The Enemy's Name

Let me clear up something about the name of this road, because there's an irony in it that most folks never catch. It's called the Mohawk Trail. But the Mohawk didn't live here.

The people who lived in these hills and this valley were the Pocumtuck and the Mahican and their kin — valley farmers and fishers who'd been here for countless generations. The Mohawk were something else. They were one of the five nations of the mighty Iroquois, and their country was far to the west, over in what's now New York. They were feared fighting men, the Mohawk, and this trail — this very path — was the road they came down. West to east, out of the sunset, to raid.

And they were terrifyingly good at it. Back in the sixteen-sixties there was a war between the Mohawk and the Pocumtuck, and the Mohawk broke them — came down this trail and shattered the valley nation so badly it never truly recovered. To the people who lived here, this path wasn't a scenic route. It was the direction death came from. The word itself, in the old valley language, is said to have meant something like 'man-eaters' — that's how the local people spoke of the Mohawk.

So think on that as you drive. The road is named not for the folks whose home this was, but for the dreaded enemy who used it against them — the way you might name a mountain pass for the army that always came through it. History's a funny, hard thing. The prettiest drive in New England wears the name of the valley's oldest fear. Doesn't make the view any less lovely. But it's the truth under the name, and now you know it.