Sleepy Hollow is only about 40 minutes outside of Manhattan. Made famous by Washington Irving, it wasn’t even called Sleepy Hollow until 1996, when GM closed a plant in North Tarrytown, and citizens elected to get smart and re-brand. Dig the horseman icon at the top of the street signs. Brilliant.
The Cemetery is still there, of course, as well as the Old Dutch Church. As we were walking the grounds, I think I just might have stumbled upon the grave of the Hessian.
I mean, who else would they want to keep locked up?!
It was not hard to imagine (even in the light of day) the Hessian beginning his ride out of that grave, and trotting down the hill. All the graves are lined up, facing this path, as though they are cheering him on while he rides.
There is not much of a bridge left at all. More of a site-marker.
I found a weathered and slightly yellowed copy of Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow after we got home from our Labor Day trip to New York. You really owe it to yourself to sit down one of these few remaining October nights and read the story (by firelight, if at all possible). The language is just fantastic. The story has stood the test of time, and it remains today one of the very best scary stories I have ever read.
“There was a contagion in the very air that blew from that haunted region; it breathed forth an atmosphere of dreams and fancies infecting all the land.”
As always, we log our adventures inside our “Play” Journal, by Stealth Journals. “Play,” is an indexed book journal by Stealth Journals that should be used to record all of your good times.