Oh These Hearts

 

Oh these hearts

 

 

Oh the hearts of men whose lashes from whips sting me so.

The daily grind of my feet to my knees on this concrete floor

For fat rich men to indulge most gluttonously in their fat and their rich

Plagues my heart and wearies my soul.

 

Oh these hearts of men whose shackles bind my own heart’s content

Where and how do we go?

Where and how do we get our chance at the fruits of a better life?

Work you say?

Get a job you say?

Fall in line and take your turn on the assembly line parade

Revolving around and around and around?

Your parents did it,

Their parents did it,

And now, look at you doing it too.

That 401k gets put away.

That’s right, fall in line and take your seat

For the rapturing fate of this eventual demise will surely turn to a lullaby.

 

All this money, all that means nothing,

For when I die will any of this come with me?

For when I die will any of these, things come with me?

For when I cease to make another revolution on the endless cycle

Will the car, the house, the computer, the phone, the 401k

Will any of this come with me?

But fall in line with these hearts of men they say.

Fall in step by step and you too can achieve that GREAT AMERICAN DREAM!

 

To them I say,

NO.

To them I move myself to a blasphemous rhythm

To them I play chameleon

To them I put on the face

I put on the boots and I come in.

Punch the time card eight hours punch out.

I play the game because I gotta keep the lights on right?

But what I have inside of me

What dream lies in wait that inspires me?

What feeling resides inside of the depths of my sou?

I write right here for the taking.

I get to do what I love and I escape this machined existence.

I escape to the hills, or the fields that reside in images that, like a blanket, cover my mind and take me to a place where I can go,

For me,

For my own time away.

 

Oh the hearts of men that have made me wise

The ones that told me don’t be like me

The one that gave me the strength to defy this machined lullaby,

And the one that continues to do so day in and day out.

 I play your game with my steel toe boots laced up,

Merely, simply, and only because I have to

Not for want or need, but for have.

 

Oh the hearts of men release your shackle and fear

And live with the compassion of billions of hearts and minds

See, listen, and feel the words from your fellow brother and sister

Hear them listen to them as they explain their disdain

For to blow us off

To bid no favor to our voice

But most important,

To not do what is just and right

Is a travesty that far surpasses any moral comprehension?

 

Oh hearts of men your fear plagues you so

Your fear has infested your mind the way the beetle bores its way through the trunk of the tree.

Your fear consumes you the way the quicksand swallows all in its wake.

Fear can be addressed this is true

Fear can be grasped, this is true

Alas do not fear what is just and what is right.

The compensation for such awaits you in the end,

Sheer and unlimited gratitude,

This holds no price

Has no value of money

Knows nothing of silver or gold,

And gives nothing in return, other than tearful smiles.

 

Oh these hearts of ours, we can end the fear through a smile

Oh these hearts of ours, we can move MOUNTAINS of disgust

Oh the hearts of us,

Let us live.

Let us breathe in the night air

Let us be the folly of our own emotion

Let us just live.

Oh the hearts of us,

Together we can mend un-sewn souls.

Early Morning Porch

Early Morning Porch

 

The day has not yet been stained by events that have transpired

                It is nice to be up with the sun.

The still of the morning before the engines roaring

                It is nice to be up with the sun.

Fall is creeping in and all upon us

And all around us the storefronts are closing

The people are scared and starving

Their scars are worn not embraced

Their scars are like road maps of life

Where they have been

Where they were going

And how

The day has not yet been stained by a course of events that have transpired

                The thoughts sit and linger

As the coffee gets to brewing

The thoughts will flow through the pen and onto the paper

                It is nice to be up with the sun.

Silence fills the early morning air

Birds are chirping far off in this still morning air

Echoes of train brakes grinding scream the alarm

No cars or trucks blaring horns or revving engines.

No, for in this hour the quiet is deafening

The smell is comforting

The feel is inspiring and calming.

This musty mildew filled air relaxes a mind fraught with thought

                It is joy to be up with the sun.

All this concrete resides and cracks

If it had a voice I wonder what it would ask

The many feet which have trod its façade.

The many years it has sat in its place

The walls

The stairs

The curbsides even they have a story or a conversation.

The sun slowly rising with the day which a course of events have not yet stained

                And have left me in comfort being up with this sun.

The day has not yet been stained by events that have transpired

                It is nice to be up with the sun,

Re-sounds like the trains brakes four blocks away,

Or like a record that gets is stuck to play.

These words play in my head like a movie or a song

Over and over again I see them and hear them

Over and over again I think

Over and over again I wonder.

I sit with coffee in hand as the wonder turns to ponder

                And the ponder turns to pen to paper.

Here lie those words from that chain of events.

Herein lies the thoughts on folks less fortunate than i.

Whose lot in life is a slow change to which sometimes it never comes.

Shoes with worn holed soles

Souls with worn old holes

Mirrors are shop windows

Sleeping under bridges or beside them

Near train tracks or rivers

Suitcase toting sharp dressed men

Making decisions for folks who haven’t changed in months

Tell me the sense?

The day has not yet been stained by the thoughts of men

                And still I will smile with the comfort of the sun.

I regress from previous thoughts

And detract no statements said through said thoughts.

Instead, I shall dive deep into closing my eyes and listening

To the buses and vehicles

The highway’s hum

And the occasional distant sirens,

Or just the pure uninterrupted silence.

The slow walks and chirping talks

The meandering and sneering

The loudness and blaring

They have not yet come to pass within these early morning hours.

The day remains silent as events have yet to occur to stain the day,

                And I sit with the sun as it is nice to be awake in this hour.

A stain can be good

A stain can be bad

A stain you live with

And a stain you remove

But a stain always stays.

You can be rid of it but you always know where it was.

There is no shame in this

There is no reason to be morose or angry

The day remains in this early morning hour

Still and quiet and waiting

The day remains

As simply the day

That Night

 

That Night

 

The crisp warm glint in her eye caught my wandering gaze.

I had seen her before this night

Two weeks ago in this same space

And her sitting in the same place.

Now here we are this evening with winter closing in,

The colds chill stings like frozen wasps

And shakes your bones and nerve like a bartender  mixing cocktails,

There she was, and here I sat.

Our eyes locked onto one another in a stare

She stirred her drink with her straw

Slow

And with purpose,

I tried to not pay attention through the seemingly pretentious stirring

But alas how could I not, I mean she was undeniably beautiful.

Under severe exhaustion

I could not place reality,

My fatigue had been gaining steam

As burning the proverbial candle at both ends was biting and chomping at my ankles.

I wasn’t even sure why I was a this bar

If she was real

Or hell if, THIS, was even real.

Through this momentary lapse of concentration

She had moved herself to the stool next to mine

And only when she said in a mild mannered, warm, caring, confident voice

“Hello, my name is,”

And with her right hand non polished finger nails now extended “Erin.”

Did I know that this was not some hallucination begetting myself?

Or that this wasn’t the exhaustion pouring its weight onto me?

No, in fact this place was as real as the seat you are sitting in now.

I extended my hand as well and lightly shook hers and said
“Erin, it’s a pleasure to meet you my name is Daniel.”

 

His hand was cold as he lightly grasped and shook mine.

So lightly in fact I thought I was shaking the wind.

Maybe he was hiding something

Or maybe he was just shy

Either way it was a feeling that did not make me nervous, nor make me scared

It was a feeling that made me comfortable

Considering the schlubs I had been meeting lately

And my track record for assholes this was a pleasant feeling to have, finally.

Danny wore thick black glasses, a gray suit, black tie, brown fedora, and brown loafers to match.

A business man I thought, maybe a writer, maybe a writer of business

All I knew was I had seen him in here before.

Two weeks ago the night Tom decided my best friend was more befitting his taste than I.

Danny nodded along and said

“I do remember you from that night. I said nothing because, well, I don’t know,”

I stumbled upon my words trying to understand why this beautiful woman was talking with me,

Of all schlubs to be talking to,

So I muttered

“I didn’t say anything because I just assume, as I do now, that there is some lucky fella whom you will either be meeting shortly or later this evening, and along with my shyness I couldn’t bring myself to a simple introduction.”

 

His tone was not that of excitement, rather, it was more like a balanced calm inviting tone.

Yes, I am well aware of my beauty by the way, and I am well aware of how gorgeous I am

I would not say this out loud though

But hearing him speak in such a way felt like the first time hearing these observations of myself.

 

I sat reveling in the words that just stumbled out of my mouth

What the hell did I just do?

Was that too much?

Had I just created a disaster?

I mean I am used to it at this point.

I sat expecting more of the same she will now spill her drink over my head, call it an accident, and we’ll go our own ways.

But yet she stayed.

She didn’t run.

In her eyes I could see thought

Have I dumbfounded her?

Certainly she has heard these words before?

 

He literally left me dumbfounded

What was I to do?

I mean, this drink is already stirred enough

Anymore stirring and this drink is going to evaporate into the thin air.

I took a breath and a pause and simply said

“Thank you, and I am here alone. To whom are you waiting on?”

“I suppose I’ve been waiting for you.”

 

Where the night went we were not entirely sure.

I mean one can guess

One can hope

But the truth is far more interesting than hopes and aspirations.

We sat through the evening while people filed in and people filed out

Drinks were drank

Tabs were paid

The stools were being put upon the bar and tables

And we just sat,

Together and left alone.  

Nicholas and The Pessimistics

Nicholas & The Pessimistics: Debut album

A review by: Moose

 

 

 

            The Pessimistics are a Cincinnati band who have been together for a few years now, and are releasing their first album. They are comprised of Nick Baker (vocals/guitar), Shawn Steele (lead guitar), Alex Fraser (bass), and Donie Maness (drums). The record was recorded at Fat Tracks Studio located here in Cincinnati and was engineered by Rob Nadler. The record took some time to record, but after all the blood and sweat cleared up, and a switch of personnel was finalized mid-way through the recording process here we have their first full length. This record for them has been a labor of love to say the least, and to have it completed and done is a testament to the perseverance to the band. This was an investment that simply took longer than expected, but that being said they are glad to have it out and ready for all of your ears.

            The record is ten songs that lyrically spill out more like “a journal” and are “more honest” according to Nick one of the lead songwriter’s in the band. Musically the record ebbs and flows through country and rock, and are simply honest. From the first to the last song the album told a story within itself in just the sequencing of the songs, let alone the actual story that each individual song is telling. You have the beginning or the set – up, the middle amped up and raucous, and the end saying see ya later but leaving the door cracked open for more. In the conversation I had with Nick the one ideal he and fellow Pessimist Shawn Steele wanted to get across lyrically were “these songs having merit more than simply sounding good,” and I would say they achieved both. The record expresses the honesty of songwriting and the musicianship is top notch. Ten songs worthy of a listen while heading to Anywhere, USA and listening to the rubber on the road or just going to the grocery store either way the record definitely has “merit” and definitely “sounds good.”

            Within our conversation you understand how over the years this album could be a journal. Nick is the son of musical parents from his Father being in and out of bands and his mother sang in the church choir, so it was inevitable music would be the way he went and as he put it about his early years “it seemed like I was figuratively somewhere in between George Jones and Jesus.” He picked away at 9 on a guitar with the help of his father, and when a chance opportunity landed him in some trouble the punishment was to join his school choir which turned out to be a blessing rather than a curse. Fast forward many years and while you cannot deny the influence and support from his parents Nick would also like to thank his wife Lindsay Baker for putting up with him for about 15 years and counting. To simplify it in his words  “Anyone who’s merely dated a musician knows it’s no picnic. I nominate her for a CEA (Cincinnati Entertainment Award) every year.” The support has been un-wavering and I have had the pleasure of knowing Nick for a few years now, and his passion for music comes across humbly and honestly. 

            Nicholas and The Pessimistics will be releasing their debut self-titled album. This is an album full of honesty and songs that come from the heart. Changes come when we least expect them and through those our resolve becomes stronger and it seems as though these fellas went through that and came out alright. There was a final question that I asked Nick that I like to ask all musicians and artists “why music?” and I’ll let him finish this off.

Nick Baker: I’ve always felt fortunate because I’ve never had to wonder what I wanted to do with my life. Some people spend years searching, trying things out, figuring out what they really want. But I put some words over a few chords decades ago and I never asked myself twice what I wanted to do. It’s not always easy. It isn’t always grand. Sometimes it’s downright sad. But it’s what’s in me. I have no idea what the future holds, but as long as I’m here I’ll be writing songs and singing them to people. So far, it’s been pretty good to me. I’m hoping that trend continues.

 

 

Friday February 5^th at The Drinkery 9pm will be their cd release they will be joined by: The B-Sides & Willow Tree Carolers

Joe Macheret

Joe Macheret

 

 

By: Moose Gronholm

 

 

            Joe Macheret has played with just about everyone in this town currently he plays with The Tillers, Maria Carelli, Scott Risner, and his own band Joe’s Truck Stop. This is what he loves. The pace and rhythm of it is great, and for him being a full time musician is something that he loves. I met Joe about a year or two ago and was blown away by the talent. It seemed effortless. The effortlessness comes from the fact that he has basically been playing since he was five or six years old, and playing the piano, but to really get to know Joe it goes way back.

           

            In the most recent conversation I had with him he said the earliest musical memory that he remembers was when he was about three or four years old and he walked into the dining/piano room where his mother was playing the little yellow upright piano they had. She began pulling books of classical pieces out of the piano bench reading and turning the pages of the books as if they were English. Despite Joe’s age though he was able to decipher that she wasn’t reading English, this was some sort of other language that translated into what he was hearing as his mother’s fingers touched the keys. She was in fact reading sheet music which for some can be like reading a book. It progressed from there with his parents wanting their children to be involved with music in some form or fashion.

           

            His siblings and himself all started out on piano at five or six and as they progressed they all wanted to try other instruments. His brother played violin for a year, his sister played flute, and Joe had been thinking about playing banjo or guitar around third grade. His father told him, after asking, that he would get Joe a guitar or banjo if he played violin for a year. Well, Joe didn’t get a guitar for years, and then got his first banjo years after that. Through all that waiting though Joe can pretty much play anything with strings on it from violin or fiddle, mandolin, guitar, banjo, and bass. With all this knowledge it seemed only fair to lend his skills to teaching, and what better place than The Folk School Coffee Parlor in Ludlow, Kentucky. Guess we can surmise that through all the learning he received having the ability to teach others can bring this whole thing full circle.      

 

            Joe keeps himself pretty busy doing this full time. He will be the artist in residence at The Crow’s Nest this month of February. Every Thursday evening he will be performing along with a who’s who of folks you should not miss, as well as a full slate of shows happening throughout the month. The last question I asked Joe was why music? Why this of all things to do? And he said “I find purpose in it. I started 20 years ago and haven’t been able to get away from it. There were a few months years ago where I thought I might like to be a lawyer, and that was pretty damn weird. But honestly, I love being a musician full time” Joe plays everything from country, blues, swing, old time Appalachian fiddle and banjo, Bluegrass, rock and roll, western swing, jump blues, and so many more and basically the guy loves old American music. We wanted to add his influences and supporters as well and here they are: Merle Haggard, Willie Nelson, his family, bacon, the people that go to shows, the people who have been to one of my shows, Red Simpson (Rip), Hank Williams, Bob Wills, Gram Parsons, the Alligator Man, MF Doom, Jerry Reed, Sleep (the band), Robert Gordon, Chip Taylor, Charlie Daniels Band’s Saddle Tramp, my friends, Bourbon, all Surf Rock and fiddle tunes, Wanda Jackson, Town Hall Party, Edan, Shel Silverstein, Doc Watson, Darlin’ Corey, 50’s Punk, Blaze Foley, Townes Van Zandt, Ween, Homeliss Derilix, Wayne Hancock, and Rag Mop by the Ames Brothers.  All of the influences and styles throughout the evening, and most importantly, sharing that love of music for the people, folk music.  Make it a point to come see him at any one of the following shows below. Ultimately, just enjoy the music.

 

 

 

 

February local show schedule:

February 2nd - Sis’ on Monmouth in Newport, KY w/Northern Kentucky Bluegrass Band

February 4th - Crow’s Nest AIR “Old Times, New Times" w/Uncle Mike Carr and the Urban Pioneers

February 5th - Cyclone’s Bourbon Tasting at the Cyclone’s game w/The Tillers

February 9th - Sis’ on Monmouth in Newport, KY w/Northern Kentucky Bluegrass Band

February 11th - Crow’s Nest AIR “Heartachers and Heartbreakers Songwriter’s Round” w/Maria Carrelli, Pat Hu, and Jared Schaedle

February 16th - Sis’ on Monmouth in Newport, KY w/Northern Kentucky Bluegrass Band

February 18th - Crow’s Nest AIR w/Joe’s Truck Stop and Dawg Yawp

February 20th - the Batesville Library w/The Tillers

February 23rd - Sis’ on Monmouth in Newport, KY w/Northern Kentucky Bluegrass Band

February 24th - The Tillers (electric set) for Sean Geil’s AIR at the Southgate House Revival in Newport, KY

February 25th - Crow’s Nest AIR w/Mike Oberst and Fleener Woozie.

February 26th - Drunken Cuddle, Joe’s Truck Stop, Josh Sparks, and 40ty at the Peacock Truck Stop. Message joestruckstop@gmail.com for more info.

February 28th - Northside Tavern w/The Tillers

Moose Haiku's

Moose Haiku's Tuesday:

From the foggy window
Winter rears her smiling charm
Now we all wear long coats

Teardrops fall silently
Cold stinging pain rests mightily
Needs a break from all.

Minus degrees cold
Yet, birds fly through its frozen breeze
Leave me indoors please.

Millie's Run

Millie's Run

            Mildred “Millie” Fitzsimmons for five days vanished. Nobody knew where she went. Her older sister Elizabeth had not a clue, her parents, her neighbors, and friends all had no idea. It wasn’t until Christmas day five days later in 1891, when Millie finally came home.

            Frozen to the bone, and barefoot Millie collapsed into the arms of her mother Fannie. When Fannie asked Millie the obvious question of where had she been all Millie could muster was “The Tall Man in The Woods.”

            The home of Fannie and her husband Henry Fitzsimmons was located in Fitchburg, Massachusetts. A small town nestled outside of the big city Boston. Like most small towns this one had its own stories and folk lore. The town is bordered by a wood, to which, the parents have passed down the story that was told to them. Which is not long, in fact, it would more or less be considered a warning: ” Do not go into the wood after sundown, for there is a monster of un-human proportions that lurks amongst its trees. With cold red eyes, epically tall, with a smell of mildew and pine, at night you can hear his whistle that glides through the air, you would be wise to not go into the wood until an hour after dawn.” To reiterate parents would tell this to their children and by all accounts would say it in the most serious of tones. Millie and Elizabeth were well aware of what lurked inside the woods, but Millie seemed more intrigued than Elizabeth. In their bedroom Millie began simply looking out towards the wood. Elizabeth would firmly say “Millie, time for bed,” and Millie would come back to bed. This went on for weeks and Millie was becoming more entranced and enthralled by the wood outside their bedroom window. For months this carried on, but only in their bedroom. Elizabeth did her best, and wouldn’t say a thing to her parents being older and feeling responsible for Millie she figured she could handle it.

            A couple of months went by of this then Thanksgiving came around, and it wasn’t until then when Fannie and Henry finally noticed the strange happening. The family was over for the holiday and as the day turned into night Millie had slowly gravitated towards the downstairs living room window. Her right ear pressed firm against the cold glass window pane while her parents looked on with bewilderment. They let her be, for Millie had always been just a little different, they loved her all the same, but she was just different. That evening as Henry carried Millie to bed Millie stirred and woke herself up. She was half asleep when Henry asked her “honey, what are you listening to?” Millie in a soft and tired voice simply replied “It’s a beautiful song daddy.” After he put her to bed he placed his ear against the cold window pane, but all he heard was the wind blowing around the snow that had begun to fall. What he was not hearing was the whistle coming from the wood.

            A few weeks went by with more of the same, Millie sitting with her ear pressed firm against the window. Then, on December 20th 1891 Millie never returned home. According to Elizabeth, Millie and her had met some friends to go sledding at the big hill located less than half of a mile from home and just on the edge of town. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and it was time for supper. Elizabeth and Millie said good-bye to their friends and walked off. Millie however, did not want to go. She didn’t say anything, and Elizabeth begged, pleaded, and tugged at Millie to come home but to no avail. After some time doing this Elizabeth out of frustration said “fine stay here, but Mom and Dad are not going to be happy if they have to come out here and get you.” Those words would have worked hours ago, but alas they had no effect. Elizabeth said later that Millie just seemed “entranced by something only she (Millie) could see in the wood.”

            The bottom of the hill leads into the wood where Millie had been watching and listening for months now. Elizabeth worried and scared hurried home, and told her parents. Henry took off running and when he arrived at the hill there was nobody there. There was no sign other than Millie’s sled. The empty dark space did not lend to any easy tracking. Footprints were hard to make out, as this was the spot where the kids were playing. Henry began bellowing Millie’s name, loud. So loud the neighbors awoke and arose. The men joined Henry down the hill and on into the wood. No sign, no trace, nothing. Just cold dark air running through the wood, and from morning till night they searched that woods. Every inch, but they came up with nothing. Deflated and dejected Christmas morning came, and Henry with these feelings  begrudgingly tied up his boots and dressed himself determined to find his daughter, and as he came down the stairs that’s when he saw Millie in the arms of Fannie. Millie was cold, tired, and hungry seeing Millie this way Henry, her mom, and sister simply held her. Glad to have her home, and glad she appeared in good condition. The constable came by later in the day, but held off any questioning until she was in better spirits and nobody really knowing if she would ever be in better spirits.

            Millie spent Christmas day in a bewildered state of confusion and whistling. Her sister Elizabeth recalled years later in a local newspaper article that “Millie kept whistling from dusk till dawn and only at these times never during the daylight hours.” Everyone could see that Millie was not well. Neighbors and friends and family had come by to visit over the Christmas holiday and all recounted the same things as Elizabeth the whistling and this confused look upon her face. Fannie tried everything from a priest to a strange concoction of dill weed, horse oil, goats milk, and honey but the whistling continued along with the her bewildered state. After a year of this Fannie began losing what if any control of herself that she had. Winters are harsh in New England, especially back then, and maybe it was the seclusion and harsh winter that drove Fannie mad, or maybe, and most likely, the “loss” of her daughter was too much to bare. Fannie waited until everyone was fast asleep, she walked out to the barn, climbed the ladder to where the hay was kept, tied a rope around one of the beams and her neck, and leapt to her death. As Fannie hung inside the barn Millie began whistling, loud, very loud. So loud that Henry awoke along with Elizabeth to find Millie sitting by a living room window that looked out toward the barn whistling and pointing toward the barn.

            Eventually, Henry passed away as well of natural causes. Never succumbing to Millie’s “unfortunate circumstance” which he told the constable, he loved his daughter’s and did everything he could to provide for them, and always told them their mother loved them too. Elizabeth became Millie’s caretaker, and took to it splendidly. As Millie got older her whistling lessened and she took to writing six words over and over again, “The Tall Man in the Wood.” Millie never spoke except to say those six words. It was her answer for everything. Elizabeth began to wonder if it would just be best if they leave Fitchburg for somewhere new. Elizabeth began packing things up, and when it came time to leave Elizabeth recalled Millie’s “eyes turned red, her face flushed, and she was snarling as if to say we are not leaving.”

            A year after that incident Millie penned a letter, set it on her sister’s bedside, and Millie was never seen again, Millie was 18. Millie’s letter was strange. She mentions the tall man, and thanks Elizabeth for caring for her for all those years, for feeding her for all those years, and genuinely loving her for all those years. Millie said in the letter “my reason for leaving is so you can have a life. I will always love you, and I will miss you but I must go now and it is time for you to move on.” Millie’s letter was not cryptic except if you count the tall man. She only says of the tall man “he has given me my turn.” With the letter written Elizabeth folded it up and put it in her pocket. She said that she walked over to the window and peered out to the wood, said good-bye and I love you and packed her things.

            Elizabeth eventually married and had three children of her own. As much as she wanted to find Millie that day and every day thereafter, Elizabeth felt it best to let her be, and maybe that is all Millie wanted all along. To have never been seen from, nobody knows except for Millie.

             Christmas Day 2008, three boys and one girl were all sledding down the very hill Millie had gone down a hundred years ago. Just after dark the kids running back home aghast and hysterical all said the same thing “where the bottom of the hill met the woods there was a woman dressed in white, with red eyes, long brown hair, and she was whistling, really loud!” A few weeks after the incident the little girl went missing, and was never found or heard from again.   

            Elizabeth was never able to get anything out of Millie. Millie just seemed to have lost her mind. Whatever happened in that wood had stayed there for more than a century, until the spring of 2008 when the town of Fitchburg had named the hill “Millie’s Run.” Then on Christmas Day the girl went missing. There had been no incidents, no accounts of anything strange coming from that wood up until then. The story was the same, parents told their kids not to go in, but nothing happened. Not until the city decided to name it after its most beloved daughter.

            The Lost Woods as they were known are still there, and it is said that from Thanksgiving till January 6th and from dusk till dawn you can hear a loud whistle blowing through the woods. I have visited these woods, and to say they are creepy is an understatement. I did hear the whistle, and something else struck me. The hill leads right into the wood. Also, in terms of our time frame 1891 hysteria and going mad were common threads. As I stood atop the hill and looked out into the woods it was easy to see how someone could go mad. I was there a week before Christmas visiting my own family in Shirley, Mass. These creepy whistling woods have something eerily intriguing about them. It is not a thick wood nor is it skimpy either, but somewhere in the middle. In the winter it seems to come alive when in fact it is not. Maybe Millie heard the whistle in her head, maybe she was the only one to see “The Tall Man,” upon further inspection in the town records the constable James McFinneran left a note within his own notes regarding the case of Mildred “Millie” Fitzsimmons which said “I as a young boy hear these very woods whistle. I’ve seen red eyes from my bedroom window. The only difference between Millie and I is she went inside.”

            There were plenty of accounts such as the constable’s as he questioned the older folks in town, but again nobody ever said they went in, and nor could they recall anyone that did. Maybe “The Tall Man” needed a successor, because recent accounts and accounts since 1905 only mention a woman.

            Elizabeth passed away in 1931. In her hand she was clutching onto the letter Millie had wrote the day she left home. Mysteries left opened leave us hanging. They leave us with more questions than answers. For me this story that was told to me by my now deceased grandmother was never about Millie losing a part of her- self, rather, to me this story is about family. Given the times, the late 1800’s, in New England when insane asylums were on the rise, and one could be thrown into one for just about anything and any reason the Fitzsimmons stood by their sister and their daughter. Her mother being the exception, but Elizabeth recounts help from neighbors, and other friends and family all throughout her time spent with Millie till the day Millie went off for good.

            While this story maybe dark, to me though this is what Christmas is all about. Being with family, and loved ones. Millie’s symptoms progressively became worse every year from Thanksgiving until after the New Year, but always by her side, was her eldest sister, Elizabeth.