The Rocks Goes Green With New Solar Array

By Anna Berry

The installation of a new solar array at The Rocks in Bethlehem was recently completed by ReVision Energy, part of the Forest Society’s renovation project to create Forest Society North at The Rocks.

The solar array is made up of 180 photovoltaic solar panels spanning three ground-mounted rows in a field next to the Carriage Barn This 86 4-kilowatt array will produce over 100,000 kWh of clean solar energy each year and will power geothermal heat pumps The project will offset 156,000 pounds of carbon annually, equivalent to removing 15 passenger cars from the road. “The Rocks will be a place where our kids can continue to connect to the land, learn about our changing climate, and most importantly, learn that we have the solutions to make a positive impact on the climate. They will be able to see first-hand how this solar array produces clean energy,” ReVision Energy co-owner Daniel Clapp says. “The Forest Society and ReVision Energy have a clear overlap in values, including passion, learning, and stewardship, so ever yone at ReVision wanted to be part of this exciting project ”

In June 2022, the Forest Society broke ground on the renovation of the 1884 Carriage Barn, which will retain its historic stone and shingle exterior while featuring a brand new program and event space inside. An insulated building envelope will be created on the interior with a geothermal system for heating and cooling and using the solar array to provide electricity and power the heat pumps The facility will also offer an open galler y and gift shop, classrooms, public restrooms, and offices for Forest Society staff who ser ve the North Country. One of the classrooms will be named the Jane A Difley classroom, in honor of Difley’s 23 years of leadership as the Forest Society’s fourth president/ forester.

“As we designed Forest Society North at The Rocks, achieving net-zero emissions was a high priority,” says Jack Savage, Forest Society president. “The Forest Society has always been a leader in energy efficient building practices When we expanded the Conservation Center in Concord by building the French Wing in 2000, it was the first LEED gold certified building in New England The conversion of the Carriage Barn demonstrates our conservation values and helps educate others on net zero building techniques ”

The newly installed solar array is another step in the multi-year transformation at The Rocks after the loss of historic buildings to a 2019 fire. A hillside amphitheater made with the granite foundation stones of the lost buildings now occupies the site of the fire, offering spectacular White Mountain views, including the Pliny, Kilkenny, and Presidential ranges. The amphitheater will be used as an outdoor classroom, event space, and picnic area. The Forest Society has also relocated the Christmas Tree Farm operations at “The Red House” complex to 686 Main Street, separating farm operations from public use areas.

To make a donation to support the Forest Society North project, visit forestsociety.org/ forestsocietynorth

Anna Berry is the director of communications and digital outreach for the Forest Society

Special thanks to the New Hampshire Community Development Finance Authority (CDFA) and the businesses that have supported our Forest Society Nor th at The Rocks Campaign by purchasing CDFA tax credits!

Badger Peabody & Smith Realty

Bassinger Limited PC

Grapppone Management Inc

Lumbard & Kellner LLC

Mascoma Bank

Meredith Village Savings Bank

Merrimack County Savings Bank

Milestone Engineering & Construction

Nathan Wechsler & Company

Nor thway Bank

ReVision Energy

Union Bank

Woodsville Guaranty Savings Bank

Monson Memories

By Sophie Oehler

It’s a winter day in my hometown Hollis, N H , and the sun has risen in a dull roar of colors, powder pinks and blues that tint the snowbanks purple around the edges It’s the first morning in a while that really feels like Januar y: crisp, clear, and cold enough that my dog Auggie needs his down jacket. We’re headed down Federal Hill, bouncing off potholes like cartoon cars, in the direction of Monson Village

Resting on the town line of Hollis and Milford, Monson Village used to be a colonial settlement. The settlers left suddenly and mysteriously in 1770, leaving their tiny forest town to the wild Today, the property is owned by the Forest Society and the old woods roads have been converted to trails which can be enjoyed by the public and their four-legged friends. My family has visited Monson for as long as I can remember. Today, in the company of fresh fallen snow, Auggie and I will retrace the steps of my childhood, following the same path my family has taken over the years

My walk begins near the top of Federal Hill, in front of the green wrought iron gate that bars the trail from the road. The metal is coated with a thin layer of ice, evidence of colder temperatures and a healthy amount of precipitation. The pull off on the side of the road is littered with dead leaves and a pair of tire marks Someone has come and gone an early morning visitor

It used to be that this space in front of the gate was the only parking option for the trailhead On weekends, my family’s Honda CRV jostled for space on the cramped shoulder, competing with many other lovers of Monson who wanted to get out and enjoy the woods My parents would get the dogs together while my brother and I hung off of the gate like bear cubs on a tree branch

Now, the parking lot is a big dirt lot cut into the woods. Even with the expanded space, the lot is chock full of cars on the weekends.

As we enter the property, the trail falls away down a sloping hill. Gravel crunches beneath my feet as we make our way on the path Here, the forest arches towards the trail, as if the birch and elm that line the gravel are leaning in to eavesdrop on the conversations of passersby. Even in winter, the forest is brilliant with color. Dead birch leaves ser ve as stained glass windows, filtering golden light onto the trail and leaving dappled patterns along the rocks The sunrays reach sparkling fingers from between trunks and bare branches, a warm caress in the bitter air

At the bottom of the hill, a sign rises from the ground It announces that the trails we’re walking on are protected by the Forest Society. I’ve spent my entire life walking past this sign without truly acknowledging what it said or what it meant; but here I am, twenty-two years on, now working for the organization that cares for this land.

I suppose life has a funny way of turning back on itself. Like how I played in soccer tournaments during middle and high school at the very university I would one day attend. Or how I spent four months backpacking through Europe, visiting the same villages my parents took me to when I was barely old enough to walk the streets We think time is linear I think it’s like folding a blanket.

Auggie and I emerge into Monson’s fields where the winter sunlight is melting the snow-covered hills like frosting slipping slowly off a warm cake Many of my early birthdays were held in these fields In early summer, my family would drag my little red wagon down the hill to picnic in the shade of one of the many large red pines that line the grassy knoll Our dogs would lie begging at our feet, and my grandmother would teach me how to braid clover chains, whistle with grass blades and acorn tops, and tickle my grandfather behind the ear with a tuft of foxtail grass

A Return to Monson

In 2022, I spent the summer surveying Monson visitors in the same fields I picnicked in The Forest Society wanted to learn more about who was visiting, why, and where they were from, among other things. Most people I talked to were locals like me who had been coming here longer than I have for the exact same reasons They told me they loved the fields in summer, the herons that nested in the fall, and bringing their skis to glide down the woods road in winter When I asked them what improvements they thought should be made to the property, they all answered the same: “Just don’t let it change ”

They didn’t want to see things like logging or more people on the trails As a local, I sympathized with them I have watched dozens of trailheads become the most popular spot in town, parking lots filled to the gills with out-of-state plates and occasionally people who don’t respect the land Many forests and fields have been lost to the will of developers, and our favorite trails have been converted into sandpits and cookie cutter backyards. Fortunately, the Forest Society understands the sensitivities of Monson visitors and manages its land responsibly and educates the users who recreate on it

Auggie takes a left through the field, cutting towards the giant boulder that rests in the center in the company of an old oak tree. When I was younger, my brother and I would race to this rock and see who could climb up the steepest face the fastest. Back then, it was a true challenge It’s funny how large the world seems when you’re 7. At 18, my brother can scale in two steps the same rock he once fell off of face first

I continue past the rock, following Auggie through the gap in the stone wall to the rhododendron grove. Recently, my father discovered a collection of home videos from Christmas-time in 2007 when I was seven years old. One grainy clip is of my cousins and me stumbling through shin-deep snow down this ver y trail, playing hide-and-seek amongst the round bushes that line the path My grandfather’s voice can be heard off camera commending us on our good hiding spots Walking through the leafy plants, I’m reminded of the times when my brother and I would make forts beneath the twisted branches, sheltered by glossy leaves the length of our forearms Inspired by the Boxcar Children and My Side of the Mountain, we imagined we were “lost children” who were running away from home to live in the forest.

Today, as it is every day, Auggie’s destination is the pond. In the summer, he likes to fetch sticks in the shallows, dodging lily pads and logs that rot underfoot, using his otter tail as a rudder to navigate around clumps of cattails and drowning snags Today, there will be no such frolicking as it is well below swimming temperature even for a well-insulated Labrador Instead, we take in the view of the water and the empty heron nests from the shore In late summer, the snags in the middle of the pond are laden with heron families. You can hear them from halfway down the hill, cavorting like sparrows. They draw quite a crowd My mother’s favorite thing to do on a stuffy August evening is walk down to the water’s edge and count the herons There is always another naturalist already there. They compare numbers. In the fall, the birdwatchers are always saddened by the herons’ departure I know the season has turned a corner when my mother texts me after a walk at Monson to say, “Herons have left,” with more cr ying emojis than would be acceptable for the passing of a family member, let alone the departure of birds. But that chapter, too, will be reopened in the spring. Creatures of habit, the herons return to the same nests as the year before to allow their fellow habitat-loving species the chance to peer at them through binoculars again

Our trip back to the car takes us past the old Gould House, which is closed for the winter The water bottles the caretaker left out in the summer remain in their box on the stoop, frozen rock solid. The flowers in the beds in front of the blue-grey structure hibernate beneath a blanket of snow and the windowpanes are glazed over, a slumbering giant waiting for spring to bring humanity rushing back.

As we pass the Forest Society welcome sign again on our way out of Monson, I think about all that has changed in the days since I first started coming here to

Monson. I have graduated from high school and watched my brother do the same After graduating from college, I searched for purpose and passion in Europe’s city streets and mountains and came reeling back to America with hands full of both. I have changed in mind and body; so much so that when I look at those old videos of myself tumbling on Monson’s snowbanks, it is hard to believe that I once occupied a body so small, spoke in a voice so high, and lived so simply

The sign of a good friend is that no matter how long you are apart and how much each of you has changed, when you reunite, it seems everything has stayed the same No matter your age, no matter the year, no matter the setting, things just pick up where they left off. I have a cousin like that My best friend from primary school is like that. Monson is like that. Though I have changed so much since my first birthday in the grassy fields, each time I return feels just like the last.

I am grateful for Monson I am grateful that in these years of never-ending upheaval and transition, there is a place I can go where change is not so prevalent Where I can step into the woods and be seven years old once more, running through the trees, leaving the outside world locked in the car. Time stands still. The blanket folds back uninterrupted