Let's just be up front here: depending on where you stand in relation to it, any standing stone, anywhere in the world, can point to the Winter Solstice.

That doesn't mean that there's an intended alignment, though.

In the early 19^th century, for reasons unknown, a Yankee farmer named Jonathan Pattee covered a hill near North Salem, Connecticut, with drystone walls and rock-built chambers. There's nothing here that other New England farmers of the same period didn't build, but Pattee took it to extremes. Perhaps we may best—using the felicitous 18^th architectural term—describe his life's work as a “folly.”

Today the site goes by the grandiose (and rather silly) name of America's Stonehenge. Back when I was new in Craftdom, it was called Mystery Hill—a much better name, really.

(The former tells, the latter entices. The latter opens the door; the former slams it shut.)

Many claims have been made for the site, all unproven. Vikings, Irish monks, and peripatetic ancient Celts are only a few of those claimed as its builders.

Quack history has its own fashions. Back when the “megalithic yard” was in style, megalithic yards suddenly sprouted up all over AS/MH. Then, when archaeo-astronomy became au courant, heretofore unregarded standing stones were suddenly discovered to point to the solstice, equinox, and cross-quarter sunrises.

Take, for example, the claimed Winter Solstice alignment. It's not a large stone, admittedly, but with an avenue cleared through the forest between it and the point of Winter Solstice sunrise, it sure looks impressive.

But it isn't really.

It takes two points to define a line.

Stand in the right place, and you can draw a line from any given standing stone in the world to the point on the horizon where the Sun rises on the day of the Winter Solstice.

Unless, though, there's somewhere clearly indicated for the observer to stand—what's known as a backsight— that fact proves nothing.

Don't get me wrong: I like Mystery Hill. Back in the 70s, a postcard circulated of an Alexandrian coven doing a ritual there. Not only did they let the witches do ritual there, but they publicized it. That you've gotta love.

I've never been there myself. If I were in the neighborhood, though, would I go? You bet I would.

I would even consider going on the morning of the Winter Solstice to watch the Sun rise in a genuine—if modern—alignment.

But that's why I prefer the site's old name. The new one—unless it's speaking metaphorically, which seems something of a dubious proposition—makes insupportable and (frankly) untrue claims.

The old one, though, tells the truth. Why the f*ck did Jonathan Pattee go to all this bother in the first place?

Frankly, we'll never know.