Winter had lasted long enough, so I ventured to Bartholomew’s Cobble in Ashley Falls, MA, for fresh air and a taste of the woods without skis or snowshoes. From the parking lot, I heard a gaggle of Canada geese on the Housatonic River, commenting, no doubt, about their brethren’s collision with U.S. Airways Flight 1549 above the Hudson River. I scrambled up Eaton Trail and immediately realized: It’s too early to be in the woods. The trail was as icy as my driveway. But I wasn’t the first in these woods. Beside some other human’s shoeprints there were small deer tracks. And very big deer tracks. And bitty squirrel tracks.
Behind the Bailey museum building a meandering stone wall caught my eye and I left the trail to admire its inelegance. Did some of Col. John Ashley’s slave laborers assemble it a couple of centuries ago? Did Adam or Jupiter or Caesar, known blacks from Ashley’s realm, assemble the mismatched river stones to establish the rustic fence for sheep or cattle? They left no signatures.
Few hikers were out that day, so there were no witnesses as I careered down the hill on Ledges Trail, only the wooden handrail to slow my skitter. As the river came in sight, the chatter of honkers vanished. The birds had coasted around the bend to continue their conversation.
One advantage of a bad trail is it slows one’s pace, forcing contemplation not only of where to place the foot for each next step, but to observe what there is along the way that might afford a handhold in case of slippage. It was totally useless for safety, but a hollowed trunk from a long-ago fallen hemlock caught my eye.
Several summers ago, I served on a Bartholomew’s Cobble Management Plan Committee. I remember from our meetings, discussion of the encroaching wooly adelgid, the curious name for an insect that is migrating north, devouring every hemlock in sight. When it reaches here, we figured the trees, so vital a part of the property’s topography, would need to be inoculated.
Though the Cobble is named for a later farmer, George F. Bartholomew, its first European inhabitant was Ashley, who owned a considerable domain on these flats along the river. Ashleyville, as it was first called, grew around his aggregation of sawmill, gristmill, bloomery forge, plaster mill and cider press.
Agricultural use of the land for the most part ignored the stony outcrops along the river, home to dozens, even hundreds, of rare and endangered plant species, including the flower called narrow-leaved spring beauty. No chance of finding one for a while yet. I’ll have to come back.
The day’s mail delivery brought a plea from The Trustees of Reservations, which owns the Cobble and 99 other properties, to help in the acquisition of development rights to Shady Maple Farm.
Ice on the trails, and mud in Weatogue Road had discouraged me from venturing far enough south to see John Bottass’s property. But I went home and wrote out a small check.
For information, call 413-229-8600.
