This blog completes the recent series I have been posting for you. While the first two pieces, “Giving Voice”, and “For Those Who Have Gone Before Us”, offered the history of the Brattleboro Retreat Tower, this article documents my hike up to the top of the hill. It may seem out of sequence, but it felt right this way. I hope it inspires you to explore your local history. Hopefully, we can dispel the fiction from reality to heal the scars that stretch across our communities together.
I stood in the parking lot looking towards the narrow trailhead across the street. It was already a grey morning but under the canopy, the woods just seemed to be a little darker. The sky to the east was beginning to brighten with a slivery blue-grey light glinting off the clouds. The rest of the sky however, was dark, grey, and overcast. It felt ominous. We made our way across the street to begin our walk, maneuvering through the tall, wild, weeds that obscured the trailhead. As I stood at the opening, I took a deep breath and calmed my mind, preparing myself for what may await us. With a small offering, I asked if I could walk as a witch in the woods. This is something I do before every hike. I know the woods are not my own. I am merely a guest to this place and want to let the spirits know I understand this. To my surprise, I received a quick, “Yes!” The immediate response was welcoming, if not joyous. Could that be? If so, why? With a breath, into the woods as a witch I went; open, cautious, and not sure what to expect. I reminded myself to be a neutral observer to see what I could see. Then if allowed, I would work with the energies that wanted to work with me to heal, be seen, or just to be heard.
It was a steep incline along the path through the woods. The lush greenery shrouded in the silver morning mist played tricks with my eyes in the eerie morning light before the sun rose over the hills. Although I felt I was being watched at times, the wet leaves, slick rocks, and washouts along the trail only added to my caution. I thought I could hear footsteps in the mass of towering pines to my left and right. No. It was only the dripping water from the leaves to the forest floor. It created echoes that mimicked footsteps all around me. Or was it? The night before, there was an intense electrical storm that even knocked out the power. (I found out later in the day that someone passed away at a camp site a few towns north of here. Lightning struck a tree, causing it to fall. Here, the energy hung heavy that morning and it was quite unsettling.) The area was charged with electricity, heightening my senses even more. Perhaps it also helped to feed the spirits that are said to roam the woods too. If those who are living can feel the palpable energy, why not a being that is complete energy? I gave myself another moment to sharpen my focus. Behind the breath of fog that wove through the still trees, I could feel them. Layer upon layer and just out of reach, there was a presence. Some may say it was the ghosts of the land when it held the asylum. As a witch? I say there was a lot more to it than that.
Walking the winding path, I noticed the old fallen trees. Some were covered in mushrooms. Others had small saplings of new life birthed through the rotting wood. It was a nice reminder that we all have the power to live again and not just through reincarnation. We hold the power of choice in our lives. However, it made me think of the people that were here so long ago. How many of them had the power of choice? Did some of the patients get to go home or were they locked behind a door, living as a flesh and blood ghost; forever lost and forgotten? I steadied myself as I recentered my mind. This is a heavy place. With a deep breath, I paused and then began again.
I noticed the typical fieldstone walls of New England winding along the hill. There were many outcroppings of rocks and jagged ledges covered with dark green moss. I also saw a few solitary boulders of granite along the way. I see them as sentient beings holding space through the centuries. I wondered about the pain, confusion, and trauma they may have witnessed through the years as time slowly ticked by. There must have been so much of it. I said my hellos as I walked past them, continuing along my way.
One thing I quickly noticed as I walked up the hill was all the quartz! The entire hill was covered in it! I saw some quartz veins begin on one side of the path to only stretch and snake its way back into the woods on the other side. There were even huge chunks that were as tall as me trying to hide behind the trees and under the moss, still glistening from the rain. I can see why this place holds such an energy. We were walking on top of an enormous quartz deposit! It is such an amplifier for energy. Again, my mind went to the patients housed here. How many could feel the energy of this entire area and didn’t know how to handle it, let alone understand it? It wasn’t something people thought about over one hundred years ago. It isn’t something the majority of people think about today either. What about the people who are here, living in and around the area? What about the patients in the hospital yesterday and today? How does it affect them? Does it? Again, I paused to center myself, leaning into the silence within me. Perhaps it was time to reach out and see what wanted to be seen.
For me, to walk as a witch in the woods, is a conscious decision to open myself up to the subtle energies all around me. It is how I walk with one foot in our physical world and the other in the spirit realm. With this mindset, I can be aware of any energies, spirits, or other beings that may be in the area with me that are willing to be seen. It also lets me know when I need to leave an area too. This is an important skill to develop, along with discernment. These skills help me commune with the spirits and to keep me safe.
As I walked slowly uphill, I began to tune in closer to the land. Every once and a while, the pungent smell of a smoldering fire would hit me and quickly fade away. I thought how it could be possible to have a fire with the intense storms we had the night before. Maybe it was from a nearby fire place? I wasn’t sure. It seemed to fade as quickly as it enveloped me. While I was feeling into the campfire possibilities, I noticed some of the maple and beech trees. While they have been around for some time, there were a few that were much shorter and twisted in a spiraling motion. It was quite the contrast to the incredibly tall pines. Allowing my gaze to soften, it looked as if they were twisted hands reaching up from the soft, dark soil pleading for someone to bear witness to the history of this place. Fingers of silvery mists pointed the way to the other worlds that were waiting to be perceived. There was a chill that passed over me with that thought and it went right into my bones. Peeling back the layers, I started to get bits and pieces of the history. Some of it wasn’t all that long ago either.
I could hear kids daring their friends to go to the tower by themselves in the dark… Laughter… A cry… Someone calling out… I saw flashes of boys fumbling with invasive hands as their fingers wandered too far… Some girls trying to push them off of them while others ‘played cool’ and surrendered to the awkwardness of the moment, hoping it would be over soon… A scream… Crashing… The smell of a fire hung in the air… Feelings of fear, confusion, sadness, rage, and anger washed over me… The sense of nothingness mixed with loneliness passed through me… There was a sense of someone or something being masking themselves to keep others away from here… I heard clanging and banging sounds. Perhaps from when the tower was being constructed? Men bellowing instructions. Demands were made in the distance. I couldn’t tell what they were saying though. I tried to tune in and focus on the flashing scenes and mumbling of voices that were playing so fast like a tape in my mind… then –
I heard Scott call my name and I looked up.
A queasy feeling washed over me. My gaze now toward the treetops, trying to see what Scott was looking at. There it was. I realized that I felt its presence long before I saw it. The tower loomed over the forest. Commanding attention and demanding the respect, this tower is steeped in history. Is it a heartbreaking horror story born of its own making, mixed with a macabre fascination through the generations that followed or something else? There it stood, sending out ripples through time. Today, those ripples continue to touch us, striking us in so many ways. I was certainly feeling a mix of emotions and thoughts.
Stepping out of the tree line, there it stood, the Brattleboro Retreat Tower, still the sentinel being for those who have experienced what went on here years ago and for those who still walk halls and grounds. The vigilant guardian for the town, continues its watch on this small clearing on top of the hill. Built in 1887, this tower was part of the property formerly known as the Vermont Asylum for the Insane, now simply called The Retreat. Although the name has changed, this tower is a physical reminder of our collective past. It positions itself to remind us that our words and actions we offer today reverberate throughout time, no matter how noble the intention was. Through hard work, understanding, and striving to create a better future, the original intention for this location of the late Anna Hunt Marsh and her gift of $10,000.00 in 1834, has finally come to fruition. We must not lose sight of that. When we do, we are doing a disservice to work and progress that has been made.
Both beauty and horror can coexist together. It often does. As humans, we tend to gravitate to one side or another in a dance with an all or nothing attitude. Things can be what they seem to be. However, more often than not, there are many, many layers and points of view to look at. We are all multifaceted and contain a kaleidoscope of color, experience, and belief. I feel that if we are to understand humanity, it is our responsibility to step outside our comfort zone and listen to what others have to say, especially when it is difficult. Sometimes, through my work as a witch, it also takes me to the other side of the veil as it did here.
As we move deeper into October and towards the thinning veils, I ask that you pause for a moment. I invite you to take a breath and shift into a neutral space. Are we walking our path to the best of our ability or are we painting our landscapes with a broad brush of speculation, conjecture, and stereotypes? It is not easy to ask ourselves these questions and through self-reflection, we may not like what we discover. However, isn’t the work that we do on this spiritual path supposed to lead us into our uncomfortable places and into a space of healing and understanding? This one trip to Vermont’s living history through its structures and trails are reverberating through me today. They certainly left a mark that I will continue to explore through my work as a witch. I hope it inspires you to explore as well.
Be well and stay safe.
Renee Bedard ~ The Whispering Crow
The Whispering Crow 