Plymouth Rock ‘n Roll

Yesterday I made a trek to the western portion of Cape Cod to do some research for my forthcoming book, Weird Massachusetts. Joining me was Derek Bartlett from the Cape and Islands Paranormal Research Society — Derek wasn’t so much joining me as he was acting as my tour guide. We’ve had a strange weather pattern here in the Bay State recently and the sunny skies and mid-fifty-degree temperatures didn’t match the date on the calendar.

Derek took me through some old cemeteries that were home to some infamous legends, we trekked into the marshes of Barnstable, but we concluded our day at a national monument — an important national monument. A place all Americans have learned about in their schooling.

Before I go too far here, it’s important to note that I’ve gotten around in my time. I’ve stood before national landmarks and treasures of several countries including the United States. There’s a magic that happens when you come face-to-face with a structure that you’ve read about, seen in photographs, and in movies. In Paris, when you get next to the Eiffel Tower, people crane their necks skyward, their mouths hang open in awe, and you hear gasps of “Wow,” and “Oh my…”

In Plymouth, Derek and I parked our cars along a carved out side of the road along the water. He motioned toward the direction we should walk. Though the stroll was only 30 yards or so, it was a quiet, reflective time. This was the actual spot where the English Separatists decided to make their first home in America. We walked under a marble structure and I looked down into the sandy, caged area below. Overwhelmed with history, all I could stammer out was, “That’s it?!”

“That’s it,” Derek said.

“Huh…”

I was there for a purpose, so I took my camera out and started clicking pictures. Ansel Adams, I am not, but I consider myself a competent photographer. I did everything I could to make the picture sexy, but I only had so much to work with. Check it out:

  

As I was taking pictures, more tourists walked up. “That’s it?” I heard one gentleman say. “That’s it,” I replied. He too must have been overwhelmed by history.

Upon closer (and more journalistic) inspection, one can see that the rock has been broken in half and repaired with cement. Derek informed me that the actual rock has been placed in a couple of different locations before being returned closer to the actual site it was originally found. The repair job shows the kind of care that the lowest bidder would give to repairing a cement barrier on the highway (if that highway barrier was also a national landmark).

I went down to the beach to get a photograph of the entire monument.

I stood where weary Pilgrims once stood. They too must have looked up and saw this great columned monument, seen the rock caged within it, and decided it would be a great location to engrave the year: 1620.

Rock on, Pilgrims. Rock on…