I Want to Believe: Mystery Hill
Every town has at least one weird thing that everyone who lives there thinks is totally normal. It might be a funky museum: The House of Buttons! The Peabody Manor Playdough Sculpture Emporium (I would totally visit that!). It might be some defunct place like a shoe factory that no one wants to buy and the town can’t seem to bring itself to tear down. Or, if you’re really lucky, it’s a quirky attraction: a puppet theatre where all the puppets are made from salvaged junk (if you think those curse-ed objects don’t come to life at night, you are seriously naive); an amusement park where all the rides are themed around the history of butter that should have gone under decades ago but, nope, still selling tickets and booking for wedding and prom season.
I’m fascinated by these places. They reveal so much about the town’s history and character and values. It’s like the town itself has a cow shaped birthmark behind its ear; can recite every U.S. vice president from memory. These oddball features are what set towns apart from one another in terms of novelty and a sense of identity (Peaksville, Ohio: Home of the World’s Biggest Baked Potato! *runs to Google if that is actually a real thing somewhere). But they’re also what unites us—like a racist uncle, every family’s got one.
In my hometown of Salem, New Hampshire, it is Mystery Hill, currently known as America’s Stonehenge.
Quietly tucked away in the northern part of the town sits 30-acres of woods and trails that some believe is a geological site used by ancient civilizations dating back to more than 4,000 years ago. Why would they believe this? Oh, you know, the monoliths, the caves, that one particular, large rectangular stone—about the size of a large gym mat--that lies flat and has grooves cut along the perimeter as if it is, I don’t know, a SACRIFICIAL ALTAR! It is, in fact, called “The sacrificial stone,” and I would mock this all damn day if I did not want to summon the Blair Witch.
The land most likely originally belonged to Native Americans living in the area until colonists gotta colonize. The property was first deeded to a family with the last name of Pattees. In 1937 it was purchased by an insurance executive named William Goodwin. He was something of an amateur archaeologist and became convinced that the stone structures on his property were Bronze Age artifacts put there by the Culdee Monks from Ireland. Goodwin was so sure of his hypothesis that he even rearranged some of the stones to what he believed were their original positions. Even if he was justified, that feels a bit like shifting the Parthenon two feet to the left because—someone’s idea of accuracy. He dubbed his land “Mystery Hill,” which stuck when he sold it to a man named Robert Stone in 1956. Recognizing the public interest appeal of Mystery Hill, Stone opened up the land to the public and began charging people to see the structures and, in particular, the monoliths that are believed to align with various astrological events such as the
summer and winter solstices. Stone was no rube. He saw the P.T. Barnum potential of the place and didn’t look back. In 1982 the property was rebranded as “America’ Stonehenge,” supposedly to move it out of the “roadside attraction” category, but I don’t know. The potential for boundless ridicule seems about as obvious as spotting Mothra at a tea party.
The first time I visited Mystery Hill was on a fifth grade field trip. Not only was going to this place considered a good use of educational time, but our teacher, Mrs. Sinibaldi, arranged for us to ride our bikes—6 miles from the elementary school to Mystery Hill. Chaperones followed us in cars and drove anyone who was unable to bike. Mrs. Sinibaldi did this field trip every year. I was in her class in 1985. Can you imagine trying to pull this off today? Please sign this permission slip to let your kid ride her bike 6 miles to visit what might be an ancient site used for pagan rituals. Also she will need to pack a lunch. Please be mindful of allergies and dietary specific needs. Those irate Facebook school parent group posts write themselves, not to mention the district would go bankrupt from all the legal and insurance fees paid out to the law firm of Money, Money, and Money LLC. We were certainly not the greatest generation, but we were the most unsupervised.
I remember the bike ride (more physical activity in that one day than in all five years of gym class combined) and a little bit of the property, but not much else. It wasn’t until I was in college that I went back. Me and a close girlfriend had fallen into a habit of doing these little excursions to places around the area—hitting antique stores or checking out beachy towns. “Ever hear of Mystery Hill?” I asked her. The look she gave me was all it took. Goodwin, you are a goddamn genius.
We picked up our maps at the visitors’ center and very seriously traced our way through the site, stopping at each structure where we read the description in British-documentary-style accents, beginning each descriptor booming: “SINCE THE DAWN OF TIME!” As if we were narrating for the planetarium. She and I both found the site so utterly bonkers and intriguing that we couldn’t help but really throw ourselves into the spirit of the place. Interactive liberties may or may not have been taken:
The thing about these types of attractions is that they all follow a cycle. First they are somewhat innocuous to the residents. “Oh, you mean the Fruit Cake Museum? (Shrugs).” Then they become a point of extreme embarrassment and possibly national shame depending on the place’s relationship to American history. And then, barring that scenario, the site becomes cool. Much like David Hasselhoff’s music career: no one can predict when or how this happens, and even fewer see it coming.
That first visit back with my friend acted like a gateway drug. I suddenly wanted everyone to experience the place for themselves. I started dragging other friends, especially anyone who came from out of state to visit. I took my friend Julie from California. I talked it up for ages with my friend Laura who made the trip from New York one summer. I even insisted that my cousin and her 10-month old son take a ride with me to Mystery Hill (a purist, I still refuse to call it America’s Stonehenge). It had happened just as the cycle predicted: I went from forgetting about this place entirely to being one if its most passionate cheerleaders.
By the early-2000s more than a few archaeologists had weighed in on the veracity of the site belonging to Bronze Age individuals. They have all come in at a hard nope. It was once reported that Robert Stone identified markings on some of the stones resembling a Celtic alphabet system. Archaeologists familiar with that discovery say the markings were more likely made by plowshares and tree roots. As for astronomical calendar stones, if that’s the case, any number of Native American communities using the land could have set them in place. Mystery Hill, solved? As it says on the official website, “Built by a Native American culture or a migrant European population? No one knows for sure.” Do we have to? Maybe Goodwin’s legacy isn’t about carbon dating and proof, but about holding onto curiosity and wonder and story and imagination. As Scully said, “Mulder, I want to believe.” So, why not?
Lens Zen!
Even though I strongly lobbied in favor AGAINST, it happened anyway: the seasons are sliding into one another and in New England that means get out the weighted blankets—not to sleep in, but to wear like a layer of skin. All grousing aside, there is so much damn beauty in this time of year right under our runny, cold noses. We are lucky.
Two things:
First can we talk about the lost art of the mid-to-late 90s photo? Digital photgraphy is amazing, but there's something cool about the pics we took in HS & jsut after. Maybe I'm just showing my age here.
Second: My son's both had to do a "big ride" as part of their gym class in junior high. I think it was about the same distance as this? The helicopter parents had a LOT of strong thoughts.
The history! The glamour shots! The hilarity! I'm having a hard time figuring out what I love best about this post. :D
I didn't see the David Hasselhoff joke coming. It legitimately got me. Well played!