Peaceable Kingdom

A long winter's walk, perfectly still and blue-skyed in a way only brutal cold produces.  Coggeshall Farm, in Bristol, RI, where I feel it is destiny for me to work as a docent in period garb.

The creatures of the field sun themselves; they're no fools.

They know it's best to enjoy the field without petty conflicts -- a flock of sheep, two bulls, a cow, a donkey, all in the same field sunning.

Perhaps it's the view from this field -- restorative, no?


Under the Little House

We found many things when we picked the Little House up to cast new footings.  Some we suspected, others were a surprise.  Lots of fieldstones, perfect for use in the sloped beds in front of our house.

Tombstones, anyone?  We've got seven.  I found this one incorporated into a path last year:

 And this one was under a bush:

They're much weathered, having been out for who knows how long -- but the others, sheltered
 by the building for 170 years, are sharp as stones carved yesterday:

But this one is really the best -- Charles Henry Cornell was the nephew of the man who owned our house in the 1840s, Henry Cole.  Mary Cornell, Charles' mother, lived in our house through at least the mid 1850s.  It's very meaningful to us to discover this piece of our home's history, especially as it is very likely Charles Henry died in one of the rooms of our house.

 This one is even inscribed with the name of the stone engraver:

Why so many tombstones?  Well, Henry Cole, owner of our house from the 1840s on, was caretaker of the oldest cemetery in town.  These must have been the rejected stones, or temporary placeholders for more elaborate pieces.  The steps of our bulkhead are similarly macabre, and the staircase to the basement rests on part of the wall of a collapsed mausoleum.

Not all was so grim -- we also found this large section of granite edging, very smooth on the side not shown, which we'll use as a stoop to the little house:

And then this elaborate thing, a monumental granite hitching post more than six feet in length.

It's form is far too elaborate to have been intended for our place, and I suspect it was made for Waterman House, an imposing edifice lost in the 1930s.  More on that to follow.
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