Rhode Island

7 September 2015

As with New York and Massachusetts, this was my first time in Rhode Island. As a child, I was fascinated by the size of the state. I couldn’t fathom how the tiny area held more people than the large canvas of Wyoming. How could such a small place hold so much?

 

As I discovered, the small place holds small things. Following our summit of Mount Greylock, my friend and I drove to Rhode Island and spent the night in his car alongside a quiet road. When we awoke, we walked across the street to the highpoint. It was nothing more than a half-buried boulder in a man’s backyard. The path to the boulder was privately maintained by the land-owner, who so generously opened his property to highpointers. The woods were peaceful, the naked boughs of old deciduous trees hanging dormant amidst quiet conifers. Though underwhelming in majesty, the highpoint certainly had a charm to it.

 

Jerimoth Hill. 812 ft / 247 m. 3 March 2013.

 

Rhode Island