When last we left our intrepid travelers, they were luxuriating at the Bee and Thistle Inn…
After my husband pried my fingers off the door to the inn (I would gladly have stayed in our cozy room at least one more night), we boarded the Essex Steam Train for a short ride through the woods along the
River, followed by a riverboat trip up the river itself. The day
was cold and windy, but we braved the top deck to watch the river banks slide
by, a few houses tucked in here and there, and the scarlet and yellow trees that
seemed to grow right out of the rock in places.
As we floated by, what looked like a ruined castle loomed up on the hill above us. Our trip narrator identified it as
. Gillette Castle
|The view from Gillette Castle|
|See the dragon's head?|
When Gillette died, he had no one to leave his estate to and was concerned with what would happen to this property, putting specific instructions in his will to guarantee the property would not fall into the hands “of some blithering saphead who has no conception of where he is or with what surrounded.” In 1943, the
government purchased the property, renamed the home Gillette’s Castle and the
184-acre estate became . In 1986, it was added
to the National Register of Historic Places. Gillette Castle
Next and final stop: Boston, where we were forced to hide our resentment of the Boston Red Sox from rabid fans (Boston beat our home team, the Tampa Bay Rays, in the playoffs) and we were lucky to find a hotel room we could afford—the last game of the World Series was played the day we flew home.