The top of the hill that I'm crossing is known as "Moosiap," according to the Moose Hill Audubon group that maintains the 2000-acre Sanctuary nearby in town. That word is perhaps an Algonquian word for "windy place." Moosiap therefore has nothing to do with finding moose on the hill. But it may have everything to do with the hill itself.

One day, I was driving here with my friend, Randall, and in the time it took us to get from the beginning of Moose Hill Road to the top of the hill, a small hurricane had blown through, and felled a large, old maple tree. The branches were torn and thrown to the ground, where one or two were preventing easy access across the road. We were able to get through, but it was a vivid reminder of how the wind can play tricks up here on Moosiap.

Today, I crossed the Moose Hill again, from East Walpole, and once over to Main Street in Sharon, turned right, and tooled through the late afternoon traffic. Almost immediately on the right, you see a turnoff onto another road, and I took it again today. I think it's named Pine Street, and it turns into South Walpole Street. I had to look up the whole configuration in a Massachusetts atlas. The maps don't contain any topographical information, but at least I can see the layout of the old roads.

Pine Street is a companion road to Moose Hill, and after a wonderful foresty drive, crosses you back into South Walpole. It's like driving in a big rectangle around and through Moose Hill's forest and wetlands. It must be one of the oldest streets in the town, and certainly connects the current day traffic patterns with the Old Post Road which you could take south from New Hampshire, through Walpole, to Baltimore, Maryland in the 1700's.

I knew this road was old. There's an old farmhouse on the hilltop with some terrific property: fields, and even, I think, some cranberry bogs. This house is in the nestling corner of the road, as it rises to feature the afternoon sun plainly shining on the whole property. That farmhouse and the whole hill was drenched in history, and there was almost empty silence on the road. As I passed that home today, I saw for the first time that there is a plaque on the front facade of the house. It says: Plimpton House, 1800.

Do you know how exciting that was?

The year confirmed that already eerie knowledge that I was driving on very old roads, just the way they did in the time of King Philip and later. These roads, these homes, these farms and fields were occupied by men and women who knew the Indians living in the same forests. They had full and complex lives lived right here during Indian wars and wars of Independence, and during Constitutional conventions, and trips to Baltimore with the mail.

I make a crucial decision: I must locate real topographical maps of this area. Then I will continue to explore the hills around Moosiap.