I think it’s universal to want to believe in magic. Who among us hasn’t wished at one time or another to be able to return to the sense of enchantment that we remember from childhood? Our imaginations and the stories we had been told, or found within the pages of books, laid the groundwork for fanciful adventures played out in the woods, on the ledges of an island, or even in a tent made of bedspreads.

Sunset on Millstone Hill  ©2016 Daniel Fram

This past weekend I found the closest thing to a portal back to that world. Fortunately, there are artists, musicians and people of vision who have kept that place alive and have made it possible for us to visit as well. The gateway opens once a year.  Unleash your imagination for a few minutes and let me bring you along.

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Imagine it is the perfect summer evening, the sun has set and there is a gentle breeze. The mosquitoes must be sleeping as they are no where to be seen or heard, there is only the twinkling of fireflies and the soft sound of crickets to remind us of the insect world. We are standing in the middle of an open field. A huge bonfire crackles and smokes in front of us, sending a spray of sparks upward. Eyes rise to follow the flickering dance and then drop down again once the sparks dissolve into the night. From where we stand a stripe made of dozens of brightly lit glass votives bisects the field, beckoning us to follow it from the bonfire toward the edge of the woods. Who could resist?

Sparks ©2016 Elizabeth Fram

Stepping into the trees we are swallowed in their darkness, but the votives reassuringly continue in a steady stream, cheerily urging us onward. The walkway undulates underfoot but is mostly clear of roots and is surprisingly easy to navigate in such limited light as we move deeper into the forest. Any worry about our footing is replaced by curiosity when we suddenly become aware of the sound of acoustic music in the distance. Each twist in the path brings us closer until finally we reach a candlelit clearing where a gypsy-like couple are playing soft strains of Italian folk music on guitar and accordion under a ceiling of stars.

After listening to their song we press on, following the seemingly endless votives. Soon we find ourselves stepping onto a narrow bridge, only wide enough to allow a single-file crossing. The bullfrogs greet us with their throaty plunks as floating paper lanterns, shaped like little boxes and edged in silver, gently illuminate their watery grass homes. Reluctantly, we keep walking. Leaving this beautiful setting and the bullfrogs to their evening song, the path of votives spurs us on as we continue back into the trees. Eventually the path emerges into a walled area where dozens of tiny, flickering candles are tucked into the crevices of piles of stones. There are several small campfires at the corners of this open chamber, lending a sense of significance and arrival. The stacked blocks of rock emit an uncharacteristic coolness for such a warm evening; the residual temperature they hold is evidence of harsher winter days, preserved by dense crowding and the shade that envelopes the piles during the day.

The votives persist. Guiding us up a wooded slope, they seem to merge with the stars in a way that could only be termed as magical. In time, we reach a gateway of sorts, two carved columns whose cracked and crumbled appearance suggests they are the last remains of an ancient ruin. More significantly, they signal our approach to what might be seen as an enchanted hallway. Gentle candle and torch light enhances the sense of mystery and reverence in this place; a corridor of granite carved with depictions of the wildlife that inhabit these woods, and reliefs reminiscent of prehistoric symbols. A dinosaur, and even a troll whose face is squeezing through the stone in an effort to free himself (or perhaps to catch a glimpse of us?) add a sense of humor to the spell that has overtaken us. The artwork is masterful, a physical reminder of the continuing heritage of stone-carving artistry that still exists in this part of the world. And all the while a guitar duo plays softly, accompanying and elucidating the wonder of this place and this evening.

Troll ©2016 Daniel Fram

After fully absorbing the spectacle, we descend, the votives steadfastly and safely escorting us past deep and dark water. You can smell its damp presence, yet in the low light there is no sound or sight to confirm its existence. In the distance we hear the low moans of what could be a whale, yet which we soon discover is in fact a fantastical instrument. Comprised of metal pipes of all widths and lengths, it emits mournful and eerie tones when played with a belching torch of fire that is held at intervals beneath the array of metal tubes. Beyond that, the path continues downward on its final leg. We pass one more guitarist, this time completely enrobed in darkness, sharing only the lilting sound of his instrument as we prepare to end our journey. In a suitable farewell from these mystical woods, the ever-present votives usher us out along a narrow lane that gently turns past young trees studded with colorful paper lanterns hanging from their branches. And then, as seamlessly as it began, the adventure ends as we reemerge back into the quiet open field that rests under a canopy of stars.

Blowtorch Pipes ©2016 Daniel Fram

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My retelling of our evening can’t begin to do justice to the magical experience that is “Rockfire“, a 2-mile walk / convergence of art, fire and music in Millstone Hill’s abandoned quarries above Barre, VT. Follow the above link to learn more and to see videos & photos of the event from previous years.