Driving home on Sunday morning, I passed the old picnic spot where my parents would pull off the road in West Canaan whenever we traveled that way. Usually, it was a Memorial Day visit to the cemetery where my maternal grandparents and great-grandparents, and other various relatives, were buried. If the weather was nice, we’d take along a picnic basket and stop alongside Route 4 where there was a flat-topped ledge that was perfect to spread a blanket and sit in the sunshine to enjoy sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper.
In my memory, it was a huge rock that was an easy climb, since it sloped gradually down to the pull-off spot where the car was parked. Today, the ledge looks hardly big enough to accommodate two adults and three children, and the once-moss-covered rock sits beneath a fallen tree branch that would have to be removed if one were to climb up for a picnic.
Boulders were a big part of my childhood. Our home included property on both sides of what then was known as the Borough Road, which extended from Profile Falls to the High Bridge, then crossed the Smith River into the town of Hill. The town of Bristol later renamed the portion of the road between Route 3-A and the High Bridge to make it an extension of Smith River Road, which previously began at the High Bridge and extended into South Alexandria. It made sense, making the entire route on the Bristol side of the Smith River one road, but it was a blow to those of us used to being part of “the Borough”. It also meant renaming the section on the opposite side of Route 3-A, so that became Profile Falls Road.
On the river side, our property went down a steep bank and then leveled out by the river to form another picnic spot surrounded by ferns. The main attraction was a huge flat-topped boulder that at first only my brother, Eddie, could climb. Later I learned to climb to the top as well. I think my sister, Kathi, managed to climb to the top one time, but she didn’t seem to be as thrilled with the climb, which offered only a chance to sit in a mossy crevice and look down at the river passing by.
When I was older, the attraction became sitting on the ledges beside Profile Falls. I’d take along a book and spend an afternoon reading and watching the water make its 40-foot plunge into the pool below. Others would dive into that boulder-filled pool, but I could never understand the appeal when one could stay safe on a moss-covered rock.
Newspapers became my rock during my working career. Perched there, I could look out over the landscape and see interesting stories everywhere. While I have only one life to live, by reporting on what others were doing, discovering, and experimenting with, I could sample those lives and learn new things. It was a never-ending education for me, and by sharing what I found, I hoped it would be educational for others as well.
Along came the internet, making it easy for anyone to learn anything. That hurt newspapers, which today are still struggling to remain relevant when there are so many other ways to be informed. The advantage newspapers still hold is that, for the most part, one can trust what one reads there. It has become something of a joke to say, “I read it on the internet, so it must be true.”
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