At an imposing 38 feet tall and 4,500 pounds, the fiberglass Uncle Sam statue that stands sentinel outside Connecticut’s Danbury Railway Museum may be the world’s largest. Or maybe not: There’s another one in the Midwest that’s a tad taller—but only if the base is included in the calculations.

Both statues are said to have been created in the 1960s as advertising icons for Uncle Sam’s, a now-defunct restaurant chain in Ohio. By 1971, one of the Sams had relocated to Connecticut for a new gig as a greeter at the Danbury Fair. After 10 years, it moved on, taking up residence at the Magic Forest theme park in Lake George, New York. 

When the park was sold in 2018, the statue next seemed destined for Troy, New York, where Massachusetts native Sam Wilson had operated a meat-packing business that supplied troops during the War of 1812. The term “Uncle Sam” is said to have derived from the “U.S.” stamp on Wilson’s barrels, which marked them as government property but also, some fancied, as coming from “Uncle” Sam Wilson. Soon, Uncle Sam was being used as a stand-in for the government in political cartoons.

In the 1870s, Harper’s Weekly cartoonist Thomas Nast popularized what became Uncle Sam’s signature look: thin, white-haired, goateed, and wearing a tall hat with striped pants, vest, and a swallow-tail coat. Then came James Montgomery Flagg’s 1917 “I Want You” recruitment poster, which elevated Uncle Sam to pop culture celebrity and created perhaps America’s first meme a century before anyone knew what that was.

Patriotism sells, and in the years that followed, Uncle Sam’s likeness promoted everything from apples to car insurance. And restaurants, of course.

The Lake George statue never went to Troy, as Danbury swooped in as top bidder. In May 2019, after a few months of restoration, a rejuvenated Uncle Sam made his grand return to Connecticut as Danbury’s biggest photo op.

The post The Larger Than Life Uncle Sam Statue in Danbury, Connecticut appeared first on New England.

“Black flies, no-see-ums, deer flies, gnats and mosquitoes were instituted by the devil to force people to live in cities where he could get at them better….” —Ernest Hemingway

Hemingway wrote that line in 1920, but the Pilgrims could have related. They sent a letter to their London sponsors in 1623 reporting they were “much annoyed by mosquitoes” and hoping to relocate their settlement. Lots of so-called solutions were tried over the years, but things like sweetgrass necklaces and bear fat salves never really caught on. Trekking through Maine in the 1850s, Henry David Thoreau used an ointment made from oil of turpentine, spearmint, and camphor. After applying it to his face and hands, he decided he preferred the bites of Maine’s tiny but voracious blackflies. 

Little did Thoreau know that the very state that hosted such relentless tormentors would, half a century later, produce one of New England’s most enduring defenses against them.

Ole Time Woodsman Fly Dope, as the company story goes, was born in 1910 after an angler named Obie Sherer was driven from a favorite Maine fishing hole by blackflies and mosquitoes. Research led him to an 1882 recipe for a concoction used by hunters to disguise their scent, which he then adapted for his own use to keep insects at bay.

One day a logging crew saw Sherer fishing in peace and wanted to know his secret. He made them a batch of his “fly dope,” and when they came back clamoring for more, Sherer saw a business opportunity. And in honor of his first customers, he named his product “Ole Time Woodsman.”

While the exact recipe is a closely held secret, the ingredients are not. “It’s a mixture of pine tar, petroleum distillates like mineral oil, and essential oils,” explains Maine native Ken “Skip” Theobald III, the company’s owner since 2010. The fly dope is made by hand, mixed in small batches in Theobald’s garage.

The label lists pine tar, paraffin, citronella, liquid smoke, camphor, pennyroyal, and oil of bay as active ingredients; the other 55 percent is white mineral oil. Its pungent aroma is hard to describe. “The smell of a primal pine forest,” Theobald says, adding, “If the bugs can’t find you, they can’t bite you.” In any case, the scent is downright ambrosial for those who find that it disguises them from biting insects.

And in some devoted users, Ole Time Woodsman also stirs up beloved memories. As one fan wrote: “That aroma reminds me of the many hours I spent fishing with my grandfather…. I can’t wait to rub some on and imagine he’s right there fishing with me again.”

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Devotees of homemade cranberry sauce, please don’t take offense. We all appreciate the deliciousness of your choice. But for those of us who prefer ours can-shaped and jiggly (a full 73 percent of respondents in one Ocean Spray poll), a moment of thanks is due to Marcus Urann.

Cranberries were a staple of Native American life in New England—providing dyes and medicines as well as food—long before Europeans arrived. The most basic cranberry sauce is made by boiling berries in sugar water until they pop, releasing their natural pectin. And although cranberry sauce probably wasn’t served at the first Thanksgiving, the berries may have been an ingredient in some “puddings in the belly,” as stuffings were then called. The popularity of cranberry sauce as a turkey side dish dates back at least to 1796, when Amelia Simmons included it in the first U.S. cookbook, American Cookery.

Harvested from mid-September until mid-November, cranberries were first marketed and sold in the 1700s, but always as a seasonal fruit. Then in 1906, Urann, a lawyer, bought a cranberry bog and set up cooking facilities in Hanson, Massachusetts. Looking to extend the short selling season, he started canning cranberries in 1912. In 1930, he joined two other growers to form a cooperative that would later become Ocean Spray. By 1941, their cranberry sauce was distributed nationally. Today, Ocean Spray represents about 700 growers, and produces 70 percent of the world’s canned cranberry sauce.

Placed end to end, the number of cans of Ocean Spray cranberry sauce that are consumed each year would stretch from Boston to Salt Lake City. During the holiday season alone, Americans gobble up 5 million gallons’ worth—enough to fill seven and a half Olympic-size swimming pools.

And if you’ve ever wondered why those ubiquitous cans seem to be labeled upside down: In the early 2000s, someone at Ocean Spray realized that by putting the more rounded edge of the can on the top rather than the bottom, they could create an air bubble that would facilitate the sauce sliding out in that satisfying plop—a sound of the season that homemade can’t ever duplicate.

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Harking back to simpler times, farmhouses speak to so much that we love. And while many farmhouses share some basic traits—coziness, functionality, and simplicity of design, all set on spacious acres—each becomes something unique to its place, a compounding of the virtues of the land to which it is inextricably connected. Today, farmhouses still beckon to us, even as they take on new, more upscale lives. Here are five contemporary variations on this classic theme, each ready for the growth of new roots.

Lewis Farm

144 & 232 Town Farm Road, Woodstock, VT

This quintessential Vermont farmstead, which has been in the Lewis family since 1940, offers 130 acres of picturesque hayfields and woodlands along a Kedron Valley hillside near the village of South Woodstock. In addition to the three-bedroom brick farmhouse, the property features a spectacular restored barn, a light-filled two-bedroom contemporary house, and a south-facing studio tucked into the hillside. There is also a pond, a riding ring, a tennis court, a smokehouse, and plenty of trails to explore.

Price: $2,800,000 • Square Feet: 3,748 • Acres: 130 • Bedrooms: 8 • Bathrooms: 5

(Story Jenks, Landvest Real Estate, 802-238-1332, sjenks@landvest.com)

99 Uncle Alberts Drive Ext.

Chatham, MA

Once a working farm of the Chatham Bars Inn, this extraordinary estate has been owned by the same family for more than 70 years. Nestled on a south-facing lot with stunning views of Oyster Pond and a mile-long stretch of the Oyster River, the main home, built in 2004, features plentiful windows, a finished basement, a two-car garage, a detached barn, and, best of all, an expansive wraparound deck perfect for watching birds, boats, and sunsets.

Price: $9,995,000 • Square Feet: 1,786 • Acres: 1.44 • Bedrooms: 2 • Bathrooms: 2.5

(Rick Smith, Gibson Sotheby’s International Realty, 508-945-0000, rick.smith@sothebysrealty.com)

Iron Horse Salt Farm

77A Watsons Reach, Sullivan, ME

Is perfection attainable? This bucolic saltwater farm, with panoramic views of both Flanders Bay and the mountains of Acadia National Park, will make you a believer. The sunny four-bedroom farmhouse, which has been extensively remodeled, anchors a gated estate that includes a spacious barn with four horse stalls, an artist’s studio, a boathouse, and multiple garages, as well as the remnants of a seaside manor house. With plenty of space, a half mile of water frontage, and easy access to some of the most beautiful scenery in the world, the possibilities are endless.

Price: $3,600,000 • Square Feet: 2674 • Acres: 53 • Bedrooms: 4 • Bathrooms: 3.5

(Jamie O’Keefe, Landvest Real Estate, 207-299-8732, jamieokeefe67@gmail.com)

Goose Gate Farm

141 Shearer Road, Washington, CT

This converted dairy barn was relocated to its present location from New York state, but its exposed beams and natural woodwork might well have sprouted from this picturesque property, just an hour and a half from New York City. The farm’s four acres are beautifully landscaped with specimen trees and evergreens, and the land immediately adjacent is protected. The house’s spacious foyer features a grand fireplace, while the great room combines library, living, and dining spaces under a cathedral ceiling. There’s a fireplace in the master bedroom, too.

Price: $1,950,000 • Square Feet: 3,146 • Acres: 4 • Bedrooms: 3 • Bathrooms: 2.5

(Maria Taylor, Klemm Real Estate, 860-868-7313, ext. 126, mtaylor1800@aol.com)

Whistle Pig Farm

72 Bartletts Landing Road, Mount Desert, ME

Owning this private saltwater farm on the “quiet side” of Mount Desert Island, overlooking Pretty Marsh Harbor, is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The four-bedroom house, built in 1818, is surrounded by perennial gardens, acres of pasture, and a private shoreline. It boasts wide-plank floors, exposed timber rafters, and plenty of modern amenities cleverly worked in so as not to distract from its rustic charm. Still not convinced? Figure in a heated three-bay garage, an attached barn, and easy access to the wonders of Acadia National Park.

Price: $6,295,000 • Square Feet: 3,123 • Acres: 12.28 • Bedrooms: 4 • Bathrooms: 3.5

(Marika Alexis Clark, Legacy Properties Sotheby’s International Realty, 207-780-8900, marika.clark@sothebysrealty.com)    

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There’s a hillside not far from my New Hampshire home that is ideal for stargazing. Within a few minutes, distant worlds start to show themselves—a phenomenon, I know, that’s caused by my eyes adjusting to the dark. But it feels somehow personal, like a confidence shared, as the sky gradually fills.

Last year, however, any illusion that I had special access to the cosmos was erased by the glorious images beamed back by the new James Webb Space Telescope. Able to capture light that’s traveled millions of years, it reveals things that have never before been glimpsed by human eyes.

As stunning as those visuals are, they too have been overshadowed. This year, another space story has caught the media’s, and the public’s, attention: UFOs. Even the Webb’s extraordinary pictures pale against headlines such as “U.S. Jet Shoots Down Flying Object Over Canada” (The New York Times, February 12, 2023) and “U.S. Urged to Reveal UFO Evidence After Claim That It Has Intact Alien Vehicles” (The Guardian, June 6, 2023).

Recent technological advances, political revelations, and seemingly credible sightings have moved UFOs—or, as the U.S. government now prefers, UAPs (unidentified aerial phenomena)—from the supermarket tabloids into the mainstream media. And while most scientists remain dismissive, both the public and the government are intrigued.

Whether you believe we’re being visited by some mysterious Other or think everything in our skies is either natural or man-made, getting answers would seem to be in our universal best interest. After all, as the late J. Allen Hynek, the astronomer who investigated (and some say quashed) UFO sightings for the U.S. government for decades, was fond of pointing out, the important question is not whether an object is unidentified, but rather, “Unidentified to whom?”

* * * * *

And that question brings me, on an October evening in 2021, to the Coolidge Corner Theatre in downtown Brookline, Massachusetts, where Avi Loeb is speaking before a showing of Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

As I take my seat, Loeb, clean-cut and dapper in a gray jacket with no tie, sits at a table signing copies of his recently published book, Extraterrestrial: The First Sign of Intelligent Life Beyond Earth. A few minutes later, the theater’s director of development and marketing, Beth Gilligan, reads off his accolades as she introduces him: chair of Harvard’s astronomy department, director of the Institute of Theory and Computation at the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics, founding director of the Black Hole Initiative, author of four books and more than 700 scientific papers, one of Time magazine’s 25 most influential people in space science in 2012.

Stepping to the podium, Loeb smiles. Raised in Israel, he speaks in clear but deeply accented tones: “It is great to be here. Just a couple of anecdotes. Well, first of all, I was born on a farm, so you may pretty much ignore all those titles and regard me as a farm boy….”

In Extraterrestrial, Loeb the scientist indulges his farm-boy sense of wonder, speculating that the first interstellar object observed within our solar system, an oddly behaved “comet” dubbed ‘Oumuamua (a Hawaiian word that translates loosely as “first distant messenger”), may have been our first glimpse of alien technology. That suggestion landed Loeb at the center of a media storm and earned him the ire of many fellow scientists, who—while agreeing that ‘Oumuamua was unlike anything seen before—insisted that its origins were natural.

When astronomers spotted ‘Oumuamua in 2017 using a massive telescope located atop a dormant volcano on the Hawaiian island of Maui, the object, estimated to be between 100 and 400 meters long, was 21 million miles distant and moving away at a speed of about 85,000 mph.

“It didn’t look like a comet or an asteroid, the type of rocks that we have seen before within the solar system,” Loeb tells the audience. “Its brightness changed by a factor of 10 as it was tumbling, implying a very extreme shape.” A widely circulated artist’s rendition shows ‘Oumuamua as a cigar-shaped rock, but Loeb’s calculations suggested more of a pancake-like object. Other astronomers, Loeb says, “were not happy with that interpretation, because nature doesn’t make such thin objects. It implies that perhaps it is artificial.”

Those extreme dimensions, paired with no evidence that ‘Oumuamua was emitting the gas or dust typical of a comet, led Loeb to speculate that it could be a solar sail—a device built to be so nearly weightless that light reflecting off it could propel it the same way that wind propels a sailboat.

“One thing I learned from practicing astronomy for several decades is a sense of cosmic modesty,” Loeb says. “And the reason is simple. About half of the sun-like stars in the universe have a planet the size of Earth, at roughly the same separation. That means that not only are we not in the center of the universe, as people thought thousands of years ago, but our backyard is not even unusual. We are not privileged in any way.”

Whatever ‘Oumuamua was, it was different. If it was indeed a manufactured object, who had made it? Had it been sent to our inner solar system intentionally, or was it random space litter? How long had it been traveling? Did the civilization responsible for it still exist?

As ‘Oumuamua tumbles through distant space, it seems likely that the little bit of data collected while it was visible to us is all we’ll ever have. The mystery will remain unsolved. But in the future, Loeb hopes, we can be better prepared to get answers.

It is our nature, Loeb says, to fit evidence to what we know. “Imagine a caveman finding a cellphone. The caveman, who is familiar with rocks, would likely think it was just a type of rock that he’d never seen before…. And if the caveman throws away the cellphone, that will be the end of it…. But it could also be the beginning of a learning experience. The caveman may press a button and record his voice and then press another button and record his image. And then it would be clear that the cellphone is not a rock. We need to press the buttons on objects like ‘Oumuamua.”

As Loeb leaves the stage, the lights dim and the audience settles in for the story of Roy Neary, played by Richard Dreyfuss, an Indiana lineman who becomes obsessed after a close encounter with a UFO. Unlike the aliens in many popular “invasion” movies of earlier decades, these otherworldly beings aren’t coming to conquer. At its core, director Steven Spielberg’s story is one of curiosity, wonder, and the perhaps intergalactic desire for meaning and connection.

Close Encounters of the Third Kind is fiction, but it draws on multiple stories from people who are certain they, too, know what it is like to have been part of the mystery—including famous close encounters that happened right here in New England.

* * * * *

The history of UFOs in New England skies is a storied one. The earliest documented sighting in the “New World” was recorded in the diary of John Winthrop, governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. In March 1639, he reported that “James Everell, a sober, discreet man, and two others saw a great light in the night at Muddy River. When it stood still, it flamed up, and was about three yards square; when it ran, it was contracted into the figure of a swine: it ran as swift as an arrow … up and down about two or three hours.” In the centuries that followed, UFO sightings and stories have flowed in a seemingly unending stream through New England.

New Hampshire’s “Exeter Incident” (1965) gained credibility because two police officers were among the witnesses. Connecticut’s “Newtown Lights” (1987) were seen by hundreds of people. The claimed 1961 abduction of Betty and Barney Hill in the White Mountains became perhaps the region’s most famous UFO story, establishing tropes that have become staples of popular culture. There were many more sightings, with varying degrees of credibility, but all share one key similarity: an utter lack of tangible evidence.

“That’s part of the intrigue,” Maine-based UFO investigator Fred Richards, aka “UFO Fred,” tells me. “We can get proof that there was a light in the sky. And the way the human brain works, it’s not even entirely proof that there was a light in the sky.… Some people [who have had a sighting] want me to tell them it was an alien. Only the aliens can tell you that. Nobody on this planet can tell you for sure.”

For conspiracy-minded believers, this consistent lack of evidence seemed proof that it was being suppressed. Decades of reported sightings left many convinced that the government knew more than it was sharing. In 2017, fuel was added to the fire when a New York Times report revealed that the U.S. Department of Defense had secretly investigated incidents through its Advanced Aerospace Threat Identification Program. Three years later, seemingly acquiescing to public demand, the U.S. Senate Select Committee on Intelligence called for a detailed analysis of UFO encounters and their national security implications. As compiled by a panel of military and intelligence officials, the resulting report (despite some tantalizing media speculation) didn’t reveal secret warehouses of confiscated alien airships. What it did do, though, was officially establish that strange phenomena and objects have been seen, and that many remain inexplicable even after thorough investigation.

In 2022, Congress held an official UFO hearing. Among those who testified was New Hampshire resident Ryan Graves, a former Navy fighter pilot who made public his own sightings; he would go on to help launch Americans for Safe Aerospace, a nonprofit to support pilots who have seen unidentified aerial phenomena and to advocate for more transparent investigations (Avi Loeb serves on the advisory board). Speaking to the press after his testimony, Graves highlighted the dangers that unidentified objects pose to pilots, arguing they should be treated like “a foreign adversary.” He added, “We have a mystery to solve.”

* * * * *

From the time of Orson Welles’s 1938 radio broadcast of “The War of the Worlds” that caused nationwide panic, to the spate of “little green men” from “outer space” that could be seen on movie screens throughout the 1950s—nearly always as threatening invaders—our fascination with the possibility that we are not alone has always come tinged with dread. I have that in mind when I pull into the nearly empty parking lot of Indian Head Resort just off Route 3 in Lincoln, New Hampshire. It is late March, the sun low in the sky. I walk through a light covering of snow to the road, where a large green New Hampshire Historical Highway Marker reads:

Betty and Barney Hill Incident: On the night of September 19-20, 1961, Portsmouth, NH, couple Betty and Barney Hill experienced a close encounter with an unidentified flying object and two hours of “lost” time while driving south on Rte. 3 near Lincoln. They filed an official Air Force Project Blue Book report of a brightly lit, cigar-shaped craft the next day, but were not public with their story until it was leaked in the Boston Traveler in 1965. This was the first widely reported UFO abduction report in the United States.

As a boy I had read The Interrupted Journey, John G. Fuller’s best-selling book about the Hill incident. While the story fascinated me, I never really believed it, even as a kid. I still don’t. But in light of all the recent discoveries and reports, my curiosity has been rejuvenated.

In the resort’s gift shop I find a collection of inflatable alien heads and UFO coasters and warning signs that this is an “Alien Abduction Zone.” I grab a coffee mug with an image of the highway marker on one side and the Indian Head formation on the other, along with a copy of Captured! The Betty and Barney Hill UFO Experience, co-written by Kathleen Marden, Betty’s niece. Halfway to the cash register, I turn back and grab a “Betty and Barney Hill UFO Experience” T-shirt, too.

The cashier smiles and asks if I’ve seen anything yet, then promises, “Spend enough time out here and you will.” Ringing up the book, he adds, “The author’s real nice. She stops by sometimes.” After sitting in my car and reading until dark, I trace the route that the Hills traveled during their encounter. But whatever insight I thought I might gain remains elusive, and I drive home with my kitschy souvenirs.

A few weeks later I dig deeper, when I visit the University of New Hampshire in Durham. Large windows brighten the Milne Special Collections room of UNH’s Dimond Library. “This is one of our most popular collections,” a librarian says. My visit was expected, so a stack of gray archival boxes and a pair of white cotton gloves await at one of the room’s long tables. Not sure of what I’m hoping to find, I grab an archival box and dig in.

When the Hills’ story became public, they came across as honest, dependable citizens with little to gain from concocting a fable. Barney Hill died in 1969; Betty lived until 2004, becoming a mainstay of the UFO scene. The collection includes mundane reminders that the Hills were ordinary people who believed they had experienced something not of this world: family genealogies, certificates of birth, and marriage, and death; Barney’s discharge papers from the Army; a scrapbook of his work with the NAACP. In one early photo, Betty wears the dress that she’d be wearing the night of the UFO incident. The dress itself is also part of the collection, minus a few samples snipped for lab analysis.

A flimsy piece of paper shows a drawing Barney made of the UFO. There are transcripts and recordings of interviews and a mountain of newspaper and magazine accounts, along with documentation of the Hills’ many TV appearances, on such shows as Good Morning America and The Phil Donahue Show. There are letters from fellow UFO celebrities including Whitley Strieber, J. Allen Hynek, and Ray Fowler, who would become known for his books about another alleged New England abductee, Betty Andreasson, who was certain that on a winter night in 1967 she had been examined by aliens at her home in South Ashburnham, Massachusetts.

Reading the transcribed recordings of the Hills under hypnosis, I find it impossible to believe that they’re lying. But that doesn’t mean that their story is true. In the decades since the Hills’ sessions with the respected Boston psychiatrist Benjamin Simon, the reliability of memories recovered through hypnosis has been largely discredited. Under hypnosis, individuals may generate false memories or inadvertently incorporate information from external sources into their recollections.

“Reality is what we take to be true,” physicist David Bohm once said. He added, “What we take to be true is what we believe.… What we believe determines what we take to be true. What we take to be true is our reality.” Bohm could have been describing not only Betty and Barney Hill, but also the universe of UFO adherents as well as disbelievers. For once we’ve settled on a truth, it becomes the easiest thing in the world to see any information that doesn’t align with it as untrue.

* * * * *

On a rainy Saturday morning the day before Halloween, I’m standing in a long line outside a hotel in downtown Waterbury, Connecticut. We are getting soaked while waiting for an event dubbed “The Warren’s Seekers of the Supernatural ParaCon,” which has clearly underestimated its own popularity. The venue, we are told, is so full that we have to wait for folks to come out before anyone else enters.

The event is named for Ed and Lorraine Warren, a Connecticut couple who founded the New England Society for Psychic Research in 1952, and who claimed to have investigated more than 10,000 cases during their career. The popular film The Conjuring and its sequels are based on some of their best-known cases. I’m here to meet the Maine researcher I spoke with on the phone, Fred Richards, who is among a lineup of presenters that—judging by the buzz whenever one of them passes by—represent superstars of this realm.

Finally inside, I slosh my way around the vendor hall, where colorful banners promote podcasts and web shows and where everything from personal seances to holy water is for sale, along with piles of books and DVDs (each seeming chock-full of “Previously Unseen Footage!!!”).

Richards lives in southern Maine. He has a good job, which for reasons related to his unusual side hustle he prefers not to talk about. In his off-hours, he serves as the Maine state director for the Mutual UFO Network, or MUFON, one of the world’s oldest and largest UFO investigation groups. Here, he doesn’t come across as someone who seeks attention. Close-cropped hair, well-trimmed beard, glasses. Tidy. Professional.

“I’m not real popular with some people in the community because I’m not a hard-core believer,” he tells me. “If you go in wanting a particular answer, it becomes far more likely that’s what you’re gonna find.”

Richards says he was about 10 when he had his first UFO sighting. “I woke up in the middle of the night. I looked out the window, and I saw a craft coming over the trees. It was low. It was all lit up. I watched it fly over the house. I ran to the next window and I saw it just go slowly over the woods.”

He didn’t talk about it much then, but he never stopped thinking about it. So when he discovered Art Bell’s late-night radio show, “Coast to Coast AM,” and heard people talking about experiences like his own, he was hooked. “I looked forward to it every night. I don’t know how much sleep I lost,” he laughs. “And that was where I first heard of MUFON.”

When a sighting in the state of Maine is reported on the MUFON website, the information gets forwarded to Richards, who may look into it himself, or assign it to another investigator. “What I typically do is I’ll go and collect all the hard data first,” he says. “I look at hard research—what was in the sky that night, what was the weather. I look at where the satellites and the International Space Station are. Have you seen the ISS at night? That gets reported a lot.

“Sometimes there’s an explanation for what you saw that is fascinating in its own right. The SpaceX Dragon just went up—I guarantee that gets reported. No, what you saw wasn’t an alien spacecraft, but what a cool thing to have seen. It’s a different mystery every time.

“When we get to a point that we have a concrete answer,” he continues, “maybe it becomes more serious then. But in the meantime, we can have fun, speculating and guessing and trying to figure it all out. That’s what keeps me here. I want to know the answer.”

Months later, I’m still in search of answers when I visit Exeter, New Hampshire, where the annual UFO Festival, a popular fundraiser for the local Kiwanis Club, has returned following a pandemic hiatus. The “Exeter Incident” is New Hampshire’s other famous alien encounter, and like the Betty and Barney Hill story, it also served as the basis for a popular book by John G. Fuller in the 1960s. Today, the town is bustling—and replete with inflatable green aliens—but the epicenter is the area right in front of the red brick town hall, where the Kiwanis are selling T-shirts, hats, and posters. There are food tables, face painters, a costume contest, and even a UFO “crash debris site” for kids to play in.

Throughout the weekend, a trolley takes visitors to a scenic farmhouse that’s actually just over the Exeter town line, in Kensington. It was here, on the night of September 3, 1965, that local teenager Norman Muscarello, walking home from his girlfriend’s house, spotted a large, brilliantly illuminated object that passed so low it scared him to the point that he ended up face down in a roadside ditch. When he eventually arrived in Exeter, he told the police, and officer Eugene Bertrand Jr. was dispatched to investigate. He, too, saw the object, which he described as a red light with a pulsating white top. Officer David Hunt was next to arrive, and he witnessed it as well.

But where they may have all seen something, we just look out to the road and meadow. The trolley doesn’t linger. Within minutes we are headed back, to be switched out for a fresh batch.

I dip in and out of speaker presentations, and in and out of conversations, for the rest of the afternoon. And somewhere along the line I realize that everyone I talked to is doing the same thing. They all believe that we must share the universe with other intelligent life, and are filling in the gaps as best they can, often with anecdotal evidence from their own experience or from those who share similar beliefs. Even Avi Loeb isn’t so different. The big difference with Loeb, of course, is that he has resources and access few others can muster.

* * * * *

Avi Loeb’s gray shingled house is in Lexington, Massachusetts, within walking distance of the town green. A screened porch stretches across the front of the home. Loeb lives here with his wife, Ofrit, and two daughters. He offers fruit and drinks on the table between us. Our soundtrack is one of chirping birds and occasional planes overhead.

Loeb has written that scientific inquiry, over the years, has often been stifled “because the gatekeepers who established and enforced orthodoxy believed they knew all the answers ahead of time. To state the obvious, putting Galileo under house arrest did not change the fact that the earth moves around the sun.”

Loeb’s tenured position at Harvard, he says, gives him freedom from peer pressure and groupthink. “If you go to the beach, the sand that you see is basically sea shells that used to be very different from each other…. A shell gets swept ashore, where waves rub it against other shells, and break it into indistinguishable pieces. In much the same way, when humans interact with each other, they become indistinguishable. And I don’t want that. Science gives me the privilege of maintaining my childhood curiosity, of keeping my seashell from being broken by friction with other people.”

Loeb aims to answer the government’s call for better data with the Galileo Project, a privately funded effort to conduct a systematic survey of Earth’s immediate surroundings via a network of telescopic cameras placed on rooftops around the world. The project will analyze and hopefully photograph unidentified aerial phenomena and search for evidence of extraterrestrial technology. “I established the Galileo Project to examine two things,” he says. “One of those is unidentified aerial phenomena. And the second is objects like ‘Oumuamua that enter the solar system. They may very much be the same thing; they may be related.”

The Galileo Project’s data will be shared publicly, and collaborators are welcome. “It’s like a fishing expedition where you don’t know what kind of fish you will find,” he says. “Even if we don’t find anything, if we bring in only sardines, objects with mundane explanations, so be it. Whatever we find we will report. The data will be open. The analysis will be transparent.”

It is the breadth of those fishing nets, though, that worries some in the science community. In assembling his team, Loeb has chosen not just top scientists, but also non-scientist UFO believers, including Jacques Vallée, the model for the chief UFO researcher in Close Encounters of the Third Kind.Loeb dismisses critics’ concerns, promising an agnostic collection of data and analysis. His interest, he says, is not in what certain believers or skeptics have said in the past, but in what they see through these new telescopic cameras.

“I called it the Galileo Project because when the philosophers rejected Galileo’s claim that maybe the earth moves around the sun, they didn’t just put him under house arrest. They also said, ‘We don’t want to look through your telescope.’ They were unwilling to reconsider their position based on evidence.”

And as wonderful as it is to think of ourselves as the descendants of Galileo, we must also remember that we descend, too, from those who refused to look through his telescope. “Reality does not care whether we ignore it or not,” Loeb reminds me. “The existence—or nonexistence—of our neighbors is not altered if we refuse to open the curtains. So why not look?”   

‘Not From This World’ | Navy Pilot David Fravor’s Puzzling 2004 Account

Four decades after the Betty and Barney Hill story put New Hampshire at the forefront of UFO lore, another Granite State resident’s account of a close encounter received national attention. In 2017, a Congressional hearing on UFOs featured an incident involving Navy pilot David Fravor of Windham, New Hampshire, who had been training with other pilots off the San Diego coast in November 2004 in an area where a Navy cruiser had reported strange sightings on its radar.

Picking up the story in an interview with podcast host Lex Fridman in 2020, Fravor said that it was “a clear day … no clouds” when he spotted a smooth white object, 40 feet long and shaped like a giant Tic Tac candy, hovering about 50 feet above the ocean and moving abruptly to the left and right. As Fravor and his copilot descended from about 20,000 feet, the object climbed toward them. “It obviously knows that we’re there, whatever this thing is,” he said. “It’s coming up and I’m coming down, and I’m just watching it.… This whole thing [lasts], like, five minutes. It’s not like we saw it and then it was gone.… On a crystal-clear day, four trained observers watched this thing fly around.” Fravor’s jet was about half a mile away when the object abruptly accelerated and disappeared. “In less than a half second, it just goes poof—it is gone.” Fravor’s encounter was not recorded, but the “Tic Tac” object was captured by another jet’s infrared camera when it soon reappeared. And while the video is grainy, it shows something was in the air that day.

After the 2017 hearing, Fravor told ABC News, “I can tell you I think it was not from this world…. After 18 years of flying, I’ve seen pretty much about everything that I can see in that realm, and this was nothing close.”

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Cozy rooms. Fireplaces. Home-cooked meals. Guests from near and far. Knowledgeable, friendly hosts who love what they do. Whether your ideal New England experience is a view from a mountaintop or a stroll down a timeless Main Street, a classic inn stay is the seed from which so much can grow. In fact, an overnight in a historic inn is such a quintessential New England experience that we can think of only one thing even more quintessential: owning one!

If, like Bob Newhart’s famous TV character, you’d love welcoming guests to a New England inn of your very own, here are five real-life opportunities to make that dream a reality.

The Huntington House Inn

19 Huntington Place, Rochester, VT; thehuntingtonhouseinn.com

On Vermont’s scenic Route 100, the beautifully restored 1806 Huntington House is the antidote to stressful city life. Located on the four-acre Rochester town green, the six-room inn and its accompanying restaurant and tavern are surrounded by small-town pleasures, from concerts in the nearby gazebo to a strollable downtown filled with galleries and shops. The Green Mountains are a glorious backdrop to it all. Just a bit farther afield, popular ski destinations await, as do backcountry trails perfect for hiking, mountain biking, and cross-country skiing. 

Price: $989,000 • Square Feet: 4,744 • Acres: 0.77 • Bedrooms: 6 • Bathrooms: 9 

(Eric Johnston, Four Seasons Sotheby’s International Realty, 802-779-1903, eric.johnston@fourseasonsSIR.com)

Boardman House Inn 

8 Norwich Road, East Haddam, CT; boardmanhouse.com

Located on the Connecticut River close to the venerable Goodspeed Opera House, Boardman House Inn is a treasure of Connecticut’s Gilded Age. Built in 1860 as the home of silversmith Norman S. Boardman, the mansion was renovated in 2004 and features a wealth of modern conveniences alongside callbacks to its rich past (think: crystal chandeliers, Persian rugs, hand-carved marble fireplaces). Boardman House has greeted guests since 2010 and was named to Yankee’s Best of New England Hall of Fame in 2020. 

Price: $1,250,000 • Square Feet: 5,450 • Acres: 0.49 • Bedrooms: 8 • Bathrooms: 7 

(Derek Greene, Greene Realty Group, 860-560-1006, office@thegreenerealtygroup.com)

Monadnock Inn

379 Main St., Jaffrey, NH; monadnockinn.com

Located in Jaffrey Center, at the foot of Mount Monadnock, the inn boasts roots stretching back to 1870, when an earlier building here welcomed summer tourists. Since then, it has served as base camp for generations of hikers and a gathering spot for locals. The restaurant, pub, and porch combine to seat more than 90, and the guest rooms have been updated to keep things warm in winter and cool in summer. The pandemic slowdown may have roughened the edges a bit, but a little polish will return this gem to its former splendor. 

Price: $575,000 • Square Feet: 6,857 • Acres: 1.49 • Bedrooms: 11 • Bathrooms: 12 

(Bill Goddard, Coldwell Banker Realty, 603-673-4000, bill.goddard@nemoves.com) 

Adair Country Inn & Restaurant

80 Guilder Lane, Bethlehem, NH; adairinn.com

The first thing you’ll notice is the inn’s breathtaking views of the White Mountains’ Presidential Range. But the foreground isn’t too shabby either, with lush landscaping designed by the Olmsted brothers complementing the 1927 main building, which since 1992 has served as an inn with 11 guest rooms (plus three more in the guest cottage). With a full commercial kitchen and a formal dining room, the Adair is black-tie-ready, but when guests want something more laid-back, the speakeasy vibe of its downstairs Granite Room beckons. 

Price: $2,699,000 • Square Feet: 8,300 • Acres: 156.11 • Bedrooms: 14 • Bathrooms: 16 

(Keegan Rice, Badger Peabody & Smith Realty, 603-823-5700, keeganr@badgerpeabodysmith.com)

The Oxford House Inn & Restaurant

548 Main St., Fryeburg, ME; oxfordhouseinn.com

Just an hour from Portland, the Oxford House—which once earned Yankee’s “Best In-Town Country Inn” designation—is perched on the cusp of New Hampshire’s White Mountains and Maine’s western lakes. Built in 1913 as a private residence, the inn has welcomed the public since 1985. With a cozy, granite-walled pub on the lower level, a 50-seat restaurant with a fireplace, and exquisite woodwork throughout, the Oxford House checks all the boxes. In summer and fall, guests kick back on the porch, where grand views are punctuated by the scent of flowering vines. 

Price: $849,000 • Square Feet: 5,660 • Acres: 1.22 • Bedrooms: 5 • Bathrooms: 6 

(Dana Moos, Swan Agency Real Estate, 207-266-5604, dana@danamoos.com)

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The first pie I ever tasted was a Table Talk pie. Well, I don’t really know that for certain, but the odds are good. After all, those iconic red-and-white pie boxes have been a ubiquitous presence in New England supermarkets—and on the tables of families like mine—for a century.

In 1924, a couple of Greek immigrants named Theodore Tonna and Angelo Cotsidas started a bakery in Worcester, Massachusetts. Their bread was a hit, but it was the pies they’d cook at night and sell the next day that got people buzzing.

Aluminum pie plates from those early days, stamped “New England Flaky Crust Pie – 10c Deposit,” have become popular collectibles. They’re fun to throw, too—in fact, Table Talk acquired the Frisbee Pie Company in 1958, just as Wham-O was borrowing the name to brand its famous pie pan–inspired flying disc. 

As for the Table Talk name, it was inspired both by Tonna’s initials and by a cozy vision of American families gathering to eat and socialize. It struck a chord, and sales climbed. By the time the New York–based Beech-Nut Company bought Table Talk in 1965, it was the largest pie bakery in the country.

Two decades later, a series of corporate mergers and acquisitions relegated Table Talk to the scrap heap, seemingly for good. But former employee Christo Cocaine, who also happened to be Tonna’s son-in-law, bought the company out of bankruptcy and brought it home to Worcester, reopening it in 1986.

Today, under the leadership of Cocaine’s son Harry Kokkinis, the company employs more than 300 people and produces 250 million pies each year. 

Table Talk pies come in dozens of flavors and several sizes, including a popular 4-inch mini pie, perfect for snacking on the go. While not quite the social centerpiece the founders imagined, perhaps, it does leave one hand free for holding your phone.

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A drive through Connecticut’s Litchfield Hills takes you from one picturesque town to another on roads that wrap around hills, trace river valleys, and slice through woodlands. You will see shimmering waters, expansive views, tidy village centers, and green hillsides. As with any trip, there are side roads to explore, making this a jaunt that can often be repeated without becoming repetitious.

Start on Route 7 just south of the Massachusetts border, in North Canaan. Right off the bat, there’s something worth stopping for: the New England Accordion Connection & Museum Company, a one-of-a-kind attraction situated within the painstakingly restored Victorian-era Canaan Union Station.

Head south of town on Route 7, which eventually begins running along the Housatonic River and through a state forest that skirts the border of Sharon (where the Sharon Audubon Center is a worthy diversion) and Cornwall, billed as “the greenest town in Connecticut.” If you see an opportunity to outflank the fly fishermen and score a parking space in one of the roadside jug handles, seize it. Photo opportunities abound here, but space to pull over and admire them does not. Either way, don’t miss the pinnacle of all photo ops, the c. 1864 West Cornwall Covered Bridge.

Plan to linger for a while in Kent, home to Kent Falls State Park, the Kent Collection Inns, and, for indie bookstore lovers, the House of Books; covered-bridge aficionados may opt for a side excursion to nearby Bull’s Bridge. From Kent, you’ll leave Route 7 and head east on 341, toward Warren and beautiful Lake Waramaug, eventually connecting with Route 202 near Washington, the town that inspired the TV show Gilmore Girls.

Sitting right off 202, Mount Tom State Park presents an opportunity to stretch your legs, and a moderately challenging climb pays off with an extraordinary 360-degree view from the 34-foot stone tower at the summit. On the road east to Litchfield, a trio of Arethusa Farm eateries in Bantam create a tourist trap you will be happy to be ensnared in.

Litchfield’s Village Green serves up a bevy of restaurants and boutique shops to explore before you continue on 202 into the (relatively) big city of Torrington, where you’ll look for Route 272 north. That will carry you up to Norfolk, home of the Yale Summer School of Music, and beyond that the return to Canaan, where you’ll already be planning your next go-round.

Yankee‘s Favorite Places to Stop Along the Way

New England Accordion Connection & Museum Company, North Canaan: More than 500 accordions, each with a story, line the walls in a restored train station that is also home to the Connecticut Railroad Historical Association and Great Falls Brewing Company. newengland accordionconnectionand museumcompany.com

Music Mountain, Falls Village: Located on 120 acres and listed on the National Register of Historic Places, Music Mountain has been presenting concerts that span classical to jazz in Gordon Hall since 1930. The 2023 season opens June 4. musicmountain.org

Clarke Outdoors, Cornwall: If you prefer getting out on the water to admiring it from the riverbank, you can find kayak rentals here, as well as guided tours and drop-off services. clarkeoutdoors.com

RSVP French Kitchen, West Cornwall: Make sure you’ve obtained reservations well in advance to land one of the 20 seats at this acclaimed French eatery. The five-course prix fixe dinner is magnifique. Instagram

Eric Sloane Museum, Kent: Celebrate the world of author Eric Sloane through his paintings, books, illustrations, and antique hand tool collection. The museum grounds feature riverside walking trails, as well as the stone ruins of the Kent Iron Furnace. ericsloane.com

House of Books, Kent: There is absolutely no wasted space at this expertly curated little bookshop. Where else might you find a little book-length essay on the history of socks? houseofbooksct.com

Mount Tom State Park, Litchfield: This 231-acre outdoor playground offers one-stop recreation at its finest: Work up a sweat climbing to the peak, then hit the beach for a quick lake dip to cool off. portal.ct.gov/DEEP

Arethusa a Mano, Bantam: This bakery-café is among three worthy Arethusa offerings here, along with the restaurant Arethusa al Tavolo and the scoop shop Arethusa Farm Dairy. arethusafarm.com

Winvian Farm, Morris: Just a few miles south of Litchfield lies this 113-acre luxury hotel comprising the 1775 Seth Bird house, 18 themed cottages (including a treehouse and a beaver lodge), a AAA Five Diamond restaurant, and a spa. winvian.com

White Memorial Conservation Center, Litchfield: Surrounded by a 4,000-acre wildlife sanctuary and more than 35 miles of walking trails, this museum and education center offers a deep dive into the region’s natural history. whitememorialcc.org

Haystack Mountain State Park, Norfolk: The views of Norfolk and Canaan from the 1929 observation tower atop this 1,716-foot peak make the hike worthwhile (though you can opt to take the auto road halfway up). portal.ct.gov/DEEP

Infinity Music Hall, Norfolk: Built in 1883 as a combination opera house, barbershop, and saloon, this 300-seat village landmark still features its original wooden stage, and the on-site GoodWorks Smokehouse takes the dinner-and-a-show concept to glorious new levels. infinityhall.com

Norfolk Chamber Music Festival, Norfolk: One of the country’s oldest summer music festivals, NCMF brings together emerging musicians and experienced pros, with memorable results. music.yale.edu/Norfolk

Have you driven this route (or do you have another drive to recommend)? Let us know your favorite stops along the way in the comments below!

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Way back in 1740, in what is today Cheshire, Connecticut, but was then the town of Wallingford in the Connecticut Colony, Deacon John Peck built a house. There were Pecks aplenty in the neighborhood, so the road on which the house sat came to be called Pecks Lane.

In Landmarks of Old Cheshire, published by the town’s Bicentennial Committee in 1976, the Pecks are depicted as a witty, sarcastic clan, and Deacon Peck and his wife, Mirah, are described as “both heavy-set…. They made a most imposing sight riding to church, on the same horse, Mrs. Peck seated behind her husband on a pillion.” There is no word on the fate of the horse, but we also learn that the Pecks had a son, William, who served the town as both deputy sheriff and selectman, and who lived in the house on Pecks Lane until he died at age 96.

In the years that followed, the house changed hands several times, and its fortunes rose and fell along with those of its occupants. By the time Wes and Jeanne Fredericks encountered the Deacon Peck House 10 years ago, it was at its lowest ebb. An elderly hoarder had been its last occupant, and the house had fallen into such disrepair that bulldozers were being readied to tear it down.

It was builder and restorer Rick Gallagher who first alerted Wes and Jeanne to the house’s history and imperiled status. Wes, a lawyer and board member of Historic Deerfield, and Jeanne, a literary agent, weren’t actively looking for a house at that point, but both were lovers of old homes who had tackled big renovations before.

When they toured the house, debris was piled as high as the beds in most rooms. But beneath the mess they saw a rare gem. The historic home was amazingly intact. It had not, as Gallagher put it, “suffered from affluence.” The original structure had never even been modified for bathrooms.

“We have always loved saltboxes,” Jeanne says, “and we were really drawn to the historic integrity of this one.”

A speedy decision was needed, so a speedy decision was made. This 1740 fixer-upper would be the Frederickses’ retirement home, at a location to be determined. Money changed hands, the bulldozers were idled, and Wes and Jeanne hired Gallagher to take the house down a bit more delicately.

Gallagher and his partner, Curt Kennedy, began the painstaking work of dismantling the home nail by nail, documenting each stage with photos and “as built” blueprints. They spent months stripping painted and wallpapered wood, restoring what they could, replacing what was too far gone, numbering each piece.

The Deacon Peck House is notable in many ways. Town histories state that it once served as the area’s poor farm, which added intrigue to the discovery of old bedding in the attic. There was a detached, exterior summer kitchen. A well was dug beneath the house, to be accessible indoors.

The well could not be preserved, of course, nor could sections of roof wood and portions of the first-floor frame. The framing that couldn’t be salvaged was re-created in oak. Where repairs and replacements were needed, efforts were made to maintain period authenticity whenever possible. The home’s front staircase had been previously replaced and was not retained, but the original back staircase was intact. The exterior doors weren’t salvageable, but all of the interior doors were. 

“The house is very much in the Connecticut River Valley tradition,” Gallagher says, “likely built by a local journeyman who was copying what he’d seen elsewhere.” He believes that the real treasure remains the interior trim, much of which is original. Wide-board floors have been preserved, along with wainscoting, mantelpieces, paneling, and a particularly lovely corner cupboard. Because the house was never plumbed, trim and wainscoting remained uncut, an exceptional rarity.

Since the Frederickses didn’t plan to retire for years, the deconstructed house was stored in a dry barn in Litchfield, Connecticut.

The house has now been in storage for a decade, and a lot of water has passed under the bridge. Wes and Jeanne are prepped for retirement, but now there are grandchildren to spend time with and other life moments to enjoy, and their retirement house project feels like less of a fit for where they’re at.

After reaching out to the Cheshire Historical Society, hoping someone local might bring the house home, they’re now casting a wider net. They’re betting there’s someone out there with a perfect view who just needs the perfect home from which to see it—some assembly required.  

The deconstructed Deacon Peck House is listed at $190,000. For more information, email jeanne.fredericks@gmail.com or call 203-722-5146.

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Silly Putty stretches like taffy, molds like clay, and bounces like a ball. As a kid, I’d press it against a newspaper photo, and a perfect image would transfer to the putty. Perfect, that is, until I stretched and distorted it into something, well, silly. 

Silly Putty could be anything you wanted. But it started as a failure.

Looking for a rubber substitute during World War II, James Wright, a researcher at General Electric in New Haven, Connecticut, combined boric acid and silicone oil. A January 1945 Popular Science article noted that these efforts to develop silicone rubber had spawned a curious “bouncing putty,” for which “a use remains to be found.”

In 1949, Peter Hodgson, a New Haven advertising executive, purchased some of GE’s “bouncing putty” and included it in a local toy store’s catalog. It proceeded to outsell everything except Crayola Crayons.

The next year, as Easter approached, Hodgson hired Yale students to help with packaging one-ounce chunks in plastic Easter eggs. He dubbed his product Silly Putty and presented it at New York’s International Toy Fair, but didn’t find much interest. 

Later that same year, though, after a serendipitous mention of Silly Putty in The New Yorker, Hodgson was deluged by more than 250,000 orders. From a hastily converted barn he shipped out Silly Putty eggs by the dozen, in cartons from the Connecticut Cooperative Poultry Association.

While Silly Putty was first marketed as a novelty for grown-ups, it eventually reached children through TV commercials on The Howdy Doody Show and Captain Kangaroo, becoming so popular that it ended up going to the moon with the Apollo 8 astronauts.

Silly Putty was acquired by Crayola in the 1970s. And although changes in printing technology have curtailed Silly Putty’s image-lifting magic, the once-useless goo has found purpose as everything from a furniture stabilizer to a component of medical sensors. But Silly Putty’s highest calling, with more than 300 million eggs sold, has always been putting smiles on faces.

And there’s nothing silly about that.

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Creating a list of the best covered bridges is sort of like compiling a tally of the cutest puppies or the most delicious ice creams: The answers can’t really be right or wrong. There is also some debate about what constitutes an “authentic” covered bridge, but we won’t wade into those waters except to say that our list features only bridges with one of the dozen supporting truss structures common to New England bridges. (For the curious, the Covered Bridge Society offers a quick primer on that topic.)

Of course, there are no bad covered bridges, and although new ones are built from time to time, we are losing these iconic structures faster than we gain them. According to the research of Benjamin and June Evans, authors of New England’s Covered Bridges, at least 1,000 covered bridges were constructed in New England during the 19th and early 20th centuries. Today the tally is down around 200. So please, get out and see them all — with the following six bridges being a good place to start.

Best Covered Bridge in Every New England State

Best Covered Bridge in Connecticut:
West Cornwall Covered Bridge

Although the current bridge dates to 1864, records indicate there have been bridges in this same West Cornwall location as early as 1762. Today’s bridge has two native oak spans featuring red spruce Town lattices and, thanks to a later addition, queen trusses. The 172-foot-long one-lane bridge has been modernized several times to keep up with the weight of traffic and was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1975. As with most covered bridges in New England, the West Cornwall bridge often has been threatened by Mother Nature — perhaps most dramatically in the form of a massive ice jam in 1961, when a strategic dynamite blast was needed to save the day. Painted red for the first time in 1957, this oft-photographed bridge has been featured on many a postcard and even made a guest appearance in the 1967 film Valley of the Dolls.

Best Covered Bridge in Maine:
The Artist’s Bridge

Built three years after the 1869 flood that destroyed a previous bridge at the same location, this nearly-100-foot-long structure in Newry was originally called the Sunday River Bridge, for obvious reasons. The origins of its more recent name, the Artist’s Bridge, are a bit harder to pin down. Some say that early American Impressionist painter John Enneking is the “artist” in question, since he frequented Newry and often painted en plein air near the bridge. Others say the name simply acknowledges that this is one of the most photographed and painted bridges in the state. Built with a Paddleford truss, the bridge was used for vehicular traffic until the 1950s, when a construction project realigned Sunday River Road to bypass it. Listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1970, it remains open to foot traffic.

Best Covered Bridge in Massachusetts:
Arthur A. Smith Covered Bridge

Built in 1869 and listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1983, the Arthur A. Smith Covered Bridge in Colrain is the only Burr truss bridge in Massachusetts. It also has the distinction of being the only remaining covered bridge in Colrain, a town that once boasted at least a dozen. Originally built in the Shattuckville section of Colrain, the 100-foot-long bridge was badly damaged by an 1878 flood and sat abandoned for several years. In 1896, the town voted to rebuild the bridge and move it to its present Lyonsville Road location, an area called the Arthur A. Smith Flats after the neighborhood’s most prominent resident. In 1991, once again in need of repair, the bridge was taken out of service. Restoration was eventually accomplished between 2005 and 2007, and the bridge was rededicated on May 24, 2008.

Best Covered Bridge in New Hampshire:
Stark Covered Bridge

This might just be New England’s toughest covered bridge. Originally constructed in either 1857 or 1862 (depending on who you ask), the two-span, 151-foot-long Paddleford truss bridge today carries Route 110 over the Upper Ammonoosuc River. A flood in the 1890s washed away both the bridge and its granite support pier, but the intact bridge was “rescued,” dragged back upstream by a team of oxen, and returned to service with a new wooden arch support structure that was later supplemented with a wooden central pier. Although the town voted in the early 1950s to replace the bridge, that plan was abandoned in the face of protests, and in 1954 the bridge was reinforced with steel beams and the current central pier of concrete. It was featured on the town’s bicentennial medal in 1974 and added to the National Register of Historic Places six years later.

Best Covered Bridge in Rhode Island:
Swamp Meadow Bridge

Spanning Hemlock Brook in the town of Foster, Swamp Meadow Bridge is the only covered bridge on a public road in Rhode Island. It is also by far the youngest bridge on this list. In 1986, the town of Foster decided to build a bridge as part of the celebration of Rhode Island’s 350th anniversary that year. After much delay, construction began on September 12, 1992, with all the work being carried out by volunteers. The bridge was dedicated with much ceremony in May 1993, but the celebration was short-lived: On September 11, unknown arsonists set the bridge on fire. Undaunted,  volunteers almost immediately set about building the current 40-foot-long Town truss bridge, which was dedicated in November 1994.

Best Covered Bridge in Vermont:
Pulp Mill Bridge

As one of only seven “double-barreled” covered bridges in the United States, Pulp Mill Bridge can make you think you’re seeing double. Built to connect the towns of Middlebury and Weybridge, this two-lane bridge is also recognized as the oldest covered bridge in Vermont and one of the oldest in the United States. A sign on the bridge claims that it was built between 1808 and 1820, although some say 1850 is more likely. Originally constructed as a single-span, Burr arch-supported bridge, the structure has been reconfigured several times, with the original arches being supplemented with King post trusses and the addition of stone and concrete piers. It was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1974.

Do you have a favorite covered bridge in New England? Let us know!

This post was first published in 2019 and has been updated. 

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