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All Things Connecticut New Print Releases The American Northeast

Castle Craig: In the Beginning

Keep of the Hanging Hills (Castle Craig atop Hubbard Park, Meriden, Connecticut)
“Keep of the Hanging Hills”
Castle Craig atop Hubbard Park, Meriden, Connecticut

Castle Craig, rising from the rampart cliffs of the Hanging Hills, is an enduring curiosity in New England’s largest municipal park. The stone tower was built over a century ago to resemble a medieval castle turret, crenels and all, and sits perched on a prominent cliff high above the city of Meriden. Surely a good deal of its local fame is derived from its visibility, for it can be seen from miles away in countless places from the surrounding valleys. It’s also a unique link to Connecticut’s roots as a manufacturing hub, its construction funded by wealthy-industrialist-turned-philanthropist Walter Hubbard just as America’s Gilded Age came to a close. He offered it free-of-charge to the people of Meriden along with a whopping 1,200 acres of woodlands and grounds landscaped by the Olmsteads.

There’s much that can be said of Castle Craig and the surrounding parklands, but the tower poses a bit of a mystery for modern-day visitors: what of it’s odd name? How did Castle Craig become “Castle Craig” even though its not really a castle? And who was Craig?

Interestingly, a 1901 article mentions “the tower just completed in Hubbard Park, on Castle Craig of the Hanging Hills of Meriden”, suggesting that the mountain top itself was named Castle Craig, not the tower. And indeed, many writings published in the first few decades of the 20th century refer to “the Castle Craig tower” rather than referring to the tower itself as Castle Craig (even Meriden’s official website refers to it as such).

So, in what may seem like an unlikely twist, the tower we know today as “Castle Craig” appears to have actually inherited that name from the peak on which it was built. And it probably wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to imagine that old Hubbard hatched the idea for a castle-like tower on that mountain promontory precisely because it was already named Castle Craig to begin with.

Castle Hill Lighthouse 06As far as I can tell, the Castle Hill Lighthouse was designed to look castle-like because it was being built on a place that had been named Castle Hill for years already.

This wouldn’t be the first time that such a thing happened in New England, either. A few years ago I had the pleasure of photographing the Castle Hill Light, a lighthouse built in 1890 overlooking Narragansett Bay on the Rhode Island coast. There’s no doubt that the Castle Hill Light was constructed to look castle-like, with rough-cut granite blocks of assorted sizes expertly fit together to form a squat tower. I wrote about that beacon in August 2016:

“Bearing certain resemblance to the turret of some medieval fortress, one could be forgiven for mistakenly assuming that Newport’s Castle Hill Lighthouse lent its name to the hill rising inland from its rocky, oceanfront perch. As it happens, though, the modest knoll beside Narragansett Bay was called Castle Hill at least as early as the 1860s, decades before the first of the lighthouse’s granite blocks were laid (perhaps it was the hill’s name that inspired the lighthouses design?).”

Who would’ve thought?

Perhaps the next logical question is how a mountain summit comes to be named after a castle. Maybe it takes a bit of imagination, but it has by no means been unusual over the centuries for prominent mountains or peaks to be likened to castles and named as such. Castle Peak, a mountain nestled in California’s Sierra Nevada, is so named for its natural, tower-like rock outcroppings. Then there’s Castle Mountain in the Canadian Rockies, the cliffs of which possess natural horizontal markings that give the impression of courses of granite blocks as would be seen in castle walls. That a traprock cliff which rises high and mighty above the City of Meriden might be likened to a grand castle edifice is certainly believable, even if not explicitly stated in any writings I can find.

So we’ve established that the mountain summit itself is the “real” Castle Craig, even if that name has long since been usurped by the tower. And we’ve seen that there’s precedent in likening mountains or mountain peaks to medieval castles. But that still leaves one question: who was Craig and why did he get a mountain top named after him?

What records I can find offer no insight into that question. Books and articles published around 1900, shortly after a winding mountain road leading to Castle Craig was completed as part of Hubbard Park, describe the peaks of the Hanging Hills as having been very rugged and difficult to access in prior years. It’s probable that Castle Craig was only very rarely visited before Hubbard built a mountain road that offered easy access. Before then, it was likely a somewhat obscure peak which wouldn’t have warranted mention in writings of the time. Consequently, I can only offer speculation here. As others have theorized in the past, the name “Castle Craig” probably wasn’t derived from a family of Craigs. Instead, it seems more feasible that it was a minor corruption of an earlier name: “Castle Crag”. We tend not to use the term ‘crag’ much these days to describe boulders or rocky peaks, but it was part of the common lexicon in the 19th century (Google’s Ngram Viewer suggests that ‘crag’ occurred an average of about 4 or 5 times more often in writing during the 1800s than it does now).

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All Things Connecticut New Print Releases The American Northeast

Veiled Realm of Black Rock

Veiled Realm of Black Rock (Black Rock Pond at Black Rock State Park, Watertown, Connecticut)
“Veiled Realm of Black Rock”
Black Rock Pond at Black Rock State Park, Watertown, Connecticut
© 2016 J. G. Coleman

Sublime mist drifts through the woodlands of Western Connecticut, rendering distant hills in hazy silhouette against an airy, cerulean sky. Deep in the basin below, still waters of Black Rock Pond yield unblemished reflections of a lakeside forest daubed with the lustrous light of dawn.

Connecticut’s Black Rock State Park encompasses over 400 acres of wildlands in the lower Litchfield Hills, its name hearkening back to an ancient history of graphite mining which is still largely shrouded in mystery. Legend holds that, long before European settlers arrived in the region, Native Americans living in these hills would collect graphite to make body paint for ceremonies and warfare.

Traditional stories go on, relating that the prospect of a large-scale graphite mine was among the earliest draws to these rugged forests for Connecticut Colony settlers in the 1600s. When historian Sarah Pritchard published an extensive history of the territory in 1896, she concluded that pioneering “explorers of the region reported the discovery of graphite, and samples of the mineral seem to have been carried away, but the location of the mine, if there was one, has been lost and never re-discovered.”

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All Things Connecticut New Print Releases The American Northeast

Canton Greening Over

Yankee Farmlands № 64 (Farm in Canton, Connecticut)
“Yankee Farmlands № 64”
Barns and pasture beside wooded hill during springtime, Canton, Connecticut
© 2016 J. G. Coleman

Barns nestle into the bottom of a broad ridge in Northern Connecticut, the adjacent pastures already thick with grasses by early May. Woodlands on the hillside have taken to “greening over” as recent rains nourish buds and emerging leaves.

In modern times, Canton is a prosperous township of nearly 9,000 in the Farmington River Valley. Even as early as the mid-1800s, the renowned Collinsville ax factory brought growth and industrial might in the southern reaches of the town.

But the earliest settlers of Canton, said to have arrived there in the 1740s, didn’t fare quite so well. So toilsome were their efforts at building a life in this hilly, wooded frontier that they saw fit to name their founding village “Suffrage”. One can only imagine that, for these struggling pioneers, a time when their hamlet would enjoy comfort and convenience seemed impossibly distant.

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All Things Connecticut New Print Releases The American Northeast

Fields ‘neath Talcott

Fields 'neath Talcott (Talcott Mountain and Hublein Tower, Simsbury, CT)
“Fields ‘neath Talcott”
Talcott Mountain (& Hublein Tower) beyond corn field, Simsbury, Connecticut
© 2016 J. G. Coleman

In my latest release, “Fields ‘neath Talcott” (above), long shadows cast from surrounding woodlands reach across rows of corn as the sun sinks low in the sky, signaling the conclusion of a balmy, autumn day. On the horizon, Talcott Mountain rises nearly 1,000 feet from the surrounding countryside; the iconic Hublein Tower crowns the ridge crest, an unmistakable fleck against bold clouds, forest and traprock cliffs.

In 1823, Encyclopedia Britannica summed up Connecticut as “generally broken land made up of mountains, hills and valleys”. Among the rugged features of this landscape is the Metacomet Range, a distinctive chain of long, sheer ridges that weave through the Connecticut Valley.

Talcott Mountain is just one of many prominent summits of the Metacomet Range, which begins near the Connecticut coast and traces a rocky path north for 100 miles up into northern Massachusetts. Some of the more colorfully named mountains in Connecticut’s length of the chain include Sleeping Giant in Hamden and Wallingford, Meriden’s Hanging Hills and the Barndoor Hills in Granby.

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All Things Connecticut New Print Releases The American Northeast

Hiers’ Dream

Hiers' Dream (Mill in the Meadow, Granville, Massachusetts)
“Hiers’ Dream”
Mill in the Meadow, Granville, Massachusetts
© 2016 J. G. Coleman

Amidst an open meadow bounded by gentle hills and autumn woodlands, a rustic old mill nestles beneath the wind-jostled canopy of a lofty willow tree.

At first glance, this weathered curiosity seems to be an authentic, water-driven mill which would’ve been typical of villages across early New England. Indeed, one could be forgiven for believing that the “Mill in the Meadow” is a meticulously-restored, historical grist mill. Look closer, though, and you’ll notice that one critical component is missing: a brook to turn the water wheel!

That wouldn’t have surprised Ralph Hiers, though, the man who built this peculiar mill in an open field back in the 1970s. Although it was apparently designed to look centuries-old, the Mill in the Meadow is a relatively modern work of unusual, outdoor art. It’s not entirely without functionality, though! An electric pump is capable of drawing water from a nearby pond to animate the water wheel, a fact which makes this oddity all the more bizarre and wondrous.

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All Things Connecticut New Print Releases The American Northeast

Secret of the Autumn Hills

Secret of the Autumn Hills (Hills of the Housatonic Valley, Bridgewater & New Milford, Connecticut)
“Secret of the Autumn Hills”
Hills of the Housatonic Valley, Bridgewater & New Milford, Connecticut
© 2015 J. G. Coleman

Ethereal mist rises from the deep, rolling hills of the Housatonic River Valley as autumn tightens its grip upon the dark forests.

Bristling with wooded mountains and carved by scenic valleys, the northwest of Connecticut is perhaps an unlikely vestige of remote –even romantic– natural splendor in an otherwise crowded state which is increasingly consumed by the sprawl of civilization.

Connecticut’s Northwest Hills weren’t always so quiet, though. Mills and factories once clustered along its rushing rivers, iron ore was wrested from its mountains, vast forests were felled to fuel blast furnaces and make way for pastureland. But over the last two centuries or so, most of those industries vanished and agriculture deeply declined. Nature was obliged to beautify the resulting vacancies and did so with masterful skill.

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All Things Connecticut New Print Releases The American Northeast

Talcott Cloudscape

Talcott Cloudscape (Hublein Tower & Talcott Mountain, Simsbury, Connecticut)
“Talcott Cloudscape”
Hublein Tower & Talcott Mountain, Simsbury, Connecticut
© 2015 J. G. Coleman

Towering cumulus clouds, their exquisite contours etched into a deep blue sky, soar over the crest of Talcott Mountain in Northern Connecticut. Broad shadows cast upon the ridge top engulf the distant, century-old Hublein Tower, a monolithic structure rising high above the forest canopy.

At roughly 700 feet tall, Talcott Mountain (seen in my newly-released piece above, “Talcott Cloudscape”) climbs prominently from the forests and farmlands of the Farmington River Valley. But perhaps it is Hublein Tower, at a height of 165 feet, which lends a better sense of scale to the vast, airy spectacle of clouds overhead.

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