August 12, 2017, Superior-
You approached me,
as one adult to another,
from the get-go, this afternoon.
I felt your need to let the music,
that is inside you,
be given voice and melody.
We talked of a way,
in which I might help,
in that regard,
and next Saturday,
I will bring that help.
You are strong,
brave,
honest.
One can never have
too many friends.
I’m glad to have you as one,
and honoured
that you’re letting me be one,
in return.
July 20, 2017, Hagerstown-
I left Philadelphia, yesterday evening, with minimal trouble. It seemed that, at some point, there were more people coming INTO the city, than were leaving. I drove through the northern third of Delaware, bypassing Wilmington, going through bustling Newark- seat of the University of Delaware (both cities are on the itinerary for July, 2018) and across Maryland’s northern tier, through Thurmont (not a sleepy, bucolic town, but a modern, virtual bedroom town of Frederick- itself a bedroom town to Baltimore and Washington) and Frederick, where I stopped just in time for a police car to head to its emergency. I continued a few miles further, and stopped for the night in Hagerstown, intending to spend the morning exploring this city that once signified an enclave of antebellum Southern thinking, just shy of the Mason-Dixon Line.
I heard that there is still a lot of progress to be made here, in race relations. That is pretty much how it is everywhere. Human relations always need work. I am not in favour of demolishing relics that we might find disturbingly reflective of outmoded ways of thinking, but I do believe we must USE such monuments and artifacts to educate people on the excesses of the past, so that we may, as a people, do better towards one another, now and in the future.
Hagerstown does not maintain any sites that pay homage to racist thinking, and in fact promotes visits to sites that commemorate Black History in the city. I have kept a brochure on the subject, for a future visit. Meanwhile, today’s visit focused on the north end of downtown and on City Park, with its duck pond, acres of beautiful woods and its art museum. Jonathan Hager House, with a small historical museum, sits on the north end of the park. It was closed today, though.
Let’s start with a look at the north end of downtown.
The nice ladies in this Welcome Center provided me with a wealth of information about the historic sites in the area- and gave directions to Antietam, which will take up my afternoon and evening.
Street art is not common, at this end of town, but what there is, is upbeat and colourful.
There were two windows, devoted to the dissemination of wisdom, in this building. The saying on the left has pretty much been my credo, for many years now.
The above left could have been said by Honest Abe, Thomas Edison, the Wright Brothers- or Ed Wood.
I proceeded to note some architectural gems. Here’s St. John’s Lutheran Church.
The fire station has endured a great many storms.
Every town, that has an active theater troupe, is blessed. This is the Maryland Theatre’s centenary.
It was time for lunch, so I took my deli stash, and headed for City Park. Nothing beats a picnic table, overlooking the water.
There are water fowl galore here, and the pond is well-stocked with fish.
The forest is healthy, and well-populated, by various animals. I came across a couple of fellow humans, washing their hair at a water pump. Those who do live in the park, pick up after themselves, quite nicely.
The trail to the museum wends past the ducks and their happy home.
The upper picnic area is well-suited for larger groups.
This purposeful being greets the visitor to Washington County Museum of Art, founded, in 1929, by William and Anna Singer. Diana, accompanied by her trusty dog, was fashioned by Anna Hyatt Huntington.
The museum features a full range of artistic media. There are two cases of exquisite blown glass.
I have selected only a couple of scenes, inside the facility, as this is already a long post. One painting, among the many fine pieces, stood out to me: Hugo Bailin’s “Earth Forces”.
One of the loveliest features of this museum is its Saturday Morning gallery, which showcases the work of area children.
Lastly, here is the delightful Atrium.
I am providing links to the places I visit, from here on out and will see if WordPress will allow me to back-edit, and provide links to places I have visited thus far.
Here is: http://wcmfa.org/, which, unfortunately you’ll have to type in yourselves.
I ended this Hagerstown excursion with a look at the closed Jonathan Hager House.
NEXT: Antietam National Battlefield
July 19, 2017, Philadelphia-
Whilst waiting for some family members to meet me at downtown Philadelphia’s Cafe Ole,
I spotted an intriguing wall, across the street from the coffee house:
A brief walk showed that this belonged to a museum and art gallery, the Center for Art in Wood. I spent about an hour, in the astonishing museum, which showcases both the traditional plank art of northern Europe and several contemporary pieces, from around the globe. Several variations use the root word, Mangle, meaning cut, as their base. Below, is a Danish piece, called a manglebraette.
Bear with me, I am taking the liberty of interspersing the traditional ware with contemporary pieces. This one, by an American, Michael Scarborough, celebrates Buddhism.
Australian artist, Ashley Eriksmoen, presents this Judeo-Christian piece.
Who wants a wooden sheep?
These Icelandic pieces are examples of that nation’s trafakefli traditional craft.
Sweden’s variation is known as mangelbraden.
Norway’s woodcraft, mangletraer, is displayed at the front of the exhibit. Some pieces are in glass cases.
Finland adopted the art form, as well, and is the easternmost country in which the mangleplank tradition took root. Its form is called kaulauslandet.
Surprisingly, it is the Netherlands which is credited with originating the art form. Merchants of the Hanseatic League spread it to the Nordic lands. The Dutch form is called mangelplanken.
The variety, in both styles and uses, of woodcraft could capture one’s interest for hours, I think.
Here are a couple of other contemporary pieces.
I will definitely be back here, next summer, at the very least as a customer-for one of the gallery shop’s more utilitarian pieces, while learning more about plank art. I, who whittled as a child, could possibly fashion something of use, one of these fine days.
July 19, 2017, Philadelphia-
In the past, we would drive along and bypass the large cities of the East Coast, Boston and Washington being exceptions. I have continued to do so, pretty much, since Penny’s passing. With Philadelphia being the venue for a major family event, next summer, and with my brother and sister-in-law being here for a visit, I made my way into town for two days. This was the second day. I was on my own until 4 PM, as the family had to tend to planning activities.
So, after saying farewell to my nephew, at Brandywine, some downtown Philly time was in order. My first stop, after parking the Hyundai, was Penn’s Landing. Here, William Penn did disembark his boat, after sailing up the Delaware River, in 1682. He’d be amazed at what is there now. I walked along the pedestrian bridge and along the overlook, watching people in the pop-up amusement park, below.
After purchasing a bottle of water, from one of the ubiquitous vendors, who line Penn’s Landing, in summer, I found I-95 park, perched above the freeway. It is a shady place of comfort for those living on the Near South Side, and has several remnants of what dominated the area, before the City of Brotherly Love.
It also has a couple of statues honouring the people of Celtic descent, who provided so much of the labour for building the cities of the megalopolis, from Boston to Norfolk. This statue pays homage to the Irish immigrants.
Next to it, another statue tips its collective hat to the Scots, who were so indispensable to shipbuilding, a Philadelphia mainstay.
This sculpture depicts a family walking past Tun Tavern, a key gathering place in early Philadelphia. This marker commemorates the site of the old public house, founded in 1686, and named for the Old English term for beer barrel.
Moving on, from I-95 Park, I spotted this early Twentieth Century office building, which may or may not have had a predecessor in this spot, which may or may not have been used by Benjamin Franklin, during one of his breaks from planning the Indian Wars, at Tun Tavern.
The Betsy Ross House had a private event this afternoon, so I gave a pass to going inside.
Like Boston and New York, Philadelphia is filled with little architectural gems, above doors, along windows and on walls. This wrought iron protects the window, in a most agreeable way.
I am most amenable to further exploration of this great city, especially next summer. My next post, though, will focus on one of Philly’s best kept secrets: The Center for Art in Wood.
What happened to Sixty-Six, for Sixty Six? Nothing, I have five posts left, in that series, and will insert them between now and November 28, when 66 ends.
July 19, 2017, Chadds Ford-
My nephew wanted to hit the trail, this morning, so after a few rendezvous snafus, due to differing GPS entries, we met at Birmingham Friends Meeting House, near the site of some of the heaviest fighting. The battle raged here, on September 11, 1777. Today, we were the only people on this little hill, south of Chadds Ford. The Brandywine Valley, today, is better known for its wineries, for the Wyeth family’s presence and for the Longwood and Main Fountain Gardens, than for one of the heaviest battles of the American Revolution.
Of course, without the battle, which showed the British victors that the war was far from over, it’s likely that all the beauty of this valley would be under entirely different auspices, today. We spent the first forty minutes of our visit, in and around Birmingham Friends Meeting House and its Peace Garden. First, though, here are a couple of views of the area that was the battle zone, 240 years ago, next month.
What is the province of grazing cows, today, was a harrowing encampment, for men on opposing sides, but all far from home. The hospital where all, regardless of loyalty, would be treated for their injuries, was in this modest building- then and now, a Quaker Meeting House.
Many of their fallen comrades would be buried, in a mass grave, on the south side of this cemetery. Hundreds lie here, with no regard for their ideology. All were viewed as humans, by the farmers of Birmingham Hill.
This plaque announces the Peace Garden of Birmingham Hill.
Again, the serenity of the day- with the distant echo of muskets and cannonade.
This verse, by John Donne, is one of several cogent quotes, placed carefully, throughout the Peace Garden.
William Sloane Coffin also offers a simple comment on the world of today.
A poignant expression of love, from a local farmer to his departed wife, signifies the ongoing daily life, around the battle and its aftermath.
After time for reflection, we headed to Brandywine State Museum, and spent an hour or so there, before walking to Washington’s Headquarters. The museum offers detailed exhibits of muskets, British rifles (which were largely responsible for the Royal Army’s early successes) and cannonry. It is, like the Museum of the American Revolution, a well-balanced institution.
In the nearby woods, this long-abandoned gazebo tells of how nature regards the vagaries of war. It grows over the remnants, and challenges us to unearth them.
This was Benjamin Ring’s root cellar. Mr. Ring was the host to General Washington, and his troops, who camped in the fields.
The Rings most likely stayed in this “servants’ quarters”, during the Revolutionaries’ encampment.
Here is the main farmhouse, where the General and his staff planned what turned out to be an inadequate strategy. Much was learned from the battle, though, and it was the hubris of the British, combined with French and Polish support for the Americans, which led to the rising of the Revolutionary forces, after Valley Forge.
With this, my nephew was off to pick up his little girl, from pre-school, and I was headed to Philadelphia, after a fabulous lunch, at this bustling, somewhat friendly establishment.
July 17-18, 2017, Philadelphia-
After treating my mother to breakfast, at Saugus’ downtown cafe, Hammersmith Inn, I bid farewell to the town of my childhood, and headed towards Pennsylvania, and more family bonding. My middle brother spent a good many of his working years in Pennsyvania, lastly in the Main Line precincts of Chester Springs. Two of his children still live in the Philadelphia area. He and my sister-in-law were here visiting, so this was a natural stop, for a day or so.
I took my now customary route, south and west, stopping first at Newtown, CT, where I have been intending to visit the small reflection area, where Sandy Hook Elementary stood, at the time of the massacre of 2012. I was, of course, unable to do that last year, with my car trouble. No such issue rose this year, so I stopped, prayed and reflected, with the new Sandy Hook Elementary School behind me, and many people carrying on the business of summer school.
Freedom allows people to make some odd choices, as those who threatened the lives of the victims’ families did, in the wake of the tragedy. Thankfully, no harm has come to any parents or siblings of those slain.
I drove down I- 84 & 81, at one point having to detour through Middletown, NY, ironically the place where I first took the dying Nissan, last summer. Again, there were no issues with my trusty Hyundai. I continued to a place which has come to feel much like home, these past six years: Glick’s Greenhouse, Oley. After a lovely welcoming dinner and some quiet time, I was honoured by this sunset:
The next morning, with a breakfast to match the dinner, I bid farewell to my Oley family. For those who remember Cider, the Glick’s old collie, Manny- his successor, is getting the hang of greenhouse life.
I headed south and east, into the Main Line area, and connected with my Georgia siblings, at their hotel, then went to a deli-style restaurant, in the town of Wayne. Nudy’s Cafe is a thoroughly tasteful establishment, with wonderful food and attentive, well-dressed servers.
After this repast, Dave and I headed to the Museum of the American Revolution, in downtown Philadelphia, experiencing relatively mild traffic, en route. The first sight greeting the visitor, in the area of 2nd St and Chestnut, is a statue of Pennsylvania’s founder: William Penn.
The Museum of the American Revolution, itself, is less than a block from this little square. It is just south of the domed building in the foreground.
The entrance posits the challenge that may well have been a battle cry, in the years just prior to the outright rebellion.
I stood in front of the copper engraving depicting the First Continental Congress.
The Declaration of Independence is adjacent to the museum entrance, as well.
Inside, the Museum offers a complete, and well-balanced depiction of the experiences of both sides, in the conflict, and of those trapped in the middle- the merchants and the Quaker pacifists. Most of the exhibits did not lend themselves to photography, being in dimmer light, with no flash photography allowed. I did get a few shots, first being the Philadelphia Liberty Tree.
The Patriots were not, at least initially, a unified force. Disagreements between townsmen of the Northeast and woodsmen from the Appalachians and the Ohio Valley had to be mediated, with George Washington reportedly directly intervening, at least once. The boy on the lower left recalled this, in his memoirs, later in life.
The more iconic scene, of Washington crossing the Delaware River, is also given prominence.
The plight of African-American slaves, who were not uncommon in the northern colonies, any more than in the South, in the late 18th Century, is symbolized by this portrait and commentary by Mumbet, a Massachusetts woman, who won her freedom in court, after her master assaulted her, for having listened to a reading of the Declaration of Independence. This case resulted in the prohibition of slavery in Massachusetts. Mumbet became Elizabeth Freeman, and lived out her days in Stockbridge, a town in the central Berkshire Hills.
The American experiment is far from perfect, but has resulted in the most diverse democracy on Earth, and still has so much to share, with those who want to study our nation’s experience. We will keep on going, experimenting, refining and retooling, hopefully so that the three generations shown below, and their fellows, will never again know oppression.
NEXT: Brandywine, and More of Downtown Philadelphia.
August 6, 2017, Prescott-
NOTE: Those following my journey of last month need not worry- there is much more to come, from those Road Days: Philadelphia; Hagerstown; Antietam; Harpers Ferry; Falls of the Ohio; Paducah; Sarcoxie; Baxter Springs & Sedan, Kansas; Folsom, Cimarron & Taos, NM, and all points in between.
Today, however, is an intermezzo. I want to pause, and connect with where my heart and spirit are NOW.
You, each and all, matter greatly, dearly.
Whoever told you, dying of ovarian cancer, and sitting on a downtown curb,
asking for whatever help people can bring,
that you are beyond hope- has lied to you.
I gave you my last dollar, and have to be prudent, for a week or so, as I am running low, myself.
Yet, you matter.
Whoever told you, beautiful young woman, just trying to get a meal and catch a break,
that you are good for only one thing- has shut his eyes to everything that you are.
I’d be proud as punch, to claim you as my daughter.
You matter.
Whoever told you, strong, vital husband of an engaging, innovative woman,
that you ought to stay in the background, and let her be in the spotlight-
is cheating both of you.
She wants you at her side,
and you matter.
Whoever told you, my dearest friend and soul sister,
that no man would ever want you to be anything,
other than a source of pleasure, and his servant-
is living in a fool’s paradise.
You have taught me more, in a month’s time,
than I learned in six decades,
and I look forward to all that you have left to impart,
because you matter.
To all who may have told anyone in your life,
that he or she is worthless, a waste of DNA,
fodder for a compost pile-
think again, and hard.
You matter, in spite of your scathing remarks
and constant oneupmanship,
but so do those whom you disparage.
The black person matters,
as does the white,
the East Asian,
the Latino,
the Native American,
the Pacific Islander,
the West Asian,
the South Asian.
Men matter,
and so do women.
Seniors matter,
as do children,
teens,
young adults,
those in “middle age”.
Homeless people matter,
and homeowners,
renters,
couch surfers.
There is no “Keep Out” sign,
at the universal level,
for anyone in the LGBTQ umbrella group,
for anyone with weight issues,
for anyone who struggles with mental health problems,
for anyone who can’t walk,
can’t speak, hear or see,
or can’t think.
This is where I am, now.
You, my female and male friends,
whose company I enjoy,
and who enjoy mine;
my neighbour children,
who love playing in my yard,
because it’s a safe place;
my students and co-workers,
who actually look forward
to being at school,
because we support one another,
I am blessed to be here,
because of you.
July 16, 2017, York, ME-
To so many, Maine means rocky shorelines, fronted by accessible beaches. York County, the southernmost part of the state, has ample amounts of both, and is-along with Boothbay Harbor and Mount Desert Island, the most familiar area of Maine, when it comes to beach vacations.
York Harbor is upscale, in terms of accommodations, yet on this Sunday afternoon, plenty of people who one would not readily recognize as well-to-do were enjoying the nooks and crannies, between the Agamenticus Yacht Club and York Harbor Inn. One of them was yours truly.
I was very much enchanted with Hartley Mason Reserve, and so present you with scenes from the north side of York’s stunning harbour.
First, here is a view from York Harbor Inn, looking towards Cape Neddick.
Thanks to zoom technology, here is a close-up of the promontory which hosts Cape Neddick Inn. One upscale resort can keep a clear eye on another!
Both York Harbor Inn and Hartley Mason Reserve have done a fine job of keeping the area rich in colour and in fragrance.
As the gardens at York Harbor Inn are intended for that facility’s guests, I devoted the rest of my harbour time to the Reserve. There was little information about Hartley W. Mason, other than that he was a wealthy York landowner, in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. When he died, in 1925, he left this land, south of York Harbor Inn, to the Town of York. It became a public park, in 1993.
Many weddings take place here. That comes as no surprise.
As I was enjoying these tickseed sunflowers, and preparing to take their photo, a little girl wandered into view. She asked to not be kept in the shot, and I cropped this photo, accordingly.
Here is the York Fishermen’s Memorial, dedicated to the memory of Captain Daniel Donnell, who perished while on the job at sea, at the age of 78. That’s how Mainers are.
I walked down the well-trod York Cliffs Path, to enjoy the salt air and navigate the slippery rocks.
In contrast to my visit to Lynn Beach, yesterday, the tide here at York was coming in, albeit in a rather mild-mannered fashion.
Returning to the top of the trail, I noted the limestone benches that are interspersed with the dense flora. This is part of what makes the Maine Coast so magical.
There is so much more to York, and to its namesake county, to say nothing of the Pine Tree State. In the coming years, I will no doubt be making more forays Down East, among other places.
I will close this part of the Bruin Adventure, by thanking my York family.
July 16, 2017, York, ME-
My penchant for delving into the past, of any given community in which I find myself, is fairly standard by now. As a native New Englander, I will always look at the reasons for people’s settlements. Maine began as a county of the colony, and later, of the Commonwealth, of Massachusetts. Most initial settlement in the region was, naturally, along the coast. The Penacook Abenaki people, who predated Europeans here, called their settlement Agamenticus. There is no specific definition given, for that name- but it refers to what is now known as the York River.
In 1624, Sir Fernando Gorges, representing the British Crown, established a settlement here and made it the administrative center for the District of Maine. He called it Gorgeana. Upon his death, the Massachusetts Bay Colony laid claim to Maine, and the town was renamed York.
I set out, this afternoon, to visit the three museums, over a 2 1/2 hour period. Upon the advice of the chief curator of Old York, I first went to Old Gaol (jail), as it would close first.
It was, as one might expect, a rather unwelcoming place. The jailer lived in the facility, and was also a weaver. His loom and his sleeping quarters were in one room, on the first floor.
The miscreants, of course, did not have such comfortable digs.
“Have a seat” also meant something different, back then, when addressed to, say, the town drunk.
The punishments of the day were a fair bit more severe than what we might exact for a similar offense, today. Note that there were two ways of writing the letter ‘s’.a
The walkway between cells was not intended for easy passage.
I would then, as now, preferred to observe the laws of the land.
Having been convinced of the earnestness of justice in Old York, I headed to Emerson- Wilcox House, which is an example of a residence which was leased from the First Parish Congregationalist Church of York, by one town merchant, Edward Emerson, a granduncle of Ralph Waldo Emerson, in 1766, for 999 years. After Mr. Emerson died, his son inherited the house, but was unable to maintain himself financially, and died penniless. The surviving women remained in the house, which was purchased by the town magistrate and constable, David Wilcox, hence Emerson-Wilcox House. Mr. Wilcox expanded the home, out of necessity, so there are two period styles of architecture in the home: Georgian and Federal. Photography is not permitted inside the home, but here are some views of the exterior.
After a friendly and informative guided tour of the house, I passed by the Old Burial Ground,
and browsed the Remick Collection of York memorabilia, which include original bed hangings from one of the first homes in York. Again, there was no photography permtted inside the collection, but here is a look at the outside.
The adjoining Jeffords Tavern, however, is photo-friendly, and gives a view of the casual side of colonial life. Maine was nowhere near as Puritanical as Massachusetts Bay Colony, being more concerned with maritime commerce, from its inception. There were several churches, which were mostly concerned with keeping the Sabbath and ownership of land.
Ladies and gentlemen, the Jeffords Tavern.
You can see that not all the furniture is from the Georgian Period. The modern fare is for the convenience of researchers and other visitors.
Lastly, here is the Old York Schoolhouse, now-but not then- placed adjacent to Jeffords Tavern.
York has a plethora of places of interest, many of which are natural preserves. In the next post, the last in this series, Hartley-Mason Preserve, and York Harbor, are the focus.
July 16, 2017, York, ME-
My father’s family hails from Maine, and several of us have lived in the Pine Tree State, for certain periods of our lives. Presently, one of my Dad’s sisters lives here, in York, two of her children and their families live nearby, and two other cousins liveculinary center in other parts of the state. It is Aunt Helen’s birthday, today, so this evening was spent at her home, with her youngest child, and her family, on hand for the celebration.
Beforehand, I stopped at Stonewall Kitchen, a large culinary center that celebrates Maine’s agricultural wealth and offers cooking classes. Auntie works there, part-time and is a fixture at the place. I had no trouble finding her, with help from two or three of her co-workers. Since she was at work, I busied myself with checking out the store and the well-coiffed grounds, before moving on to York’s downtown, Old York historic district and harbor area.
Here are some scenes of Stonewall Kitchen (NOTE: It is named for the iconic stone walls, that line many fields in New England.
You can see, from these scenes of the very southernmost part of Maine, why the state has exploded in popularity with travelers, tourists and people seeking to relocate.
I spent three more hours in York’s central districts. The downtown area, like that of so many New England towns, is walkable and most inviting. Here are some highlights, of the area just to the north of Old York.
I began at the town’s Civil War Monument.
The Old York Garden Club maintains the verdure, in this roundabout and at York public Library, as well as in the historic district itself.
The rushes are a natural part of York’s environment, and have been carefully preserved, just west of York Public Library, as a wetlands initiative.
After appreciating the exterior of York Public Library, and finding the building closed, for the Sabbath, I headed to Old York.
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