Dutton Passionate About His Place
By Cornelia Cesari

John Dutton volunteers his time every Tuesday researching Chelsea's ancient roads. (Herald / Cornelia Cesari)

"Place-based" is a common catch phrase now, in education and community movements. John Dutton embodies the potential power of the concept. He loves this place. A native of Bethel, and self-proclaimed wanderer, he hazards that there isn’t a corner of the White River watershed he hasn’t explored.

Dutton is passionate about the history of this place and has traveled extensively, on foot (he doesn’t drive)—from Granville, to Pittsfield, to Rochester—combing the woods in search of old roads, cemeteries, cellar holes, and stone walls.

Dutton taught math, mechanical drawing, and surveying (his previous career) at Chelsea School from 1963-83. He was an active community member; some still share memories of him riding his bicycle around town, working diligently in his yard on Main Street, taking students out surveying around town, or playing in the marching band.

An accomplished musician, Dutton plays trombone, bass clarinet, cello and tuba: "the bigger, the better," he muses. He has played in the South Royalton band since 1955, except for a couple of summers working for the Forest Service, when he was too far away.

The recent state "ancient roads" legislation has sparked a renewed interest in, and focus on, the subject Dutton loves most. Suddenly, everyone is looking for experts in this very precise art which is perfectly suited to his skill set. He has done this type of research in 24 towns and is in high demand.

After teaching, Dutton returned to Bethel, but still feels a strong connection to Chelsea, and offered his services with the ancient roads project. He has volunteered about 20 hours of his time in Chelsea alone, poring through books of records, deeds, and old maps. He painstakingly draws routes, based on surveyors’ descriptions, then overlays them on topographical sheets.

"You can tell this is a Chelsea road," Dutton chuckles, eyeing a sheet of graph paper adorned with a winding black curl. "The terrain here dictates the route." He compares maps from different decades of the 19^th century, and reflects on accounts from Comstock and local friends.

"There’s something very exciting about this work," Dutton observes, in his intentional, measured tone. He handles a leather bound book, reverently turning its thick, yellowed pages and admiring the faded ornate lettering. "It’s highly analytical. But, it’s like solving mysteries."

The clues are scattered. They lie in the woods, in the slight sags and hollows of the landscape; they lie in the records sequestered in the vaults of town halls; and in the memories of elders who remember the words of elders long gone.

"I was always a good listener," Dutton explains. "I asked questions and listened to the stories." He acknowledges the responsibility of holding the histories shared with him by elders such as Marjorie Bacon and Max Hayward. He, in turn, is passing on the stories.

Ken Colby, who has been giving Dutton rides to Chelsea every Tuesday to research, says he loves the drives, and notes, "I could just listen to him all day. He told me all about the Royalton Raid, last week—the real story, and there’s no end to his knowledge."

Chelsea Town Clerk Diane Mattoon concurs.

"I love having John in here," she says. "I’ve learned more from him in three days… He gets me going, he really does! I find myself going through the maps and books at night now. I love this work, too."

When Dutton has pieced together the clues, volunteers will take over the next phase of the project, heading off across fields and through the woods with his map in one hand and a GPS in the other, to create a permanent record of his dedication to this place.

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