Rokeby MuseumContact Us
Rokeby Museum | Lindsay Houpt-Varner, PhD, Executive Director
4334 Route 7 | Ferrisburgh, VT 05456
802.877.3406 | director@rokeby.org
We are currently closed for the season. We look forward to welcoming everyone back when we reopen in May. We have exciting things planned for 2024.
For detailed directions from your location, click on the red arrow on the map, then click on “get directions” and enter the address you are coming from.
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This #GivingTuesday consider a donation to Rokeby Museum. Your support enables the museum to share the human experience of the Underground Railroad and the history of the four generations of Robinsons that lived at the site. https://rokeby.org/support/
#givingtuesday #rokebymuseum #history #nationallandmark
View
Nov 28
Open
November`s first storm at Rokeby evoke the prose of Rowland Evans Robinson...
🍂❄️ November Voices ❄️🍂
With flowers and leaves, the bird songs have faded out, and the hum and chirp of insect life, the low and bleat of herds and flocks afield, and the busy sounds of husbandry have grown infrequent. There are lapses of such silence that the ear aches for some audible signal of life; and then to appease it there comes with the rising breeze the solumn murmur of the pines like the song of the sea on distant shores, the sibilant whisper of the dead herbage, the clatter of dried pods, and the fitful stir of fallen leaves, like a scurry of ghostly feet fleeing in affright at the sounds of thier own passage.
-RER, In New England Fields and Woods, 1896
View
Nov 1
Open
This #GivingTuesday consider a donation to Rokeby Museum. Your support enables the museum to share the human experience of the Underground Railroad and the history of the four generations of Robinsons that lived at the site. https://rokeby.org/support/
#givingtuesday #rokebymuseum #history #nationallandmark
Nov 28
November`s first storm at Rokeby evoke the prose of Rowland Evans Robinson...
🍂❄️ November Voices ❄️🍂
With flowers and leaves, the bird songs have faded out, and the hum and chirp of insect life, the low and bleat of herds and flocks afield, and the busy sounds of husbandry have grown infrequent. There are lapses of such silence that the ear aches for some audible signal of life; and then to appease it there comes with the rising breeze the solumn murmur of the pines like the song of the sea on distant shores, the sibilant whisper of the dead herbage, the clatter of dried pods, and the fitful stir of fallen leaves, like a scurry of ghostly feet fleeing in affright at the sounds of thier own passage.
-RER, In New England Fields and Woods, 1896
Nov 1
