Rhode Island Scavenger Hunt
Rhode Island begins, as so many great things do, with a refusal. When Roger Williams was cast out of the Massachusetts Bay Colony for his radical belief that religion should be kept far from the grasp of government, he did not retreat—he reimagined. On the rocky banks of Narragansett Bay, he founded a community where liberty of conscience was not only permitted, but protected. In time, this smallest of states would distinguish itself not by brawn or breadth, but by its stubborn commitment to independence, dissent, and invention.
Here is a place where mills whirred before the Revolution, where steeples pierced the skyline beside masts, and where foodways and byways—from clam cakes to cliff walks—speak to a people never far from the sea, nor from the spirit of self-definition. Rhode Island was the first colony to renounce allegiance to the British crown, and the last to sign the Constitution, holding out until liberty was written into its heart.
What it lacks in square mileage, it compensates for in contradiction and character: a thicket of stone walls and quiet inlets, marble façades and milltown grit. You will find stories stitched into the very fabric of its diners and domes, its brine-salted bridges and summer stages. Every corner yields a surprise, and every surprise tells a truth about what it means to be a state born of principle and tempered by perseverance.
The photos and stories collected here are a fast and fun way to learn the explanations behind the quirks, the traditions and the secrets that make Rhode Island uniquely Rhode Island. The building invented in Rhode Island that transformed the military? Solved. Where to find hockey-style side-by-side dugouts on a baseball field? Mystery solved. The oldest merry-go-round in America with horses suspended from chains? Identified. The clubhouse where players in golf’s first U.S. Open changed their shoes? Revealed.
Where beavers point and breakers roll, A granite tower plays its role— To guard the bay and calm the shoal. It’s watched the wars, it’s braved the squalls, Its steadfast eye on all that calls— To Rhode Island’s rugged coastal walls.
Five towns once claimed the power seat, But only two would keep the feat— Still, Bristol's house stood strong and neat. From court to ruin, rise again, A dollar bought it back from then— Two centuries tall on Bristol’s glen.
Where outfield trees might steal a run, And curving bleachers face the sun— Newport's ballgame's never done. A diamond tucked in city bends, Where railmen played and joy extends— And summer league tradition lends.
No mansion barred the ocean’s view, Where fishermen and hikers drew— A path both public and askew. Through hurricanes and noble wrath, The Forty Steps still line the path— A chartered right in granite’s bath.
With sugar, tea, and China’s gold, The Griswolds rose, their stories bold— In Stick-style wood both trim and cold. Now brushes paint where profits swayed, An artist’s home where lines cascade— And Hunt’s first Newport plan was laid.
Where boilers once the ships empowered, A golden hall of books now towered— By Wilcox's dream and dollars showered. With bowling, books, and vet parade, It honors those who duty paid— And knowledge in their names displayed.