The Rutherfurd Stuyvesant Estate
This desolate property
means a lot to us. On a personal note – It was the very first
abandoned location which we ever explored together, as a collective
that would later become Antiquity Echoes. These frail old homes,
forgotten in the forest, are all that remains of the Rutherfurd
Stuyvesant estate. Modern times contain but a few scraps from what
was, not terribly long ago, a beautiful and influential homestead.
The elegance of this place has long since been extinguished by
vandals, stolen away by illegal scrappers, and veiled by way of the
ever-encroaching forest. Today one could drive right past the old
estate, never having known that they did so. The only clue given is a
gnarled dirt road bearing the name of the family who's estate once
stood where now a thick forest grows.
The grand mansion of the
property surrendered itself to flames many years ago, leaving only an
overgrown field where once it proudly stood. Orphaned, the remainder
of the buildings on the property sit, and slowly sink into ruin. To
us though, the significance found here was never directly related to
the history of the property, but rather how this house adapted to
unmaintained life in the woods. As with most places that become
abandoned; once left alone, these buildings can become something else
entirely. Gone are the pristine lawns and manicured pathways;
replaced with tall grass, weeds, and thorns. The bright washes of the
house's exterior, faded, stained, and ensnared by the growth of the
forest. The bustling of life within the walls has long since passed.
All that endures here now are the hushed sounds of a slow decay... and the deranged ramblings of a mysterious author scrawled upon the walls.
For well over a decade now this property has become a home of sorts for an unknown person we have come to call the "Profane Poet". This is not just any form of graffiti however, what is found here would better be described as various forms of madness, and it is heavily poured upon the walls, ceilings, floors, and literally everywhere in between. Vulgar writings, primarily directed at a few choice people, namely Palmer and a Mark. Adding further to the eeriness of the unhinged writing is the fact that the poet returns periodically to write over any text that has faded with age. This would suggest that not only is the person behind these writings very angry, but also obsessive to a severe degree about keeping his or her messages legible.
Eloquently stated.
This is one of the few locations where a disembodied infant leg isn't out-of-place.
We returned on a winter night to photograph the estate under a full moon.
As of the earl morning hours of April 26th, 2017, the largest and most prominent of the houses on the old Rutherfurd estate land is no more. It was was consumed by flames in the night, not unlike the namesake mansion which was lost decades ago. The following photos were provided by Dennis Deganan of the Allamuchy Township Fire Dept.
A ill-suited end to what was once an estate of great renown.