by Davey N
On the third day of the Cardigan trip, the first thing we did (aside from the regular morning things, such as breakfast and stuff like that) was taking a “short” three-mile hike. We had started on one region of that area, and went to another. I will also note now, that it was raining that day, so it was kind of a miserable hike, but it could’ve been worse. Part of that hike was an old cellar hole. When we came to the point on a map where the cellar hole was labelled, we stopped to try and find the cellar hole. We didn’t find much, just a few rocks that were in a somewhat square-shaped placing. As you could guess, we were very confused. Then we just thought that we would move on from that. When we walked down the trail another 100 yards or so, guess what we saw? The real cellar hole. It was sad on our part. We were at a [somewhat] 'landmark' of that area. We sketched it and went on our merry way. A little farther than that, and we came across a wide stream that ended in a small reservoir. Seeing as there were plenty of leaves around, somebody had the brilliant idea of doing leaf races: Whoever's leaf gets down and into the reservoir first wins. We could be six-year-olds again, not caring about the world around us, living in the moment. That lasted a good 15 minutes, and then we were off again, now going to Welton “Is that the waterfall?” Falls. I call it this because anytime someone saw something that could generally represent a waterfall, they asked if that was the waterfall, a.k.a. Welton Falls. It wasn't; this was. It was an honest-to-goodness waterfall in the middle of the woods. We had lunch there, and we would’ve sketched it, but (like I mentioned earlier) it was raining out, and it would’ve ruined our sketchbooks. Then, soon enough, we were back at the lodge. When that happened, we did a “fun” “game” called “Leaf, Rock, Stick”. Basically, we had to share something that we would 'leaf' behind, something that 'rocked', and something that would 'stick' with us. Soon after, we had to leave. We were travelling from one town to another, which (in terms of geography,) counts as a region. We were also travelling from county to another (or maybe more than just one over). Then we were back in our sweet little town of Hopkinton, in Merrimack County.
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