Perhaps you noticed the little historic cemetery one day while you were waiting patiently in line at the Burger King drive-thru; just in case you were wondering what it was all about, this week as part of our long standing continuing effort to examine all of the historic cemeteries in our fair town, we will stop a while and ponder the life and times of Col. Royal Vaughan and his kin, the permanent residents of this little graveyard.
The tiny shop at 2 Main Street is a prime example of how often the smallest and most inconspicuous of buildings can possess the most interesting of histories.
You know there’s just no telling how many members of the “Society of Friends” rest eternal in the burying ground of the Wickford Quaker Meeting House which once stood just north of the intersection of Fowler and Friend Streets.
You know, one of my pet peeves is local street names that have absolutely no connection to the community they are in.
In honor of the recent Mother’s Day holiday, this week’s column concerns mothers who have made a significant impact on local history.
In my branch of the Cranston family the name George is so common it gets down right confusing. My oldest son, as a matter of fact, is the sixth George in succession dating back to the original George Tillinghast Cranston, the famed Swamptown Merchant, Civil War hero, and State Senator.
No matter whether you call this very visible and familiar large brick building in Wickford the Gregory Mill, or the Chapin Mill, or the Ring Building, or even the Kayak Center place, it makes no difference.
Back in 1762, entrepreneur Joseph Taylor decided to dam the Mettatuxet River in order to construct one of the area’s first fulling and carding mills. In doing so he set in motion an enterprise which existed on the shore of the mill pond he created, Silver Spring Pond, that has lasted for nearly 200 years in one form or another.
More than 1,000 newspaper columns, eight books, two documentary films, hundreds of walks and talks,and 20 years of time with my nose in the musty dusty ledgers of South County’s past and here we are!
One hundred and thirteen years ago, in 1906, textile manufacturing was the dominant industry here in South County. Hundreds upon hundreds of locals worked in the mills and, in general, valued their jobs highly. These were jobs that were kept for a lifetime.
I can’t help but daydream about them this time each year. As the snow and ice melt away, they emerge from the woods along Route 2 looking exactly as they did the year before, and the decade before that, and even 60 years prior to then.
You know, it’s one of those things that’s always just there, you drive by it without hardly a notice, as if it were a tree trunk or an unusual yard ornament.
As it is Women’s History Month, it makes perfect sense that we take a gander at the woman who may be South County’s most famous. I guess there’s probably not a Rhode Islander among us who is not familiar with the name “Aunt Carrie.” There are many who claim without Aunt Carrie there’d be no clam cakes.
You know the last time I looked at it, the calendar seemed to indicate that it is almost spring, but you sure could have fooled me based upon the thickness of the frost on my old pickup truck window each morning.
Johnny Northup’s house on the eastern end of West Allenton Road appears deceptively ancient. Why it looks like it’s been sitting there quietly, determinedly, for two centuries or so, but it hasn’t. The small two-story square-plan federal-style house is an anachronism, a true chronological in…
Birds captured my imagination almost 40 years ago because of their vibrant colors, great diversity, and ease of seeing them any time of year.
I’m calling 2019 my year of the snake, and early summer is the ideal time to find them.
As we approach the Summer Solstice in the northern hemisphere, this year on June 21 at 11:54 a.m. EDT (Eastern Daylight Time), here in Rhode Island many folks revel in the extra daylight hours, especially in the evening.
It’s challenging to explain to someone that you spent a below-freezing December night sitting on your back porch bundled up in a sleeping bag on a lounge chair just to watch a few meteors blaze across the sky.