We took a ride on Veterans Day. We had a destination, and some business to do, but it was a beautiful warm sunny day, maybe the last gasp of fall before winter creeps in, and so it was a pleasure drive as well. We drove from Bath to Canandaigua, along what some have called “the road to the grapes and the pies.”
We could have gone along Route 415 out to Kanona, and then north on 53. But we elected the more direct course, along County Route 13, or Mitchellsville Road. This takes you out of Bath proper through three-generational Bluegill Farms, with its small apple orchard, small fock of sheep and some cattle, amongst extensive planted fields. It’s like someone drew a line with a ruler as you pass from the built-up village to farm country. Deer pass in and out pretty frequently (one bumped into Joyce’s car one evening, with no damage to either). Coyotes howl at night, and the occasional bear lumbers through.
The harvested fields are a magnet for flocks of geese and gulls, especially at this time of year. A little quieter just now is Hickory Hill Camping Resort, which just a few weeks ago was humming with dozens of RVs and campers, not to mention the cabins, pools, pond, and miniature golf. A spur trail here climbs straight up the slope to join the Finger Lakes Trail along the ridge.
We cross the FLT main trail just before reaching the hamlet of Mitchellsville with its little cemetery and its Methodist church. We’re now in well-wooded Wheeler, and we pass several ponds that are well-loved haunts of muskrats and waterfowl before crossing the Bristol Hills Branch of the FLT. When we come out at State Route 53, where we’re back in farm country.
Since we’re turning north here we just miss the hamlet of Wheeler with its Methodist church, Grange rooms, town hall, and monument to Marcus Whitman. A hundred years ago and more Wheeler was tobacco country, and if you look sharp you may spot an old tobacco barn set back from the road.
As we cruise on northward along a pretty nice road we pass the Wheeler family cemetery, where town namesake Silas Wheeler, a Revolutionary War soldier, lies buried with his kin. Passing farm after farm we keep a sharp lookout, for we are now in horse-and-buggy country. Conservative Anabaptists have been taking up the hill farms that modern folks find uncompetitive, building up Wheeler’s population and economy.
Driving toward Prattsburgh we pass an egg farm and an octagon house (popularized by Orson Squire Fowler of Cohocton) before reaching the village itself, with its pioneer cemetery and its fine tree-lined square, long the scene of parades, footraces, and all sorts of community celebrations.
Captain Pratt was another veteran of the Revolution, and the square in his namesake village is now lined with churches, businesses, the library, the post office, and the school. Franklin Academy is a venerable institution. It goes back to the early 1800s – in the same spot on the square, I believe, though not in the same building of course. Franklin boys marched off to the Civil War in huge numbers, and to the big wars of the 20th century. Narcissa Prentiss Whitman was an alumna, and her nearby home is now open to the public.
Leaving the village we climb an impressive hill, and as we reach the top Joyce reminisces about how she and our older son drove through here in November 1995, just before we moved to Bath from Bloomfield. They almost turned back at this point, but pushed on, and we hadn’t lived in the area very long before we learned that the top of this hill is often the site for mini-snow squalls and mini-rain storms, sort of like I-86 around Campbell. Both stretches have their own microclimates.
Now we’re back in the woods, and hilly woods at that, on a winding road. There’s a bit of a flat at Ingleside, a little hamlet that few people know about, and fewer still realize lies in Steuben County. On our way back, when the sun’s in a better position, I’ll photograph the still-active church for Historical Society files.
Right around the county line we meet another line, this time of wind turbines. Most of us locally seem to take these in stride, but when I guide out-of-state bus tours through this stretch I find that they’re always fascinated by the huge turning blades. Of course you need the right blend of topography, population pattern, wind direction, wind speed, and wind consistency to make wind farming work, so it makes sense that many people won’t have first-hand experience with it.
Then down another steep hill and… Naples, with its mile-long Main Street, where we once again cross the Bristol Hills Trail. Naples with its summer theater, lovely homes, busy restaurants, surrounding ridges, and striking Catholic church. Naples with its vineyard and winery right in the middle of town and its high school right on Main Street; I always expect to see Archie, Betty, and Veronica out front.
Past Naples (now on State 21) we just clip a corner of Yates County before arriving at Woodville, and the head of Canandaigua Lake. The road winds, the bare-rock cliff looms on the left, and the hamlet clings to the bank of the lake on the right. Like all of our lakes it’s a beautiful sight, but we soon turn away until reaching Bristol Springs. Here again Route 21 parallels the lake, but now we’re high on the overlooking ridge, and we get only glimpses of it. Sad to say, there are very few places to pull off and enjoy the view.
Cheshire is a busy little hamlet, where a former school is home to a country store from whose sign a Cheshire cat grins down on us. A few farms line the route now, but before long it’s suburban stretches, and then at last, Canandaigua. Definitely, a decent drive.