and shirts. Wibbacowet, the husband of Squaw Sachem, received a suit of cloth, a hat, a white linen band, shoes, stockings and a greatcoat."
Can you imagine such a deal today? How are we to understand that treaty, truly?
Do we own the land? Or, as the "Sage of Concord" suggests in his Discourse's opening verse, does the land, Mother Earth "own", and nurture, us - when all is said and done . . . ?
BULKELEY, Hunt, Willard, Hosmer, Merriam, Flint,
Possessed the land which rendered to their toil
Hay, corn, roots, hemp, flax, apples, wool and wood.
Each of these landlords walked amidst his farm
Saying, ''T is mine, my children's and my name's.'
Where are these men? Asleep beneath their grounds:
And strangers, fond as they, their furrows plough.
Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys
Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs. . . .
Have we something still to learn from the Original Peoples of the land?
While you're within the reach of old "Jethro's Tree", take a moment to glance about and see what you can see. Within a stone's throw do you spy a Native trading post, Many Nations, well worth peeking into, with a surprise and more, its own treasures galore . . . . A Native trading post, along with 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 prominent monuments dedicated to men and to war?
Does anything further catch your eye? Another two "monuments" (easily overshadowed?) devoted to women and to the promise of peace? Look carefully. We'll return to this locale - the center of Concord, for many the heart and soul of our nation - later in the hunt.
Finally, before journeying on, catch, if you can, a glimpse of Henry David's "Invisible Mountain", and let his words lift your steps, spirits along your way.
Forever in my dream and in my morning thought,
Eastward a mount ascends;
But when in the sunbeam its hard outline is sought,
It all dissolves and ends.
The woods that way are gates; the pastures too slope up
To an unearthly ground;
But when I ask my mates to take the staff and cup,
It can no more be found.
Perhaps I have no shoes fit for the lofty soil
Where my thoughts graze,
No properly spun clues, nor well-strained mid-day oil,
Or must I mend my ways? . . . .
. . . . It is a spiral path within the pilgrim's soul
Leads to this mountain's brow;
Commencing at his hearth he climbs up to this goal
He knows not when nor how.
Clue II.
From the foot of HDT's Invisible Mountain, the "hunt" takes you westward over the river (and, in earlier days, through the woods) to the site of one of the first farms in the town, that of its founder, S.W., his stalwart wife Mary and - if you can believe it - 17 children to lend an additional 34 hardy hands with the chores. If you park on the street that bears our founder's name and follow your steps around a corner, what meets your attentive gaze a few rods down, resting as firmly on the earth now as when it was first set down?
Clue III
If you are a tobogganer and have discovered our hills and dales, trace your steps back around the first corner and then, a ways off . . . , a 2nd, followed by a hop, skip, and a jump down the street. You'll soon find yourself at the base of a sturdy hill, which, in winter seasons, has bestowed many of us with an array of spots, black and blue.
Make your way up that hill, "head on" or around either routed flank. And what do you see at the summit, beside the spacious view before you? Turn around, and you'll see the summit is still to come. This time there's only one well-paved route, a "spiraling path" that - bushwacking not recommended - leads you upward on your way.
At the tippity-top what waits to greet you? Legend further has it that (if, "staff and cup in hand", you and your "mates" managed to ascend old Nashawtuc's "brow") in days long past from the summit on which you stand, "King Phillip", himself - of complexion red - gazed down over the peaceful "plantation" and, turning to his braves, announced: We will not bring our war into this community, the Great Spirit loves it.
Imagine . . . .
What might our forebears have done to have thus preserved their scalps, after settlers from the neighboring towns (can you name them?) were not so fortunate? Are we carrying on that living legacy? Or might we hearken to Henry David's words: "mend our ways . . . ?"
Clue IV.
The answer, its first glimpse, is approaching. But first, a final tribute to our "Forgotten Founders", who welcomed us "Boat People" to the shores of this New World and -- in the spirit of brotherhood from sea to shining sea -- nursed us through the first frosty and forlorn winters.
Retrace your steps, descending the "mount", right on down, then left at the fork to the first pined "path" but a few furlongs further along. Turning left again, you're headed for the meeting of the three rivers. This time, from the end of that pined way - within eye-shot - you may have to do a brief bit of bushwacking, until, branching off to the right, you pick up one of the worn trails to its watery end. The first river flows alongside to your left; the second approaches you from the right through the autumn wood. Where the paths pause, do you see the third current? Can you fathom its depths? Let your gaze descend into the reflections; they will lead us, in due time, further downstream.
Egg Rock is the name given to this meeting of the watery ways. Depending on the "tide", a further inscription is visible at river's edge. It tells the native tale of earlier days, when the meadows along the river were speckled with cranberries, the sandy banks with ears of Indian corn and berries blue, the shallows, teeming with fish, safe to eat. Squaw Sachem and her people established their culture on the remnants of earlier aborigines, their only traces, mounds of shells of fresh water mussels, mixed with the still bones of small animals and birds.
Across the river, the Cow Pasture - as idyllic a setting as you may find in Musketaquid - picks up the trail, with a due detour. And, before you know it, you're heading on the main route eastward back into town to find yourself, anew, . . . . at the foot of that all but imperceptible peak. Perhaps its "Transcendentalist" author would cast down a knowing nod from on high, if we fill in the missing verse:
. . . . It is a promised land, which I have not yet earned.
I have not made beginning
With consecrated hand, nor have I ever learned
To lay the underpinning.
The mountain sinks by day, as do my lofty thoughts,
Because I'm not high-minded.
If I could think always above these hills and warts,
I should see it, though blinded . . . .
Any wonder, friends, that Concord's native son - despite his not only infamous, but (if I may suggest) inaccurately portrayed pie-eating escapades - is such a beloved author for fellow citizens the world around?
Clue V.
"We are as a city set upon a hill, in the open view of all the world, because we profess ourselves to be a people in covenant with the Lord."
Once again, our gazes are lifted to more "Transcendentalist" heights.
Town lore suggests that these words, otherwise attributed to Governor Winthrop, were taken out of the mouth of our very own, founding minister and Emerson's direct forebear, Peter Bulkeley.
In the early days, Concord's universe focused around the life of the church. Through the trials of its founding period, the good reverend preached the Word not only to his fellow settlers, but also to the Native Peoples, in particular the "Praying Indians." Bulkeley's devotions earned him the honorary title of "Big Pray." Can you find a mounted photograph of his portrait in that first Concord parish? Knock and may you enter . . . .
More Reverend Peter had to say, when, before the parish was erected, the roofs over the first settlers' heads were but damp caves dug out of the hillside across the way. Lit by lone candles and a flickering dream that they had carried with them over the great ocean, the first inhabitants turned, day and night, to their minister and scripture.
"There is no people, but will strive to excel in something. What can we excel in, if not in holiness? If we look to number, we are the fewest; if to strength, we are the weakest . . . .
Times have changed, so we hear. Is that so? Or might our poorness be now not of means material? How would you explain such faith? Whence its source?
Clue VI
Next door stands the town's tavern. Can you imagine how a recently reported conversation with a devoted atheist therein, may hearken back to similar exchanges among its earliest clientele? "A dear friend of mine once maintained, 'I'm an atheist.' Reflecting I found myself answering, 'No, you are a theist.' Moved, she inquired, 'How did you know?' I paused, considered what may have inspired me, and found myself answering: 'Because you began by saying, 'I am'.
The thoughtful young, and self-proclaimed (I am), atheist responded, "There's something there that I would have to think about for the whole evening."
Perhaps K-8 ers, your parents may be moved to shed their own light on such a "promise."
Concord's founding minister went on. Having shared with the "flock" his remaining fortune, brought with him from England, his last pence was at hand:
". . . , if to wealth and riches, we are the poorest of all the people of God through the whole world. We cannot excel nor so much as equal other people in these things; and if we come short in grace and holiness too, we are the most despicable people under heaven. Strive we, therefore, herein to excel, and suffer not this crown to be taken away from us."
The kingdom of God - however we define Him/Her/It, a Power greater than, and yet no less a part of, our very Self - is within? Another "promised land, . . . with consecrated hand, . . . (for which we would) learn, . . . to lay the underpinning? Another treasure hunt?
If you come upon the portrait, take a moment to gaze into Peter Bulkeley's eyes, upon his countenance. Your glance meets that of the author of The Covenant of Grace Opened, the first published book of sermons written in New England. Its vision of a pact between the Creator and his people described the abiding promise that formed the fabric of Puritan society and set a cornerstone stone for our young town and nation. "Big Pray", a man of God? What words linger on our first minister's attentive lips . . . ?
Clue VII
Across the street, above the old caves (memories filled in), a path leads up through a hillside burying ground to its summit and the grave site of Reverend Peter's great-great-great (indeed) grandson/Ralph Waldo's grandfather, William. If you find the "vault", take a moment to catch your breath and, with "the shades of the great and good for company", glance down over your town and ages.
Do you see n'er a seventh of the settlement's inhabitants departing for choicer lands, Fairfield, Connecticut led by their minister's colleague, Rev. John Jones, and followed by two of Bulkeley's own sons, Daniel, seeking property of his own, his fortune, Thomas, betrothed to Jones's daughter, Sarah? Do you see the townspeople erecting the first mill and accompanying dam and pond, the first lots laid out, humble homes and barns raised?
Further down the ridge, do you espy the stockade built by John Hoar, a man of principle unpopular to many? Its stalwart purpose was to protect the "Praying Indians" from Hoar's towns-peoples' fears? In vain. 58 of the red men, many of whom had protected the settlers during the "King Phillip War", were forced out, against Hoar's will, lined up between two files of soldiers, and marched to Boston - many to perish on the desolate Deer Island.
Concord, what promise, forgotten, unfilled, lives in your name?
Doth, children, your recognition of the heritage of our town - for good, for ill - grow? What has brought you here, parents in tow? What would your forthcoming actions, perchance, bestow? To whom much is given, much - can one say? - is expected.
Clue VIII
More to come, glance back in the hours and days ahead. Time we have to take our town all in...
Photo: Sudbury River, ©Rich Stevenson, Local Color Images
The first clue awaits you at the foot of Thoreau's "Invisible Mountain" at Monument Square, on the very spot where, legend has it, our Puritan forebears treated with Squaw Sachem and the Original Peoples of Musketaquid, the "Marshgrass River" - once great, they were reduced at that time to a bare remnant by low birth rate, disease, and the ravages of war.
The "plantation" was to become America's first, non-native inland (above tide-water) community - as opposed to a mere outpost or settlement. The name given to it by the settlers bespoke for them the spirit of the treaty, Concord. What "promise" dwells in a name, the name of our town? Imagine . . . .
Once you've found the founding spot, take a moment to read the posted account and give some thought to the "bargain", as described by RWE at the outset of his 200th Historical Discourse. "6 myles of land square" in exchange for "some fathoms of Wampumpeag, hatchets, hoes, knives, cotton cloth and shirts. Wibbacowet, the husband of Squaw Sachem, received a suit of cloth, a hat, a white linen band, shoes, stockings and a greatcoat."
Can you imagine such a deal today? How are we to understand that treaty, truly?
Do we own the land? Or, as the "Sage of Concord" suggests in his Discourse's opening verse, does the land, Mother Earth "own", and nurture, us - when all is said and done . . . ?
BULKELEY, Hunt, Willard, Hosmer, Merriam, Flint,
Possessed the land which rendered to their toil
Hay, corn, roots, hemp, flax, apples, wool and wood.
Each of these landlords walked amidst his farm
Saying, ''T is mine, my children's and my name's.'
Where are these men? Asleep beneath their grounds:
And strangers, fond as they, their furrows plough.
Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys
Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs. . . .
Have we something still to learn from the Original Peoples of the land?
While you're within the reach of old "Jethro's Tree", take a moment to glance about and see what you can see. Within a stone's throw do you spy a Native trading post, Many Nations, well worth peeking into, with a surprise and more, its own treasures galore . . . . A Native trading post, along with 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 prominent monuments dedicated to men and to war?
Does anything further catch your eye? Another two "monuments" (easily overshadowed?) devoted to women and to the promise of peace? Look carefully. We'll return to this locale - the center of Concord, for many the heart and soul of our nation - later in the hunt.
Finally, before journeying on, catch, if you can, a glimpse of Henry David's "Invisible Mountain", and let his words lift your steps, spirits along your way.
Forever in my dream and in my morning thought,
Eastward a mount ascends;
But when in the sunbeam its hard outline is sought,
It all dissolves and ends.
The woods that way are gates; the pastures too slope up
To an unearthly ground;
But when I ask my mates to take the staff and cup,
It can no more be found.
Perhaps I have no shoes fit for the lofty soil
Where my thoughts graze,
No properly spun clues, nor well-strained mid-day oil,
Or must I mend my ways? . . . .
. . . . It is a spiral path within the pilgrim's soul
Leads to this mountain's brow;
Commencing at his hearth he climbs up to this goal
He knows not when nor how.
Clue II.
From the foot of HDT's Invisible Mountain, the "hunt" takes you westward over the river (and, in earlier days, through the woods) to the site of one of the first farms in the town, that of its founder, S.W., his stalwart wife Mary and - if you can believe it - 17 children to lend an additional 34 hardy hands with the chores. If you park on the street that bears our founder's name and follow your steps around a corner, what meets your attentive gaze a few rods down, resting as firmly on the earth now as when it was first set down?
Clue III
If you are a tobogganer and have discovered our hills and dales, trace your steps back around the first corner and then, a ways off . . . , a 2nd, followed by a hop, skip, and a jump down the street. You'll soon find yourself at the base of a sturdy hill, which, in winter seasons, has bestowed many of us with an array of spots, black and blue.
Make your way up that hill, "head on" or around either routed flank. And what do you see at the summit, beside the spacious view before you? Turn around, and you'll see the summit is still to come. This time there's only one well-paved route, a "spiraling path" that - bushwacking not recommended - leads you upward on your way.
At the tippity-top what waits to greet you? Legend further has it that (if, "staff and cup in hand", you and your "mates" managed to ascend old Nashawtuc's "brow") in days long past from the summit on which you stand, "King Phillip", himself - of complexion red - gazed down over the peaceful "plantation" and, turning to his braves, announced: We will not bring our war into this community, the Great Spirit loves it.
Imagine . . . .
What might our forebears have done to have thus preserved their scalps, after settlers from the neighboring towns (can you name them?) were not so fortunate? Are we carrying on that living legacy? Or might we hearken to Henry David's words: "mend our ways . . . ?"
Clue IV.
The answer, its first glimpse, is approaching. But first, a final tribute to our "Forgotten Founders", who welcomed us "Boat People" to the shores of this New World and -- in the spirit of brotherhood from sea to shining sea -- nursed us through the first frosty and forlorn winters.
Retrace your steps, descending the "mount", right on down, then left at the fork to the first pined "path" but a few furlongs further along. Turning left again, you're headed for the meeting of the three rivers. This time, from the end of that pined way - within eye-shot - you may have to do a brief bit of bushwacking, until, branching off to the right, you pick up one of the worn trails to its watery end. The first river flows alongside to your left; the second approaches you from the right through the autumn wood. Where the paths pause, do you see the third current? Can you fathom its depths? Let your gaze descend into the reflections; they will lead us, in due time, further downstream.
Egg Rock is the name given to this meeting of the watery ways. Depending on the "tide", a further inscription is visible at river's edge. It tells the native tale of earlier days, when the meadows along the river were speckled with cranberries, the sandy banks with ears of Indian corn and berries blue, the shallows, teeming with fish, safe to eat. Squaw Sachem and her people established their culture on the remnants of earlier aborigines, their only traces, mounds of shells of fresh water mussels, mixed with the still bones of small animals and birds.
Across the river, the Cow Pasture - as idyllic a setting as you may find in Musketaquid - picks up the trail, with a due detour. And, before you know it, you're heading on the main route eastward back into town to find yourself, anew, . . . . at the foot of that all but imperceptible peak. Perhaps its "Transcendentalist" author would cast down a knowing nod from on high, if we fill in the missing verse:
. . . . It is a promised land, which I have not yet earned.
I have not made beginning
With consecrated hand, nor have I ever learned
To lay the underpinning.
The mountain sinks by day, as do my lofty thoughts,
Because I'm not high-minded.
If I could think always above these hills and warts,
I should see it, though blinded . . . .
Any wonder, friends, that Concord's native son - despite his not only infamous, but (if I may suggest) inaccurately portrayed pie-eating escapades - is such a beloved author for fellow citizens the world around?
Clue V.
"We are as a city set upon a hill, in the open view of all the world, because we profess ourselves to be a people in covenant with the Lord."
Once again, our gazes are lifted to more "Transcendentalist" heights.
Town lore suggests that these words, otherwise attributed to Governor Winthrop, were taken out of the mouth of our very own, founding minister and Emerson's direct forebear, Peter Bulkeley.
In the early days, Concord's universe focused around the life of the church. Through the trials of its founding period, the good reverend preached the Word not only to his fellow settlers, but also to the Native Peoples, in particular the "Praying Indians." Bulkeley's devotions earned him the honorary title of "Big Pray." Can you find a mounted photograph of his portrait in that first Concord parish? Knock and may you enter . . . .
More Reverend Peter had to say, when, before the parish was erected, the roofs over the first settlers' heads were but damp caves dug out of the hillside across the way. Lit by lone candles and a flickering dream that they had carried with them over the great ocean, the first inhabitants turned, day and night, to their minister and scripture.
"There is no people, but will strive to excel in something. What can we excel in, if not in holiness? If we look to number, we are the fewest; if to strength, we are the weakest . . . .
Times have changed, so we hear. Is that so? Or might our poorness be now not of means material? How would you explain such faith? Whence its source?
Clue VI
Next door stands the town's tavern. Can you imagine how a recently reported conversation with a devoted atheist therein, may hearken back to similar exchanges among its earliest clientele? "A dear friend of mine once maintained, 'I'm an atheist.' Reflecting I found myself answering, 'No, you are a theist.' Moved, she inquired, 'How did you know?' I paused, considered what may have inspired me, and found myself answering: 'Because you began by saying, 'I am'.
The thoughtful young, and self-proclaimed (I am), atheist responded, "There's something there that I would have to think about for the whole evening."
Perhaps K-8 ers, your parents may be moved to shed their own light on such a "promise."
Concord's founding minister went on. Having shared with the "flock" his remaining fortune, brought with him from England, his last pence was at hand:
". . . , if to wealth and riches, we are the poorest of all the people of God through the whole world. We cannot excel nor so much as equal other people in these things; and if we come short in grace and holiness too, we are the most despicable people under heaven. Strive we, therefore, herein to excel, and suffer not this crown to be taken away from us."
The kingdom of God - however we define Him/Her/It, a Power greater than, and yet no less a part of, our very Self - is within? Another "promised land, . . . with consecrated hand, . . . (for which we would) learn, . . . to lay the underpinning? Another treasure hunt?
If you come upon the portrait, take a moment to gaze into Peter Bulkeley's eyes, upon his countenance. Your glance meets that of the author of The Covenant of Grace Opened, the first published book of sermons written in New England. Its vision of a pact between the Creator and his people described the abiding promise that formed the fabric of Puritan society and set a cornerstone stone for our young town and nation. "Big Pray", a man of God? What words linger on our first minister's attentive lips . . . ?
Clue VII
Across the street, above the old caves (memories filled in), a path leads up through a hillside burying ground to its summit and the grave site of Reverend Peter's great-great-great (indeed) grandson/Ralph Waldo's grandfather, William. If you find the "vault", take a moment to catch your breath and, with "the shades of the great and good for company", glance down over your town and ages.
Do you see n'er a seventh of the settlement's inhabitants departing for choicer lands, Fairfield, Connecticut led by their minister's colleague, Rev. John Jones, and followed by two of Bulkeley's own sons, Daniel, seeking property of his own, his fortune, Thomas, betrothed to Jones's daughter, Sarah? Do you see the townspeople erecting the first mill and accompanying dam and pond, the first lots laid out, humble homes and barns raised?
Further down the ridge, do you espy the stockade built by John Hoar, a man of principle unpopular to many? Its stalwart purpose was to protect the "Praying Indians" from Hoar's towns-peoples' fears? In vain. 58 of the red men, many of whom had protected the settlers during the "King Phillip War", were forced out, against Hoar's will, lined up between two files of soldiers, and marched to Boston - many to perish on the desolate Deer Island.
Concord, what promise, forgotten, unfilled, lives in your name?
Doth, children, your recognition of the heritage of our town - for good, for ill - grow? What has brought you here, parents in tow? What would your forthcoming actions, perchance, bestow? To whom much is given, much - can one say? - is expected.
Clue VIII
More to come, glance back in the hours and days ahead. Time we have to take our town all in...
Photo: Sudbury River, ©Rich Stevenson, Local Color Images
The K-8 Treasure Hunt, with parents/grandparents in tow, begins
Saturday, October 2 at 3 pm in front of the Emerson Umbrella, with an
autumn fest, featuring family-music by John Fitzimmons, and good cheer.
