July 4, 2024, Woburn, MA- With ringing tones, a volunteer in 18th Century garb, replete with a tricorner hat, read the Declaration of Independence, in its entirety. There was then a procession of five uniformed Colonial Volunteers to North Bridge, where they re-enacted a volley of three rounds of musket shots, representing the “Shot heard around the world”.
Aram and I chose to focus on the North Bridge sector and Monument Square, Concord, integral parts of Minuteman National Historical Park, which commemorates the beginning of our nation’s long, and unfinished, struggle for the freedom of all. The commander of Massachusetts Militia forces, Colonel James Barrett, had warned his men not to fire upon the British regulars, a directive that changed, when the regulars marched to North Bridge, leading the Militia forces to fire upon them and causing the British to retreat.
We walked around the North Bridge area, then back to Monument Square and along Main Street, and at long last, I visited an area that had been drive-through country, with family and friends always drawing me to a small section of the North Shore. This will not be my sole visit to the Minuteman region. Massachusetts will always be one of my homes.
Here are some scenes of downtown Concord, and around North Bridge
Concord Town House
Ship’s bell from USS Concord
Concord River, at North Bridge
Minuteman Statue, North Bridge
North Bridge, from the Visitor Center
The Old Manse (Emerson family home). Here, William Emerson, grandfather of Ralph Waldo Emerson, witnessed the skirmish at North Bridge.
Main Street, Concord. We ended our visit with cool beverages at Nero Coffee House. It’s been a fine unwind, from a very long week.
June 19, 2024- Today, we commemorated the date, in 1865, when enslaved people on Galveston Island, TX learned that they had, in fact, been freed from slavery by President Abraham Lincoln, 2 1/2 years earlier. Juneteenth has been a Federal holiday since 2021, so a good many people had the day off.
I have visited Palmito Ranch, the site of the last battle of the Civil War, fought in June, 1865, after the surrender of Robert E. Lee’s forces, which had taken place in April. There is much made of the fact that it was a nominal Confederate victory, yet it also was followed by the surrender of the “victorious” forces, a few days later. Colonel John S. Ford, CSA, escaped to Mexico, then returned to help process the paroles of the captured Confederates and to guarantee the humane treatment and release of remaining enslaved people in south Texas. He also, interestingly, campaigned for the suffrage of newly freed African-Americans.
It was not the cotton farmers who put up the last fights, on behalf of the Confederacy. That effort was made by the Mexican cotton merchants, and by a force sent by French Emperor Napoleon III to protect French mercantile interests in Tamaulipas and Nuevo Leon. These merchants spurred Col. Ford and his troops on, and took in many of the Confederates who had eluded capture. Pro-Confederate, but not necessarily pro-slavery, sentiment remained in the Rio Grande Valley for decades afterward.
One hundred fifty-nine years later, there has been much progress in race amity, but the long struggle continues-as humanity works out just what is meant by that term. A blessed Juneteenth to all who have worked so hard to bring its legacy to bear.
June 6, 2024- Eighty years ago, American forces began the process of landing at a series of beachheads, along the northern coast of Normandy, France. Contrary to some characterizations by people too young, apparently, to have much awareness of World War II, this was a real, and somewhat deadly, event. So, too, was the Holocaust that took place between 1942-45. Real people died, and others suffered mightily, despite what those who make apologies for Fascism would have the rising generations believe.
One of those who suffered mightily was a Jewish-American soldier, captured along the southern limit of the Battle of the Bulge, near Bellecroix, in Metz, France, in January, 1945. He survived, and returned to the U.S., in the aftermath of V-E Day. He married, and sired a daughter, who grew up to be strong, intelligent and of sound moral character. Forty-two years ago today, that daughter of a soldier became my wife. Our marriage lasted 28 years, 9 months, until her death, in 2011, from pneumonia that was brought on by a progressive neurological disease.
Penny led me to embrace a Faith that has made more sense to me than any other system I have ever studied or investigated. She held the bar high for me, as a husband, and more times than not, I reached it- just as she met my expectations of her as a wife. Those times when we each fell short were more growth opportunities than failures, and they served to give our son the roadmap to a successful marriage of his own, which began civilly in November, 2018 and became faith-based in March, 2019.
I have done a lot of reflecting on our time together, and on the flow of energy that has sustained me, in the thirteen years since her passing. Thirteen years of largely alone time, punctuated by a growing friendship with another strong, intelligent woman, of sound moral character, would not have been possible, without feeling Penny’s spiritual energy, a light brush against me or a strong message from the other side of the curtain that separates the corporeal from the ethereal. Forty-two years have passed, and I will never be the same soul I was before she entered my life.
May 30, 2024, Ruleville, MS- There is a small mound, in the Shiloh Indian Mounds National Historical Landmark, that indicates the former dwelling place of a family of some status, in the vibrant community that once occupied a large area here, just west of the Tennessee River. On either side of the small mound is a larger mound, used for burials. The westernmost of these was used by the 28th Illinois Infantry Division, as a temporary burial site for its dead, after the Battle of Shiloh, in April,1862. The dead men were later laid to rest at Shiloh National Cemetery.
Shiloh,in Hebrew, means “tranquil; abundance”. The place bearing the name, in southwest Tennessee, was once that. In March and April, 1862, that all changed. The Civil War had come to western Tennessee and northern Mississippi. General Ulysses S. Grant had brought his troops int o the area, after a signal victory at Fort Donelson, north of Nashville, Facing them was the Confederate Army of the Mississippi, led by General Albert Sidney Johnston, based in Corinth, a major railroad hub and link between Memphis, Nashville and New Orleans. It was Corinth that was Grant’s true target. 23,000 men would die, in the course of this battle, making it the bloodiest episode in the American Civil War. https://npplan.com/parks-by-state/tennessee/shiloh-national-military-park-park-at-a-glance/shiloh-national-military-park-history-of-the-battle-of-shiloh-and-corinth/
Shiloh, prior to the battle, was a humble village of farmers, who had settled the area around 1816, having come by river, from Knoxville and Nashville. Farmers from Savannah, Georgia named the nearby County Seat for their former place of residence. Shiloh was named after a settlement in Samaria that had been referenced in the Bible (Jeremiah, 7:12-15.)
I have long wanted to visit this site, being dissuaded only by its remoteness and other more pressing concerns, when traveling to/from other parts of Tennessee. Today, there was lots of time, so I made three separate loops around the park, focusing somewhat on Pittsburg Landing and on the Shiloh Mounds. Here are some scenes of those loops, as well as of the short trail through the Mounds preserve.
Iowa Infantry Memorial, Shiloh National Military Park
Graves of comrades from Illinois, Shiloh National Cemetery, overlooking the Tennessee River, above Pittsburg Landing
View of Tennessee River, at Pittsburg Landing.
Site of wooden palisade, built by Iroquoian residents of Shiloh area, around 1200 A.D./C.E. It is not known why this wooden wall was built.
Burial Mound, Shiloh
Replica of Shiloh Meeting House (Church), which had served as General Johnston’s headquarters during the first parts of the battle
I left, rather shaken, especially after viewing the film about the carnage, Given current tensions in the nation, right now, it is instructive for anyone with a conscience to take time and review what happened, when the idea of enslavement of others became somehow conflated with the notion of preserving freedom. Nationhood is NOT a zero sum game.
Driving south and west, I made a brief visit to Sumner, MS, where the courthouse at which the accused killers of 14-year-ole Emmett Till were acquitted of murder charges. They later admitted having committed the crime. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emmett_Till
Tallahatchee County Courthouse, where Roy Bryant and J.W. Milam were acquitted of the murder, to which they later confessed.
I had had enough of carnage and injustice, for one day, and have settled in for the night at Ruleville Inn, in the hometown of Civil Rights icon Fannie Lou Hamer. It’s a modest, but clean little place- albeit one where guests provide their own towels and wash cloths. The bed is new, though, and the TV works nicely.
May 29, 2024, Dickson, TN- The little girl saw an elephant, a red horse, octopus suction cups, a jellyfish, as our party of six visitors and two guides walked along the cavern path. We all saw the ghost of George Washington, a Persian palace, various wooden ships, Lover’s Lane, Dante’s Inferno and a grand ballroom, within the confines of the southern sector of Grand Caverns.
This is the vacation part of my journey. In between family visits and days of service, I am in the Southland, taking in natural wonders of this incredible cavern system and, in the days to come, a few historic sites. The guides, Lily and Malachi, are fonts of knowledge about this system, only half of which is open to general tours, with another 1/3 available for an “Adventure Tour” package-which I would consider on a different visit, if a certain someone is interested in coming along. Time will tell.
The day started nicely, with a light breakfast at Broad Porch Coffee House, the latest successor to beloved and sorely-missed Artful Dodger. The counter staff have the same bright energy and sweet disposition that Jasmin (not her real name) had, ten years ago. Maybe it’s the feng shui of the place.
Leaving Harrisonburg, I noted a sign for the little town of Grottoes, which intrigued me enough to turn off and head east on the small Virginia highway. Grottoes have fascinated me since the days when one was able to visit the three waterfalls of Jeju, Korea. (Those waterfalls have since been expropriated by a Chinese businessman, who uses their water for his own ends.) The name of the Virginia town is drawn from Grand Caverns, discovered serendipitously by a curious teenager, in 1804. The caves became a tourist attraction, shortly thereafter, and remain so to this day, the oldest show caves in the United States.
Lily explained, without editorial comment, that both Stonewall Jackson and Union officer Dixon Miles had brought their men into the caverns, at various times. No battle was fought in the caves, though there was a skirmish on Cave Hill, above the labyrinthine system. (Dixon Miles is remembered for planning to surrender Harpers Ferry, but died before he could do so. Stonewall Jackson, of course, ended up being shot and killed by one of his own men, in what was officially called “a case of mistaken identity”.)
Here are some scenes of the caverns. For perspective, the guides explained, note that stalactites (ceiling-based) and stalagmites (floor-based) grow at a rate of 3 cubic inches a year. The collective term for these formations, and for any other cave formation, is speleothem. That includes all the animals that the girl saw, and the ghost of George.
The ElephantThe Hitching Post
After this incredible seventy-minutes, I thanked the guides profusely, then headed over to a food truck, parked on the south side of Grottoes’ town center. El Carreton offers fabulous north Mexican fare, from the unassuming vehicle. Enjoying half of the burrito especial, I savoured equally the serene emptiness of a town, whose residents were mostly at work elsewhere.
The Ghost of George WashingtonReflecting PoolEnd of the Line
Down through the Spine of Virginia, and across Tennessee, I did not stop at my customary refuge. It was not a good time for a visit. So, positioning myself for tomorrow’s long-delayed exploration of Shiloh, I stopped for the night at this western anchor of I-840, the southern Nashville by-pass. Music City has much to draw me in, but this time is intended for other pursuits.
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 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 19, 2024, Port aux Basques- The screen in the lounge, at Marine Atlantic’s terminal here, was showing “The Perfect Storm”, the 2000 film about a fishing boat disaster. The weather tonight will be relatively calm, and there were no kids watching this, so I’d say we are dodging a bullet.
I got into town fairly early this afternoon, after a light breakfast at Harbour Grounds, a pleasant little coffee shop in Corner Brook. Today was laundry day, so much of the time was spent at First Choice Convenience Store’s laundromat corner. Afterward, though, I decided to search for the places that were recommended to me, east of town, as hiking venues and one, as a dinner spot. The areas in question were the little villages of Isle aux Morts, Burnt Islands and Margaree. I went first to Burnt Islands, checking out the lime-stained rocks, offshore, that vaguely resembled small ice-coated boulders.
Doubling back to Isle aux Morts, I found the Harvey Trail, named for one George Harvey, an 18th-19th Century immigrant from the Channel Islands, who settled with his wife, Jane, a native of the Port -aux- Basques area and their nine children, in this then remote spot, where at the time, no other people lived. George and his eldest daughter, Ann, rescued several sailors from the sinking ships, the Despatch and the Rankin, in 1828 and 1838, respectively. Here are scenes from the Harvey Trail.
Finally, Margaree, a tiny village that lies southwest of Isle aux Morts, has Seacoast Restaurant, with extraordinarily tasty seafood, beef and pork dishes, served by a group of gracious, very unassuming women. The owner brushes off compliments, but I know she is proud of the operation. It was a vibrant Sunday night crowd, made all the more so by the day being Pentecost Sunday AND the middle of a long Victoria Day weekend.
That made the relatively light crowd on tonight’s sailing to North Sydney seem rather strange, but maybe it’s a sign that people want to celebrate closer to home. I leave off here, after successfully dealing with my bug-a-boo, backing the car up longer than ten feet. The patient ferrymen got me to back Sportage up some forty feet-without banging into anything. That’s progress!
St. James Anglican Church, Port aux Basques, NLNeighbourhood on north side of Port aux BasquesBurnt Islands,NLBurnt Islands, NLThe story of George Harvey, Isle aux Morts, NLShipwreck capital of NewfoundlandSeacoast Restaurant, Margaree(NL)
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A Sagittarian Seeker 