You set off on the English House Trail. The stillness of the pine forest is remarkable, and you can feel the soft needles under the snow in some places. From time to time, you pause and glance down deep rows of trees, still in the alignment laid out by foresters decades ago. Small, newer trees have sprouted in between those lines. Every so often, you can see little shelters and lean-tos set up by other park-goers, probably over the summer when there were far more visitors.
The English House stands forlornly in the middle of a clearing, a bit crooked from standing there for centuries. Rickety picnic tables and crumbling stone grills poke out of the snow in various places on the expansive lawn and the gravel parking lot is empty. Around the house, there’s a locked portable toilet and a few sheds in various states of disrepair. Besides that, there’s not much to see. The house’s uneven windows are dark and you can’t see anything inside. After a quick lunch, eaten standing up, you decide to head back.