My goal is to visit every small town in CT. Today I visited Norfolk.
Established in 1758, with a population of only 1,588, Norfolk is Connecticut’s seventh smallest town by population. However, with an area of 45.31 square miles, it is larger in size than Bridgeport and Hartford combined.
For reasons unclear to me, the locals pronounce the name of the town Norfork. I always thought it was Norf’k, like the town in England.
I have actually visited Norfolk many times, because it lies right in the middle of the area where, for the past 30 years or so, I have been enjoying motorcycle rides and long drives. Sometimes on the way up to Stockbridge, sometimes just out for the sake of a ride.
Our first stop was Haystack Mountain. We were able to ride our motorcycles almost all the way to the top, where we parked and then climbed the rest of the way. Reaching the 1,673 foot summit, we were greeted by the famous tower.
There was originally a wooden tower here, commissioned by prominent Norfolk resident Robbins Battell in 1886. It was one of two towers commissioned by Mr. Battell, the other being the stone tower atop Bear Mountain, built in 1885, and long since collapsed.
Both towers were built in reaction to a claim by The Encyclopedia Britannica that there were no summits in Connecticut higher than 1,000 feet. Battell was incensed by this claim, and hired a surveyor. Upon being vindicated, he either purchased or leased the land, and proceeded to erect two towers.
I like to think that Mrs. Battell was well and truly tired of hearing about those scoundrels from The Encyclopedia Britannica.
The wooden tower was destroyed in a storm, and a new masonry tower was built in 1929 by Ellen Battell Stoeckel (daughter of Robbins Battell) in memory of her husband Carl.
Translation: To thy God, to thy country, to thy family, to thy town be thou ever faithful.
A short series of stone steps will bring a person to the top of the tower.
Due to smoke from the Canadian wildfires, the view was not the best I have ever seen, but still Connecticut’s Northwest corner revealed some of her subtle charm.
For lunch, we stopped at The Norfolk Pub. I have been coming here off and on for probably 25 years or more, and while it has changed hands and names a few times, it remains much the same as it has always been, inside and out.
It looks like Jairo is having his sixth pee break of the day, right there at the base of that sign. He never misses an opportunity.
Here I am, having finished a beer and a very nice chicken sandwich.
I remember when I first came here years ago, the pub was owned by an Englishman, and it was one of the few places I knew of to get a really good beer in Connecticut. This was before the craft beer scene had swept the country, so if you wanted good beer, it had to be an import, and he knew what he was doing as far as curating a good menu of imports.
If I’m not mistaken, back then it was just called “The Pub.’ I guess when you’re the only game in town for >45 square miles, you get to just call yourself “The Pub.”
I always sit in the bar, but as you can see through the alcove here, they do have a proper dining room as well.
They still have a small, well-curated selection of beers on tap, but now they are all local micro-brews. Progress does march on, even in this nice little small-town time capsule. As much as I enjoy all the local breweries, there was a part of me that missed all the English ales. The past tempts us all.
I enjoyed my day in Norfolk. This is one town I will always return to, and when I do you can bet I’ll be stopping for lunch at “The Pub.”