Halcott: Where you can't get there from here

HALCOTT―Nestled in the Catskill Mountains, there's a place where the old saying “You can't get there from here” is more than just an expression. It's a way of life.

The Town of Halcott stands as one of Greene County’s most distinctive communities—a quiet valley ringed by peaks that has preserved its rural character for generations. With a population of 249 according to the 2020 U.S. Census, down slightly from 258 in 2010, Halcott remains a place of isolation by design, where the pace is slow, the views timeless and the connection to the land runs deep.

Locals pronounce it “Hawk-it.” Visitors tend to say “Hal-cot.” Longtime resident Margaret “Peggy” DiBenedetto says the pronunciation is one quick way to tell who's from here.

A biologist who earned her degree in Texas—the only time she lived away from Halcott— DiBenedetto returned home and now works in land management for the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation.

“This is wonderful,” she says. “I get paid to hike, and Greene County is my favorite place in the world, especially for hiking.”

Her work gives her a unique perspective on the land and vegetation of her home valley. She is also the author of two books. Silver Dollar Girls is about a young woman who flees New York City during the coronavirus pandemic for her family's Catskills farmhouse and discovers her great-grandmother's secret diary from her time as a World War II pilot.  The children's book Ebony Bear: A Nurturing Ursine Learns a Lesson tells of a mother black bear who teaches her three cubs to navigate the wilds.

The earliest settlement date documented in 19th-century county history is 1809, when Helmus Chrysler cleared land and built a house in the valley. Earlier attempts to settle the area, dating to around 1790, had apparently been temporary.

The area had long been a hunting ground for Native Americans, including the Munsee Lenape and Esopus people, Indigenous groups with historical ties to the Catskill Mountains and Hudson Valley. Historical accounts from the late 19th century identify a man named Froman as the last Native American resident of the valley. He lived near a spring where Halcott Center Road crosses the Delaware County line, fishing the clear streams and hunting until encroaching farms and the “rattling of the white man's implements of agriculture” drove the deer away.

One morning, the stories say, he “followed his shadow” and was gone. There is no marked grave recorded in the county histories, although local retellings sometimes place him just outside the town line.

Originally part of a larger settlement connected with Lexington, Halcott broke away in 1851 and took its name from Greene County Sheriff George Washington Halcott. The state Legislature formally recognized the new town the following year.

What makes Halcott unusual, even by mountain standards, is its geography. Although part of Greene County, the town is geographically isolated from the rest of the county by the Catskill Mountains. There are no direct public roads connecting Halcott to the rest of Greene County, meaning residents must travel through neighboring Delaware or Ulster counties to reach other Greene County communities.

“It's unusual that residents have to drive all the way around the mountains for an hour in order to reach their county seat in Catskill,” DiBenedetto said.

Shirts sold in town capture the spirit of the place. The front reads “You can't get here from there,” and on the back: “You can't get there from here.”

But for generations, those mountain crossings were possible, even if difficult.

An 1867 Beers atlas map shows five roads leading toward what is now Bouton Road, the early center of the settlement. Former Halcott Town Historian Audrey Johnson noted in a 1972 report that the road network dated to the 1820s.

Local historical research published in The Times of Halcott by Pattie Kelder in 2021 and 2022, drawing on maps, photographs, oral histories and earlier accounts, reconstructs the principal routes:

Turk Hollow Road was the “dance road.” It climbed into Lexington and continued toward Westkill. Longtime resident Virgil Streeter remembered taking a horse and buggy over it to attend town dances. At the top was a small Grange lean-to where travelers could rest. The road was still listed as public in 1956, but by the late 1960s, the woods had reclaimed it.

Mead Road was the “town road.” It forked toward Lexington village, connecting families to Beech Ridge Road and Route 42. Traces of the old route can still be seen today.

Old Vly Road didn't follow the creek as it does now. Instead, it cut across open fields toward the Bouton family farm and the old cemetery. Its path remained visible for years because cows continued walking it, and the steep terrain prevented plows from erasing it.

Halcott Mountain Road connected the end of County Route 3 with County Route 2 in Lexington, heading toward Route 23A near Mosquito Point. Portions remain in use today, although the route has changed over time.

Researchers also searched for evidence of a fifth road over Bearpen Mountain, but maps from 1867 and 1960, along with aerial photographs from 1959, do not confirm its existence, suggesting it may have been little more than a hunters' or loggers' path.

Precise opening and closing dates for the roads are not always recorded. Some routes remained in use into the 20th century before gradually disappearing beneath the vegetation.

In 1967, a proposal for a modern six-mile highway connecting County Routes 2 and 3 was surveyed, along with an alternative route featuring a longer, gentler grade. Neither was built amid questions involving funding, politics and rights-of-way through the Forest Preserve. A scenic-route proposal under the Highway Beautification Act of 1965 also went unrealized.

The mountain roads were abandoned primarily because they became too difficult and expensive to maintain for the limited traffic they carried. Steep grades, erosion, winter snow and the decline of mountain farming all contributed to their disappearance.

For much of Halcott's history, those roads had served a thriving farm community. Agriculture, particularly dairy and the raising of hay, corn, goats and cattle, dominated life well into the mid-20th century. As many as 35 operating farms were still counted in 1948, and DiBenedetto's father continued farming into the 1960s.

As farms closed, the remote roads lost much of their economic purpose. Hurricane Irene washed out sections of modern roads in 2011, including portions of Route 3, but the older mountain routes had largely disappeared through decades of overgrowth and disuse.

In 1982, the town considered restoring some of the old roads, but many residents opposed the idea, preferring the peace and quiet of their secluded community.

“We want to keep this place rural, very slow paced,” DiBenedetto says.

Today, the Grange Hall still stands as the heart of the small community. Originally a creamery built in 1889, it was purchased by Greene Valley Grange No. 881 in 1914 and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

Over the years, it hosted hundreds of town meetings, elaborate Christmas parties and pageants featuring children's choirs, abundant food and even visits from Santa, courtesy of the nearby Fleischmanns Fire Department.

The old Virgil Streeter convenience store doubled as the post office, where local beekeepers also sold their honey. The post office closed in 1985, and mail service was consolidated with Fleischmanns, changing Halcott's original 12437 ZIP code to 12430.

Many amenities and services come from neighboring Fleischmanns. Halcott's United Methodist Church remains one of the community's important gathering places, with a long history of worship and Sunday school.

Today, on a quiet weekend, DiBenedetto says, “you might see only 50 cars in an entire weekend here in town.”

Many residents are retirees drawn to the isolation, peace and quiet, while others commute to jobs in Ulster or Delaware counties.

But noticeable over the years, DiBenedetto notes, is an increase in visitors.

“Hikers pass through more often,” she says. “The surrounding mountains make us a popular destination for that, of course.”

She also recalls the surge in property interest during the COVID-19 pandemic when strangers frequently knocked on residents' doors asking whether they would consider selling their homes or land.

Another significant change was the arrival of high-speed internet. And even Hollywood found its way to Halcott briefly.

Jim Jarmusch's 2019 zombie comedy The Dead Don't Die, starring Bill Murray, used the old Grange Hall, transformed into a creepy, abandoned gas station, during several weeks of filming in the area.

DiBenedetto's brother-in-law’s cows were supposed to appear in the movie but refused to cooperate when it came time to chase the star around.

When asked what there is to do for fun, DiBenedetto lights up.

“We love the snow,” she says.

Snowmobiling is a popular pastime among residents. Locals also venture to abandoned ski resorts such as No Name and Bearpen to explore the old slopes and trails.

DiBenedetto’s family has owned the property for generations and placed it under a conservation easement “to keep the place pristine.” They intend to pass it down to their grandchildren.

“This place is in our blood,” she says.

Each of her siblings lives on the property, and DiBenedetto now watches the next generation climb the same stone walls and trees she explored as a child.

The farms, valleys and fields, she insists, “all look exactly the same as they did when I was growing up.”

That sense of continuity extends beyond the landscape. In an age of constant connection, Halcott remains a bastion of quiet—with those who call it home content to stay just out of ordinary reach.

DiBenedetto compares the town to the legendary Scottish village of Brigadoon, a mysterious, idyllic place hidden among the mountains, where residents live apart from the troubles of the outside world and the village appears to outsiders only once every 100 years.

“That is what Halcott is for us locals,” she said.

“We cherish our isolation in this town,” DiBenedetto said. “We actually prefer being cut off from the rest of the world as it has worked like a time capsule to preserve the small town.”