SHARON – What do you call a pond with no fish that disappears for half the year? Scientists call it a vernal pool, and it is no riddle, but a vital component of the Northwest Corner’s woodland ecosystems.
Much like a riddle, however, these murky, transient ponds harbor secrets below the surface, and with a little prodding, can reveal surprising truths. On Saturday, April 11, the Sharon Land Trust hosted an evening hike in the aim of doing just that and demystifying these misunderstood resources.
As the sun was setting high on the ridge of Red Mountain, local science teacher Joseph Markow – who guided the excursion alongside landscape professional and sustainability expert Robin Zitter and Sharon Land Trust staff – pointed to a depression full of inky black water.
Without vernal pools, he said, “wood frogs would disappear very quickly.” The wood frog, a small, primarily land-dwelling amphibian, is an example of an “obligate” species, Markow explained – an animal that has adapted to rely on ephemeral wetlands to breed since they are devoid of fish, which eat the eggs and young of amphibians.
As Markow spoke, he gestured towards a lumpy, jelly-like mass half submerged in the murk that resembled a clump of soaked chia seeds: a cluster of wood frog eggs. An undiscerning developer may not notice the signs of life in what otherwise looks like a puddle in the woods, he said. And if the survey is done when the summer heat has dried up the pond, the habitat may be missed entirely.
Zitter sits on Sharon’s Inland Wetlands and Watercourses Commission, which co-hosted Saturday evening’s hike, and said that this is a reason the town needs to codify protections for these delicate resources that so many species, especially amphibians, rely on. She said the IWWC is taking steps to insert those protections into the town’s Plan of Conservation and Development, a ten-year guidance document that is due for an update this year.
Alec Linden
She pointed out many species that rely on vernal pools actually spend most of their lives in the terrestrial territory surrounding it – known by ecologists as “upland” habitat. It’s not only the ponds themselves that need protection, she explained, but the broader landscape that supports these types of wetlands.
Luckily, the vernal ponds on Red Mountain are in no immediate danger, at least from development. Its ridgeline and expansive, wooded slopes are part of a network of protected forest and agricultural lands. The Sharon Land Trust’s 278-acre Hamlin Preserve, within which Saturday’s hike was held, connects to the Mary Moore Preserve, another Land Trust property, via a trail that traverses easement-conserved land on the Wike Farm.
The hilltop forest was relatively quiet Saturday evening, which Markow attributed to a brisk wind and recent cold. Like humans, frogs prefer to wait for more comfortable conditions before breaking out in springtime song.
On a warmer evening, Markow said the area around the pond would likely be abuzz with a shrill chorus from the spring peepers – tiny tree frogs whose emergence is a classic symbol of the end of a New England winter.
Markow said that close, extensive exposure to the pitchy trill of spring peepers can actually damage hearing. “They’re louder than a rock concert at times,” he said, reaching 90 decibels at close range.
Markow was ready for a subdued night. Before taking the group into the woods, he gave a presentation with a cast of critters he’d plucked from a vernal pool near his house earlier in the day. A microscope setup provided viewers with an up-close view of the tiny and aptly named fingernail clam, which spends its entire lifespan in vernal pools, burying itself in moist mud to survive when the water dries up.
He also demonstrated another uniquely adapted species. “You’ll see a stick just get up and start walking around,” he said while passing around a small sample vial with a wriggling brown mass inside, “and that’s a caddisfly.” The resourceful larvae of these insects use found materials in the vernal pools to create a protective armor around themselves.
The crowd favorite was a small red-backed salamander that he showed off straight from the palm of his hand. “It’s cool enough today that they are pretty calm,” he said, just before the amphibian started to wriggle with purpose. “It’s waking up in your hand!” came a shout from the crowd.
Marge Parkhurst with a collection of historic nails recovered from wall cavities during restoration work.
“At first it just looked like old paint,” said Parkhurst, who has been painting and restoring historic homes in Litchfield County for decades. “Until I realized it was a stencil, a beautiful pattern that repeated.”
She kept going carefully — a wet sponge, hot water, a little fabric softener — peeling back until she could see it clearly. A climbing vine emerged, applied in vertical runs to give the wall the look of wallpaper. Someone had signed it. The signature was faint, tucked above the baseboard in the corner, not fully legible. But the date was clear: 1870.
Parkhurst, owner of Cottage & Country Painting Co., has worked in enough old houses to develop a practiced eye for what they conceal — understanding that layers of paint, paper and plaster in a 19th-century New England home form a kind of compressed archive of the people who lived there.
The stencil bore a strong resemblance to what historians call Moses Eaton-type stenciling — a tradition of itinerant craftsmen who traveled New England in the early 1800s with portable kits of cut-pattern stencils. Their trade flourished because imported wallpaper was expensive. Stenciling offered the same visual effect at a fraction of the cost.
“These stencilers typically worked for a combination of cash, food and lodging,” Parkhurst said. “Their compensation was modest by any standard.” She paused, “He was a tradesman. But the work he left behind — that’s art.”
The vine pattern was dull with age but still legible. One section had survived intact beneath the layers of paper. The homeowners chose not to paint over it — instead building a wooden frame around it, a small window into 1870.
“Preservation means protecting something to prevent further deterioration,” she said. “Restoration means returning something to a previous state. In that room, we preserved what was there.”
A collection of historic nails recovered during restoration work.Photo courtesy of Marge Parkhurst/Cottage & Country Painting Company
A Station’s Secrets
Not every discovery is decorative. Some are written into the bones of a building.
Parkhurst’s own home in Colebrook is a former railroad outbuilding moved from Canaan in 1920. Scraping the trim revealed it had once been sage green — and beneath that, a warm orange-brown soaked into the wood grain. “Old paint was made more like a stain back in the 1800s,” she said. “It penetrated the wood rather than sitting on top of it — so there’s never a shine.”
Up in the attic, eye bolts still anchored in the framing mark where cables stabilized the building during its move a century ago.
The most memorable find came by accident. Cutting open a wall under the stairs, she found a clear glass bottle sealed with a glass stopper held by a rusted wire. The label read: Hartmann Brewing Co., Bridgeport, Conn. It took days of careful oiling to free the stopper. Inside: a handwritten list of sandwiches and drinks, a postage stamp still attached. Not treasure. But a treasure just the same.
“I worked for days to get that thing open — and it was just somebody’s lunch order.”
Newspapers stuffed into wall cavities, hand-wrought nails, paint layers thin as stain — over 50 years, Parkhurst has cataloged the details that tell a trained eye when a house was built and by whom. Litchfield County’s architecture is unusually varied: Georgian and Federal-style houses on Litchfield’s Main Street, industrial buildings along the rivers in Torrington and Winsted. “Each town has its own fingerprint,” she said.
The most consequential mistake she sees is changing a home’s character. “When you paint over stained woodwork, you hide the details. You can’t get them back.” She has talked more than a few owners out of it. Some have listened.
Not long ago, Parkhurst and her grandchildren gathered a few small objects, wrote a letter and tucked it into a wall of her Colebrook home. Someone will find it — a record of people who were once here.
“Walls still surprise me,” she said. “If you look hard enough, you can find buried treasure.”
In a county full of houses whose walls hold untold stories — stenciled by traveling tradesmen, nailed together by farmers, papered over by housewives following the fashions — Marge Parkhurst has spent a lifetime reminding us that history doesn’t only live in museums. Sometimes it’s hiding just behind the wallpaper.
Sarah Belzer is a writer, editor and creative director whose career has crossed journalism, advertising, film and cultural commentary. Managing Editor of The American Rant and founder of Jump Advertising, she has spent three decades shaping narratives for media and national and global brands. Marge Parkhurst is the owner of Cottage & Country Painting Co. She can be reached at marge@cottageandcountryct.com or 860-379-4748.
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Lamb-Cason was named 2024 National History Teacher of the Year by the Gilder Lehrman Institute of American History, the first Indigenous person to receive the honor, and is now the Assistant Director of Native American and Indigenous Studies at Brown University. She will speak about the importance of oral tradition for Indigenous communities and of her efforts to write down the stories.
Provided
Lamb-Cason shared her story with the publication:
“The Northwest Corner is not just where my grandmother lived; it is our ancestral homelands. Our reservation was established near Kent in 1736. My grandmother grew up in Newtown and spent her childhood returning to Schaghticoke, visiting family and learning from her grandparents. In the early 1980s, she built her home on the reservation with my grandfather, and that is where I spent so much of my own childhood—learning with and from the land and waters that have sustained our people since time immemorial.
“As a historian, storyteller and educator, every moment with her was a teachable moment … and as her eldest grandchild, she felt a strong responsibility to impart as much as she could to me …
“A brief trek in the snow became ‘Wunneanatsu, what animal print do you think that is? Yes, you’re right, that’s Rabbit. That reminds me of a story about how rabbit got such long ears.’ …
“‘Wunneanatsu, do you hear the birds singing? That one sounds like blue jay. Let me tell you a story about how the birds got their songs.’
“My grandmother and those teachings guide everything I do; as an author, a storyteller, a relative and teacher; they inform my pedagogy and instructional style but also how I view and navigate the world. Grandmother Moon became an opportunity to honor her and her legacy of centering Indigenous ways of knowing in western academia and educational landscape. It was a way to carry her teachings forward for my children and future generations. It is, at its heart, a love letter to the woman who gave me so much. Essentially, my grandmother is and always will be everything I want to be when I grow up.”
Copies of “Grandmother Moon” will be available and the author will sign books. Native baskets from the collection of the Torrington Historical Society will be on display during the event.
Please register to reserve a spot: torringtonhistoricalsociety.org
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