May 26, 2024, Exton, PA- I tend to eat far too much, when a quality Italian restaurant dinner follows a Persian lunch. Maybe there is a solution: No dessert. I am trying that, and a walk around the grounds of the quaint Bed and Breakfast, in this still-charming exurb of Philadelphia helped a bit as well. I will be able to lighten up, during the rest of this week.
Now, to a recap of the day. I did not need to sleep in, after the surprise fire alarm last night, at Woodsprings Suites. By 8:45, I was out the door, for a walk to the nearby Perkins, where a friendly team of servers brought a light breakfast. I went back to my Baha’i friends’ house, at 11:15, to enjoy the rice I had saved from last night. I left there, after about an hour, so they could tend to personal business. Once in Allentown, ten miles west, I sat in a parking lot, and tried to access a Zoom call, from Arizona. This did not work, so on I drove to a Wawa station, fueling both Sportage and myself. At a Trader Joe’s, in Montgomeryville, I picked up several personal items and a lavender plant, for my Downingtown family. The cashier’s name, like my mother’s, is Lila. There are lots more Lilas these days. Parents are smart.
Drivers tend to, quite often, wait until the last minute to go somewhere. Then, they expect everyone else to get out of their way. I saw that a lot, today. People were more forbearing, though, when they saw my Arizona plates. I got from Bethlehem to Exton with no fender benders, or even close calls. Once at Duling- Kurtz Country Inn, I took my bags up to the third floor, “the penthouse suite”, settled in a bit, then joined my brother and sister-in-law for the aforementioned Italian feast. Pomod’oro’s is a vibrant, happy place, where a large number of children were celebrating what looked like the end of a successful athletic season of some kind. We just celebrated another chance for family time.
Here are a few scenes of Duling-Kurtz Country Inn. This will be a most restful night, with scant chance of a fire drill.
Duling-Kurtz HouseBridge across “the River Kurtz”The “River Kurtz”
May 25, 2024, Bethlehem, PA- I was drifting off to another blissful sleep, and the unmistakable sound, from years of running drills at various schools, got me out of bed and out of the building, in a flash. There I was, pajama-clad, and in sockless shoes, with a slowly-accumulating gathering of fellow guests, and the few staff who didn’t need to be in the office. “It’s just like school, huh?”, I remarked to an excited little girl, as her father grimaced and shook his head. The whole episode lasted twenty-five minutes, the police officer gave the all-clear and we headed back inside, as the seven firefighters continued their inspection of the wiring and checking for signs of (illegal) indoor smoking, or untended cooking. (This is an extended stay establishment, and there are two flat stove burners, in each room, as well as a microwave oven-which could lead to burnt popcorn.) The Cuban maintenance director, sounding like Desi Arnaz on steroids, promised he’d find out if anyone was responsible for the mayhem. All I know is, it wasn’t me-and probably wasn’t the guy standing next to me, who looked as if he were a clean-shaven Rip Van Winkle.
My last night in New England, for this trip, anyway, came to an end with a small purchase of a coffee and empanada, from 7-11, and a farewell to Nitey-Nite Motel’s owner, who barely looked up from his game of Solitaire, as I dropped off the key card. That’s okay; he offers clean, quiet rooms at a decent price. Hartford and Waterbury were a breeze to get past. Danbury was still Danbury-the same jockeying for position, at the split between U.S. 7 and I-84, leading some of us to wait 2-3 seconds in the inner lane of 7, before a quick break let us onto the 84.
It’s been a while since I stopped at Arlene and Tom’s Family Diner, Port Jervis. The same “Home of the Free, because of the Brave” sign is there, and the TV is still set to Newsmax. The pastrami is still among the best in the Catskill region, though, so that’s what matters most. Besides, it is always good to know what both sides are thinking, in this cosmic stew that is America, and the world, in 2024.
This visit to New England, and to the northeast Atlantic region beyond, reassured me of everyone’s love. Seeing cousins from both sides of the family, being able to repay Mom for all the nurturing she has given, over seven decades, being with my three siblings in a delightful dining room, visiting the graves of my father and baby brother, visiting a boyhood friend and connecting with Baha’is in Cape Breton Island, Corner Brook (NL) and Green Acre Baha’i School have made the month an exemplary one. Starting May off with a visit to the House of Worship certainly helped, in terms of spiritual energy. There was more interest in the Faith, from family and friends, this time around. Mom even read some prayers from my book. I was sent forward with top-notch pizza in Mishawaka, and, despite the jibes from someone I love very much, managed to keep in the good graces of hoteliers from Gallup to South Windsor. Time on the French-ruled island of St. Pierre was the icing on this very rich cake.
Now I am in Pennsylvania, with this hotel, an Air BnB and a private guest room as places of rest, during this second round of family visits. This evening was another special event-well before the fire drill. I visited these fine people, enjoyed fabulous Persian rice, salad and soup, with copious amounts of jicama and watermelon for dessert. I was also edified by the various “Got Talent” clips of performances by American and British senior citizens-most of whom were extraordinarily talented.
I also was briefly introduced to Tatamy Village’s community park.
May 24, 2024, South Windsor, CT- Suffice it to say, it is an exercise in patience, to cross the city of Lynn. The easy way is to go north-south on the Lynnway, headed towards Boston, and all its glorious traffic. I chose the way I know best, wending my way westward, from Nahant to Boston Street, which is on the west side of town and leads directly to Saugus, where I grew up, and from where I made my way over to Wakefield and I-95 southbound. That was how I got from one group of cousins to another cousin’s house, in Arlington, a western suburb of Boston.
The day started in Gloucester, located on Cape Ann. A few things about that small, but magnificent, peninsula: It is known to the Pawtucket First Nation people as Annisquam (“top of the rock”, itself a reference to Mt. Ann, the cape’s summit), so it might be tempting to say that the name is a short form of that given name. Nope-The cape is named for Queen Mother Anne, the mother of Charles I, King of England at the time of its first settlement by the English, in 1623. The Cape settlement was the seed from which the Massachusetts Bay Colony sprang. Gloucester, as many know, is the setting for the film, “The Perfect Storm”, made in memory of the many fishers, male and female, who have met their deaths, while plying their craft. The high seas are brutal taskmasters. It, and its fellow Cape communities- Rockport, Manchester-by-the-Sea and Essex are places of both bustling fishing and lobstering and of great scenic beauty-a microcosm of northeastern North America, indeed of rocky seacoasts around the globe. Stage Fort Park, Pigeon Cove and Mt. Ann Park are highlights of any visit to the area.
I went to none of these, this time, though I’ve visited each, in years past. The day was all about family-immediate and extended. After a salubrious rest, in a well-appointed VRBO property, I headed down the road to Kane’s Donuts, and went over to visit my second brother and his wife, in Saugus. Our focus, these days, is always on what’s best for Mom, while honouring one another. A brief stop at the graves of my father and youngest brother followed, just long enough to say a prayer and wipe the grass mowings off the base of their collective headstone. Then, I drove up to Lynnfield, taking Mom outside on the patio, for a cup of clam chowder, which she still loves, though we came back inside, when it was obvious that the bees loved the chowder, too, and wanted a share. (They never got the chance. Mom made it clear that she wanted to go back in and enjoy her chowder in peace, so bye to the patio, it was.) I bid her farewell, for now, after about forty minutes. It was time for extended family.
The Tides, on the south end of Nahant Beach Parkway, is another fabulous restaurant, accenting New England seafood, but also featuring Italian specialties. Being satiated of fried clams, I chose another of my favourites: baked scallops. The food was a backdrop, though, as time with my fascinating older maternal cousins, who are siblings, and their equally entertaining spouses, is always informative, and well-spent. I hadn’t seen Dale in nearly seventeen years, and John in three. Their stories of Lynnhurst, where our grandmother, and many of the family members, once lived are treasures. Their father, my godfather, was a classic Irish story teller, who told fanciful tales of a madman in the woods. Once, Dale said, when he was worried for the safety of his little girl and her cousin, he followed them from a distance. Of a sudden, in the thicket of woods, growling and grumbling noises made them run out of the woods, screaming. There stood Dad (my uncle) ready to comfort his angels. Three guesses, as to who did the growling and grumbling!
After a fashion, it was time to leave for Arlington, and a visit with a paternal cousin. Leaving the lot at The Tides is a lesson in fly vision. Skateboarders and bicyclists can appear out of nooks and crannies, and pay no mind to the motorists who could impact their lives. As it happened, today was not their day to meet God, or the hospital bed, so on I went, across Lynn, watching carefully for the schoolchildren getting out of class, for the long weekend. Filling up Sportage, at a full-service spot, in Wakefield, I texted cousin Kevin and headed down the highway, getting to his place in time for a good hour’s visit. Kevin is a brother to Tom, who I had visited in Maine, earlier this week. He shared the success of his dear wife, now working on an advanced degree, and of his own work, in environmental science.
With all the cousins, I shared highlights of my own past few years, as only one of them is on social media. This is a good thing; conversations can never truly be replaced by the digital world, no matter how advanced, detailed or graphic it may become. Being asked of the Teachings of the Baha’i Faith was also a joy.
One more time down the Massachusetts Turnpike, I observed two young men driving at a torrid clip, onto an exit ramp, for God only knows what reason-emergency, or thrill chase. I continued, getting tired from the heat, and from the full day, to this tidy, rather serene suburb of Hartford. The Windsors are home to Bradley International Airport and the anchor town, Windsor proper, was the first English settlement in Connecticut, surprising, as it is far from the coastline that was favoured by Europeans, in the early days. The settlement, at the confluence of the Farmington and Connecticut Rivers, was given to the colony of Plymouth, by First Nations people, reportedly in gratitude for Plymouth’s having mediated a dispute between two Nations, the Podunk and Pequot. At any rate, the traders came and lived here in peace with their neighbours, including, for a time, the Dutch settlers at what is now Hartford.
I am at peace with everyone, and am just settled in for the night. Tomorrow, it’ll be off to Pennsylvania for 3-4 days. Safe travels, to all Americans on the first holiday of summer and to Canadians returning from your first holiday period. It goes without saying, safety to everyone else, holiday or not!
Decorative mirror, at VRBO site, in Gloucester, MA
May 23, 2024, Gloucester, MA- The e-mail was unexpected, but somehow is fortuitous. My flight from Manila to Nairobi, scheduled for September 23, has been canceled by the airline. Africa will thus be re-scheduled, for autumn of 2025, as an extension of a European visit. This will remain a year for focus on east Asia, the Philippines in particular, with South Korea and Japan towards the end of the journey. My connection with the Philippines is both faith-based and personal, and we’ll leave it at that.
Africa is no less a concern of mine, but one must be prudent-and if the airlines say it is a security risk to fly, at that time, then that is how it must be.
The major concern of the day, today, was checking in on Mom. She was quiet, but was very glad to see me. It is enough for me to just sit, hold her hand and tell her about what I have been doing of late. She smiles and lets me know that my travels meet with her approval. I am just glad to have her here to relate my experiences.
When we were growing, her rule was to clean our plates. This evening was only the second time I have joined her for a meal at the residence. She was delighted that I cleaned my plate-but that has been second nature for me, for the past seventy years, no matter where I have eaten. Suffice it to say, she followed her own advice tonight, to the extent reasonable.
As today marks the 181st anniversary of the Declaration by al-Bab, of His Mission to mankind, I stopped and prayed at Green Acre Baha’i School. It was closed, as is customary on Baha’i Holy Days, but the grounds were still open. Here is a photo of Sarah Farmer Inn, the central building of Green Acre. ‘Abdu’l-Baha stayed there, in 1912, so it is a place of extra significance to Baha’is.
May 22, 2024, Boothbay Harbor- The voices of the thirty or so fourth graders were music to my ears. They were scattered across the grounds of Boothbay Region Land Trust’s Oak Point Farm, where my cousin and I were walking, this morning. Kevin and his extended family are neighbours to this splendid Trust property We walked the 1-mile loop trail, with the joyful noises of chatter and singing as a backdrop.
Oak Point Farm, Boothbay Harbor
The property gives focus to all that makes life in Boothbay such a treasure: The interplay of water, land and sun, with clouds as frequent visitors; the birds, large and small, with cardinals and goldfinches as the most numerous, and vocal, of the lot; the gray squirrels and chipmunks, scattering as large, lumbering humans approach; the red squirrels, sometimes “standing their ground” and chittering, “Thus far, and no farther”, whilst standing on their hind legs.
Downtown Boothbay Harbor
We went later to downtown Boothbay Harbor, taking in the harbourside scenes, with K describing what he knew of the town’s history-which turned out to be a considerable amount. The area was once both fishing haven and a tannery hub. The tanneries are gone, but fishermen still rule here, even as the high and mighty still come into the harbour, in their yachts and small cruise ships. It is the small fisherman who makes towns like Boothbay Harbor what they are-regardless of their appeal to people of means, or to artists and artisans.
After a round of photos, we went to the local YMCA, and an hour or so of soaking in the warm Therapy Pool. As I have not been to Planet Fitness for several weeks, the buoyancy of the pool was a nice treat for my muscles, and was followed by fifteen minutes in the sauna. This YMCA is directly across the road from Boothbay’s public schools, so it is a natural gathering place for teens from the middle and high schools, after classes. In addition, each second grade student enjoys mandatory swimming lessons.
We went back to the house and enjoyed a fine spaghetti dinner, then spent an hour or two talking of spiritual matters-a good segue, as this evening brings the observance of the Declaration of al-Bab, the Day in 1844, when the Herald of the Baha’i Dispensation first told another soul of His (brief) Mission to humanity.
Rest will come easy tonight, and tomorrow-down to Massachusetts, by way of Green Acre Baha’i School.
Central Wharf, Boothbay HarborAn opportunity for a park or greenspace, downtown Boothbay HarborStone mason’s gift, Oak Point Farm
May 21, 2024, Boothbay Harbor, ME– After a splendid night’s rest, and a fabulous breakfast, at Amsterdam Inn, Moncton, I decided to check out the much-vaunted Magnetic Hill. It turned out, in my estimation, much ado about nothing. The procedure for experiencing the magnetism’s effect on my car was explained. I was to pull in front of a white pole, which I did. Then, I was to put my car in reverse, and let the magnetism pull me forward. Well, it seems to me that this would wreak havoc with Sportage’s transmission. I took a pass and turned around, especially after seeing two other drivers try to get pulled up hill, to no avail.
St. Stephen, on the U.S. border, was a nice little stop. It was rather warm there, as I walked a bit along the St, Croix River. I limited time there, to a few minutes, wanting to get here to family, by dark, at least. I drove down the coast, to Belfast, then was directed by GPS to head inland-partly due to road construction and partly because of other traffic concerns. It was a fairly pleasant, if winding route, through farm country and a few forested areas. I once worked not far from places like Union and Searsmont, so there is some familiarity to the places.
Small river house, St. Stephen, NBPond near Boothbay Harbor
Now, I will have a chance to rest a bit, treat Sportage to maintenance and a supreme wash, and talk genealogy with Cousin Tom and his wife, Jamie. The view from my guest house is also unparalleled-and a 90-F “therapy pool” will be on the itinerary.
May 12, 2024, Botwood, NL- Newfoundlanders seem to be fastidious about not mixing strangers at table,in a restaurant- even when the patrons themselves are amenable and there is plenty of space for relative privacy. I noticed this, the last time I was with friends in Grand Bank and again today, at a small cafe in Hampden, a little village between Deer Lake and Grand Falls-Windsor. I found myself seated alone, at a table with eight seats and the hostess steadfastly guarded my space, making a party of four wait until another table had been cleared. I used to be leery of sitting with strangers. Now, if others need a seat and it’s just me at a large table, I invite them to sit.
Anyway, today being Mother’s Day, there were crowds at all three places I took meals: Carriage House, at Glynmill Inn (nice Breakfast Bowl); interesting Crunchy Burger (crispy cod) at Lisa’s Cafe (above-mentioned) and Dannini’s, downstairs from my room at Exploits Inn and Suites, here in Botwood, just east of Grand Falls- Windsor (a bacon grilled cheese, which I brought up here).
Reading another friend’s post on traditions and our need to get together, I thought of all those who deserve honour today: My Mom, who had us all around last weekend, and hopefully saw some family this time; my sister and nieces, all of whom are exemplary stewards of young lives; Penny, who gave the best years of her life to raise our son; Kathy, still giving her all to her sons who are still at home; and all the millions, or billions, of women doing much the same, worldwide. I thought of all the mothers in war zones, and how there will come a day, when they will arise and collectively tell the politicians that no land and no aspiration are worth the sacrifice of their children’s lives.
I am okay, for now, with being on my own on days like this, or even on Father’s Day, because I was raised by people who thought nothing of sacrificing themselves, for my sake and that of my siblings. I was joined, for so many years , by a selfless woman, who gave all she had for her child. I have the privilege of friendship with another woman who lives for the betterment and well-being of her three children.
I have the honour of being treated well, by Mother Earth.
Robert’s Arm, Newfoundland
Oh, it snowed in some places along the way. Here’s a scene that is not far from Glynmill Inn
I was able to add this photo, of sunrise on our approach to Channel-Port aux Basques, earlier today. Then, the WP editor kicked in, and announced that “You have no posts”. That was with regard to the app on my i-Phone. That app will remain unused, until I can get that nonsense straightened out. This is one example of why AI will never replace the human mind. AI is quirky, rigid, inflexible. Humans are quirky, too, and can be inflexible, but can be made to see reason. AI is an eternal toddler. Only an adult can guide it to a place of equanimity.
Anyway, upon getting off the ferry, Sportage and I headed to Alma’s Family Restaurant, in a shopping strip mall, east of downtown. A nice young lady, who appeared to be the owner’s daughter, took my order, in business-like but kind fashion. The breakfast was a bit bland, but filling.
Today was a picture postcard Blue Sky day. The storm that folks on Cape Breton warned about, yesterday, has not reached here, yet. So, I headed east, towards Corner Brook which, as you see above, was my destination, after the inadequate sleep I got on the ride over. There was an added concern: Son had a bout of dehydration and is in hospital. I am prepared to cut this trip short, return to Cape Breton and then make my way to Texas, but so far, Aram and Yunhee are not in need of my presence. I will, nonetheless, be in touch with them each day, until he is recovered. While I was sitting still and dealing with that, a young woman, who had been at the gas pumps at the same time as me, was dealing with what sounded like a serious interpersonal issue. She pulled her car behind mine, and stayed close to me, until she felt better enough to drive off. No words were exchanged between us; she just needed someone who felt trustworthy, for about twenty minutes.
After driving around the Stephenville and Gallants areas (Gallant being my Nana’s family name, that of the ancestors who came from France to the Maritimes, by way of Quebec.), I pulled into Corner Brook.
Lake George, east of Gallants.North Brook, Gallants
A couple of aborted attempts at finding lodging-“We are waiting for our cleaning crew”; no one in the office ended with my taking a room at the majestic Glynmill Inn.
I also took in a couple of Corner Brook’s finer natural areas: The Bay of Islands is bordered by a heartfelt Rock Art Wall, where people have left mementos of what is in their hearts.
Parents’ worst nightmare.Bay of Islands
There is also a trail, from Glynmill to downtown. Passing by a small pond, it leads to Corner Brook’s unique City Hall.
So, having managed to reach an understanding with AI, I present you, once again, with photos taken on my i-Phone. Hope all is well on your end.
May 7, 2024, Shediac- The swirling waters reminded me of pictures, both painted and photographic, that I’ve seen of Skaggerak and Kattegat, between the North and Baltic Seas. The currents near the confluence of the Bay of Fundy and Saint John River are nowhere near as intense as the Scandinavian maelstroms, but they do appear, for all the world, like reversing waterfalls. The phenomenon here is the result of the interaction between the Bay and the River, and as you might guess, is most intense at high tide.
I stopped here, on the west side of Saint John, to take in this phenomenon which, along with Moncton’s Magnetic Hill, is one of New Brunswick’s signature geographic anomalies. Here are a few shots of the festivities, from both the base of the hill and from the window of the concessionaire’s dining room, which had just closed for the day.
Reversing Falls, Saint John, NB, from Wolastoq Park
Reversing Falls, from base of hill.
Reversing Falls, from concessionaire’s restaurant
Wolastoq Park, on the hill above the Falls, commemorates key figures in New Brunswick history, by means of tall wooden carved likenesses. Here are three such statues. First is Benedict Arnold, the skilled,discounted hero of Ticonderoga who became synonymous with treason in the emerging United States. He ended up being cast out of Canada, as well, ending his days in London.
Next is the more well-regarded Sir John Robertson, a philanthropist of the mid-Nineteenth Century, who fought for the well-being of the common person.
Then, there was Francoise-Marie Jacquelin, who fought far more powerful men to defend her husband’s economic bastion: Fort La Tour. Though she lost the fight, in the end, Francoise stands as a clarion caller to women and girls who seek to make their rightful mark in the world.
Finally, there is a depiction of the legend of Koluscap, the First Man of the Maliseet, as well as of my Penobscot ancestors, putting a selfish Beaver in his place, after Beaver’s dam deprived the Maliseet people of the water they needed to survive. Beaver lost his giant size, the story goes and is forever consigned to be a small animal.
Saint John was, thankfully, not at rush hour, so I headed east to the town where my Nana’s paternal forebears first arrived on North American soil. Shediac was a place of refuge for my great-great-great grandfathers, who had come here from Quebec, in the mid-Eighteenth Century, following the attempt by the English to deport French-speaking residents of that colony, after the fall of Montreal and of Quebec-Ville. So, as with Rouen and Montreal, I feel at home here.
May 6, 2024, Calais, ME- At the roundabout, turning off towards Boothbay Harbor, I found myself waiting for a street sweeper in what was little more than a Bobcat, heading across the first exit and headed southbound, which I was also doing. Fortunately, he next turned right, towards the Post Office, and I was on track to be punctual.
I got to the rendezvous point that I thought was right-Dunkin’Donuts, on the south end of Wells. Turns out, there is another Dunkin’, more in the center of town. The still-recognizable figure from my childhood got my text and came to where I was, three minutes later.
The clouds that had hung on earlier started clearing, as we bantered for the next ninety minutes, giving a good many caffeinating residents of Wells and environs a bit more about growing up in Saugus, in the ’50s and ’60s than they may have ever anticipated. A Frenchman and an Italian get going on stuff from the past, and who knows what will be divulged. I may stop on the way back, and catch his piano magic.
Catharsis just happens, though both of us did our best to not give TMI. It was time to move on, around 11, which gave me just enough time to go up the coast towards Boothbay Harbor, where a cousin and his wife were waiting for our annual, or biennial, meeting. Stopping at Wilbur’s of Maine, for gift items, took five minutes and the minor wait for the street sweeper took another five. I was at their house at exactly 11 a.m. Why that is suddenly so important, as I write this, is a mystery. Maybe I am just compensating for some time in the distant past, when I let people down, due to dawdling. At any rate, it didn’t matter at all to my hosts. Our conversation, over lunch, was centered on our Irish paternal great-grandmother’s proactivity, in purchasing what would become the Boivin family home, for over 100 years. So many gatherings took place, in the three storeys of that house, in the backyard, up the street at another aunt & uncle’s house and two blocks north, at another uncle & aunt’s house. Then, there were the pool tournaments, at Frank’s Bar & Grill, across the main street from Perley.
I left the cousins behind, with a promise to return, later this month. The sky was alternately foggy (inland) and clear (along the coast). I found relatively scant traffic, which was not surprising as it’s still fairly early in May. Many cabins and seasonal restaurants are still closed, awaiting Memorial Day. It also being a Monday, several others were taking their weekly day off. Joe’s Diner, just shy of the Canadian border, was open, for a modest plate of spaghetti, and a generous helping of meatballs. International Motel, a riverside establishment, has provided me with another comfortable place for a fine night’s rest.
Tomorrow will see a return visit to the Gallant family’s North American entry point: Shediac, NB. It was there that my paternal grandmother’s father’s forebears brought their roofing skills to bear among the Basque and Breton fisherfolk of 17th Century New Brunswick.
A Sagittarian Seeker 