September 12, 2023, Exton, PA- Bushnell Park is one of New England’s best kept secrets.
The park, designed according to the style used by Frederick Law Olmsted, in his construction of New York’s Central Park, was constructed, in 1861, by a Swiss-born landscape architect, Jacob Weidenmann, who came recommended by Olmsted. It is named for Dr. Horace Bushnell, a health-conscious minister and community activist, who recognized the benefits to the public weal, of urban green space, at a time when business leaders were more concerned with making money from tax rolls than with any government involvement in the health of the citizenry.
Bushnell Park is one of the crown jewels of Hartford. Connecticut’s capital city is known for its insurance corporate headquarters and, along with so many other northeastern cities, for its struggles to renew vitality. Hartford has a magnificent core. Stopping there today, on the way from Kittery to this small, and vibrant, western suburb of Philadelphia, I found these gems:
Statue of Apollo, near State Capitol, HartfordEast side view of State Capitol, HartfordHorace Bushnell Theater, HartfordPond and fountains, Bushnell Park, HartfordSoldiers and Sailors Memorial Arch, HartfordThe Pump House was built in 1947, as part of the Connecticut River Flood Control Project, after downtown Hartford suffered deluges in 1936 and 1938.
This last item hints at solutions that might be pertinent to resolving the woes of other flood-stricken communities. As I write this, two Massachusetts towns: Leominster and North Attleboro, are dealing with severe damage caused by flooding. Several Alaska towns had flood damage, earlier this year. Across the globe, fire in the Mediterranean region (Greece, Sicily, Algeria) has been followed by flooding (Libya). It is perhaps essential to more closely examine the role that wetlands might have, in mitigating both flood and fire, since one usually follows the other.,
It also helps, that the majesty of smaller cities be recognized, appreciated and celebrated.
September 11, 2023, Kittery, ME- I rang the doorbell to an old friend’s home, in mid-morning, and was glad that he was home and agreeable to a visit. He looked slightly better than when I last saw him, four years ago, though he is moving slowly. We reminisced, as always on such visits, about the old neighbourhood, whose make-up has gone from mostly European ethnicities- Irish, French, Italian, Polish and English, to largely Brazilian and Cuban. He, unlike me, still lives in the house of his youth-inherited from his parents, whom I adored.
Many of the gripes he had with others are similar to behaviours he has himself exhibited on occasion, as have I. Not answering one’s phone, in times of busy-ness, or while driving (not everyone has Bluetooth), or when someone has already called three times in a span of two hours, is an understandable situation-though it probably hurts the caller on some level.
The things that rankle us about others are also the things that most bother us about ourselves. Mother gets irritated, when I am too fastidious about placement of napkins or eating utensils on a table, but guess who taught us that etiquette? I don’t like getting three Messages a day, from the same person, generally about small matters-but I have been known to Spam people about things that are so crucial to me. Life is certainly a big opaque mirror.
The rest of the day was spent with Mom, though I got in a half hour of exercise-as Saugus has a Planet Fitness. I also had dinner with my brother and sister-in-law, before heading up here, to a cozy room, in rainy Maine. In between, there were a trio of Lifetime movies, each with similar plots and dialogue to the other two. It makes Mom happy- and I recall the devotion she had to the repetitive activities of ours, as toddlers. It’s different in tone and intellectual level, of course, but letting her routine be repetitive is only fair.
September 9, 2023, Saugus- As I left the Massachusetts Turnpike and headed north, on I-95, towards this town of my youth, a warm stream of air enveloped my shoulders and the back of my neck. I was being greeted, reassured, by someone-my father, my brother Brian, maybe even Penny. This was good, especially as the off ramp is extremely winding, for about 1/4 mile, and all protection is welcome.
Each time that I have taken this route, over the past dozen years, stops at Bedford and Wilkes-Barre, PA diners have been routine. In both cases, the initial visit was at a time when I was emotionally vulnerable, and a kind woman was my server. Of course, the food at both places was great, ample and reasonably-priced. The ambiance was comfortable, as well. I came to enjoy each subsequent visit to Rte. 220, in Bedford and D’s, in Wilkes-Barre, with different people, equally engaging, have been present and welcoming.
The energy in both places seems to have shifted, just a tad. There was a world-weariness about the staff. I think it is largely a sign of the times. People who have lived all their lives, according to certain rules and expectations, are finding the pace and direction of change almost too much to bear. Being one who has learned to go with the flow, to a reasonable extent, I am not as perturbed by the need for adjusting the sails and hope that future stops will see a resurgence of well-being.
I have, though, drawn the line at certain points. When a writer who has done great work, over the past two years, came out with a paean to satanism, this believer in the Divine said “Enough”, and cut off connection. I know that is “only an opinion” of hers, but there is a deeply troubling energy behind it, and truthfully, darkness is the absence of light, not its opposite. I am no fundamentalist, just an optimist who sees great things ahead-provided people work together to BUILD, not to tear down (except in the case of walls); to elevate, not ravage; to support one another, not sacrifice innocents.
I am here for a day or two, to celebrate the ninety-fifth birthday of the woman who made my own life and times possible. It will likely be a low-key event, but one much worth the drive here and all the reminiscences that are sure to arise. I also hope it will be followed by at least five more-so long as the quality of Mother’s life remains constant.
September 8, 2023, Bedford, PA- It could have been any small town hot dog stand, in any small Midwestern town, with a perky, in-charge high school cheerleader cooking, serving and keeping interlopers out of the kitchen-a perfect after-school job. Dogs On The Run, though, is in East Palestine, Ohio-site of a severe toxic waste spill, following a freight train derailment, in February of this year.
I went to E.P., this afternoon, to see how well the town is doing, and how much of the recovery is being done on its own. It was gratifying that a team of EPA workers was having lunch at Dogs, the same time I was there. They were a relief team, who had just arrived, and were being briefed by the section chief. The spirit in East Palestine seems cautiously optimistic. The Feds were a bit wary of my taking photos around town, but I took none of them, or any other people. The citizens were polite and appreciated getting support.
EPA is still in the game.A great place for lunch, and a one-woman show.THIS is the attitude I found, all over town.
After bidding farewell to a visibly tired clerk, at Best Motel, earlier this morning, I headed to one of Toledo’s classiest breakfast/lunch establishments: Reynolds Garden. The place was packed, at 9 a.m., and the hostesses, servers and bussers were in constant motion. The corned beef hash was excellent, and Garden has heart- a little girl was confused, on her way from the restroom to her table, and was calmly and quietly helped to find her mother, by the lead hostess.
East Palestine has a roadmap to recovery-defining “Strong” through hard work and a solid community spirit. So, too, does Imperial, PA, where police and fire units responded swiftly to a road emergency, near a Day Care Center, as a dozen drivers, including me, were turned around, out of the way of the operation. So, too, does Toledo, and North Platte-and every community where “strong” has been attached-including New York on 9/11/01.
My faith in the human spirit has been re-affirmed, with every mile traveled and every hour passed.
September 7, 2023, Toledo, OH- There he stood, in the middle of a thankfully empty downtown street, trying to remember where he had parked his car. Having been in that predicament, myself, quite a few times (though taking care to not stand in the street), I asked if I might be of help. He mentioned the name of a landmark, near where his car was-and I was able to reorient him on his way.
A short time later, having had a bracing lunch of teriyaki chicken and rice,at Koya, in Wilmette’s village center, I spent about an hour in prayer, in the Baha’i House of Worship and at its Visitor Center. Of particular personal concern was being able to know in which direction my acts of service might fall, each day going forward.
Mostly, this has been sparked by a few instances of self-doubt, or momentary confusion. After reflection, though, it is more a matter of trying to do too much, too quickly-which is something that has ever been a challenge in my repertoire of behaviours. So, with a prayer to direct the urge for service in the optimal direction, I set out from the Holy Temple.
The Chicago Dance, as I call the flow of traffic along the Windy City’s freeways, lasted about an hour-from Dempster Street, Evanston to the Chicago Skyway. At one point, the first person I’ve ever seen freeze, whilst trying to change lanes, caused the driver behind me to open his window and bellow “Get moving, NOW!”, while the lady in the next lane looked about ready to spew equal venom. All I could do was inch forward and wait until the frightened one had moved his car completely out of my way. The car had Illinois plates, but who knows? Hapless Harry finally managed to screw up enough courage to go forth, in about a minute-which is an eternity to Chicago’s seasoned drivers.
In my own space, it often takes a few tries to get things right, so I did not fault either the frozen driver or the person experiencing parking space amnesia. In fact, once I got off the Tollways, the desire to get as far east as possible overcame prudence-and I had to call around and apologetically cancel a scheduled online meeting. I did find Best Motel, an aptly-named accommodation, here in Toledo. It will be another link in my continental chain
September 6, 2023, Mauston, WI- The bison herd was spread out, mostly standing around, with some lying peacefully about and a few rolling in the dust. This was the order of the morning, at Blue Mounds State Park, just north of Luverne, MN. I had come here partly to walk along the pinkish-blue rocks and partly to sit and watch the bison, who were safely behind a fence, with a three-mile range in which to graze, wallow and just be bison, without any “intrepid” ( I think of another word that ends in -pid) tourists trying to get selfies with the beasts.
Bison herd at Blue Mounds State Park, Luverne, MN (above and below)
There was only respect for these magnificent animals, from those of us who stopped to see them today. A woman who had come with a friend, and her little dog, sat in the car with the pet, while her friend went to observe the herd.
The rocks on the cliffs to the north of the bison pasture were equally magnificent- in an understated way.
Blue and pink ledges, at Blue Mounds.Top of north Blue MoundRolling prairie, along Blue Mound Loop Trail
Like Pipestone to the north, Luverne relied greatly on locally quarried stone to build its public structures.
Rock County Courthouse, Luverne, MNRock County Veterans Memorial, with front of Courthouse in view
After a three-hour drive, the second homage of the day was on a more somber note: Laying a wreath at the gravesite of Mendota Heights Police Officer Scott Patrick, slain in the line of duty, on July 30, 2014, at a traffic stop in nearby West St. Paul. He had been a partner to an extended family member; thus, the added impetus to pay my respects.
Let all know the value of a life cut short. It is gratifying that his killer was caught and brought to justice, serving a life sentence for first degree murder.
Adjacent to Acacia Park Cemetery, where Officer Patrick was laid to rest, is Oheyaw ahi, “A Place Much Visited”, in the Dakota language. It is also known as Pilot Knob. This is a site sacred to the Dakota people, who occupied the area, when Europeans first came there. The hill was a regular gathering place, as the name implies. Sacred ceremonies were commonly observed at Oheyaw ahi. After a treaty was signed, in 1851, giving control of the area to the U.S. government and land to white settlers, 1300 Dakota people were confined to a fenced camp on the opposite bank of the Minnesota River. Many died there, during the winter of 1851-52, and were buried at Oheyaw ahi. Thus, to this day, the site is hallowed ground and sacred to the Dakota Nation. I walked quietly, on established trails, and offered prayers for those who suffered then, and those who may be suffering now.
The north gathering place, on Oheyaw ahi, near Mendota Heights, MN.
After the full day, it took a while, but I found my rest stop for the night, at Quality Inn, Mauston.
September 5, 2023, Luverne, MN- The lady from somewhere in Florida stepped out into the open air observation deck, at Golden Spike Tower, North Platte, felt the bracing Great Plains wind and rushed back inside. When I came back in, myself, she remarked that it was “a nice two seconds of fresh air- Brrr!” My mind went back to the February, 1987, ride on the Chicago El, and a stoned goofball opening the door, which got stuck until a world-weary conductor came along, giving the rest of us a true dose of “bracing”. 67 F , 40 mph winds and all, just felt refreshing, this morning.
Golden Spike Tower
I like the Great Plains, finding more here to appreciate than many do. Then again, that may be said of anywhere I’ve been-and the Southwest does remain my Home Base of choice. Nebraska has its share of flat cornfields, which are themselves hugely important to the nation’s, and the world’s sustenance. It also has its share of forested land, including a National Forest, up near Chadron, in the northwest of the state. I did not get anywhere near there, today, but did pass a number of small forests, particularly along the Platte River, its forks and the many irrigation-focused reservoirs that dot its plain. The Platte, like its fellows to the west, is suffering. It is mostly sand bars, these days-hoping for rain.
The first part of the morning was spent in homage to all that the railroad industry has done for the good of humanity-even as we, with some degree of justification, fret about the after-effects of fossil fuel use. My take is that all this concern should propel us into a Green Economy, which it is doing-just not fast enough to suit some people. The change-over needs to be done carefully, though, lest those whose interests lie in the old energy format convince the masses of people to resist what is, in the long run, best for the planet and for all living things within its gravitational pull.
Corn fields abut the Bailey Yard, home to Golden Spike Tower. The Bailey is the largest Classification Rail Yard in the world, being 8 miles long and occupying 2,850 acres. Union Pacific trains, centered here, transport goods, and more than a few crafty travelers, to 23 states. As the name, Golden Spike, implies, it was on a Union Pacific track, in Promontory, Utah, where the spike that brought the country’s rail system to completion was driven into the ground. This tower, at this yard, underscores that feat.
Union Pacific’s leased cornfield, at Bailey Yard, North Platte (above and below)
There has been more care taken to let tired land lie fallow or be protected by cover crops, in the past five or six years. People are learning, from the excesses of the Monoculture Boom of the last two decades.
A field at rest, on the northwest side of Bailey Yard.
One more fact about Bailey Yard: In 1941,in the aftermath of Pearl Harbor, a young North Platte woman named Rae Wilson recalled that the grandmothers of her town had operated a canteen for servicemen, during World War I. She wanted to do the same in her time, and approached Bill Jeffers, the President of Union Pacific, and a North Platte native, for permission to use a vacant room in his company’s North Platte terminal. He gladly offered the space, free of charge, with the caveat that the community provide all that was needed-food, drink and furniture. He knew that North Platte, and the surrounding area, would rise to the occasion. That, the community did, in spades. Beginning with a company of Kansas National Guardsmen, on Christmas Eve, 1941, thousands of troops passing through North Platte were fed and shown a warm welcome by the community-with plenty of support from communities across Nebraska, northern Kansas and northeastern Colorado. Remember, this was before there many processed foods, before microwave ovens; everything was made from scratch. The effort continued until 1946. The passenger terminal was torn down in 1973, so Bailey Yard maintains a replica of the canteen and offers a video account of the efforts.
I continued on, after viewing the video, stopping for lunch in the town of Gothenburg, an hour east of North Platte. Here, at Deb’s Diner/Nana’s Country Kitchen, I struck up a conversation with two local gentlemen, over lunch. One of the men had been in Colorado Springs, as I had, this past weekend. He told of taking a cabin at a large facility on the northwest side of town, and of his hapless wife getting into bed-and being stung by a bee, that had been trapped between the sheets! Good thing she wasn’t allergic-and there was plenty of mud outside, as it rained almost incessantly, on that side of town. (Mud, for those too young to remember, was the farmer’s medicine for insect stings. I’ve used it quite a few times, though I am no farmer.)
The capital of the Cornhusker State, Lincoln, is a medium-sized city, about an hour west of Omaha, which is somewhat larger. I stopped by the state capitol, for a short circumambulation. The edifice is in the shape of a skyscraper, though its base has expanded, as state government has grown over the decades.
Nebraska State Capitol, LincolnBase of Nebraska State Capitol, spreading southward.View of Nebraska State Capitol, from the east.The capital city’s namesake.
The day was fading, though I had plenty of energy left, so I wended the way north, past Fremont, Winnebago, Sioux City and the southeastern sliver of South Dakota, to the small quarry town of Luverne. Tomorrow, I might hike a bit at Blue Earth State Park, and pay respects to the victims of the Mankato massacre, before heading to Mendota Heights, and laying a wreath at the grave of a police officer, who was the work partner of an extended family member, and who was killed in the line of duty, nine years ago. I became aware of his murder,whilst paying similar respects to George Floyd, in 2021. It is past time, but murder is murder-and Officer Scott Patrick deserves to be remembered for his service and his life, every bit as much as any other victim of our national intemperance.
September 3, 2023, Black Forest, CO- The ball cap fluttered down from the dining hall balcony, with a gleeful pair of bright blue eyes following its progress. While the adults and older kids were busy talking among themselves, the three-year-old weaved his way across the balcony and down the stairs, retrieving the cap-and exploring the recess under the platform. He was soon joined by an adventurous friend, who came back out, a few minutes later, to announce the presence of Black Widow spiders in the alcove. Jack was unperturbed. The main thing was, his curiosity was satisfied.
He, and the other children present at our gathering, are creatures of agency. They have been granted such, by the wiser among the parents, grandparents and those of us who are uncles and aunts-either familial or by dint of inclination. We claim agency for ourselves as well-so it is natural that this be extended the future generations. The old saw, “Be kind to your children. They will be choosing your nursing home”, comes from far deeper sentiments. I can’t imagine being less than kind, or acting unloving-not in the past forty-four years, not even in the days of my own intemperance, impatience and insecurity.
Our lives matter, from the inception, the conception, of our souls. They matter until we have drawn our last breath, and long afterward, as the memories of those lives inform the decisions and actions of our descendants-both biological and societal.
Thus will Jack, and his friend, Astrid, and all those older and younger than they, make their will known, triumph from the decisions they make that are wise and forward-thinking and learn from those of their decisions that are not so.
It was this set of thoughts that rang most prominently, throughout a far more welcoming and affirming day at camp.
September 1, 2023, Black Forest, CO- While the hostess could barely focus, for the crowds that were making their way to her check stand, i could see that she was trying to keep it together. Such was the noon hour, at Junction Restaurant, on the east edge of Pagosa Springs.
I have been on Rte. 160, across Colorado’s southern tier, maybe two dozen times, since 1981. I have seen snow in July and bare roads in January. It has been all about navigating Wolf Creek Pass, each and every time. It has also been about an overnight in Cortez, or in Walsenburg, if I was making a return trip.
Highway 160 is the middle route, between I-40 and I-70. It is the guide to the San Juan Mountains, Mesa Verde, the Animas, San Juan and Rio Grande, the San Luis Valley, Great Sand Dunes, the Spanish Peaks-and the heart of the Rocky Mountains.
The three great rivers are hurting. Sand bars are visible in the Animas and San Juan, at Durango and Pagosa Springs, respectively, and Rio Grande is barely flowing, at Alamosa. There are no fires allowed in Montezuma County (Cortez), La Plata County (Durango), Archuleta County (Pagosa Springs) and Rio Grande County (South Fork). For the first time in memory, I saw no snow, anywhere, on the tops of the great “Fourteeners”. Colorado is parched, along with most of its fellow western states, and the its neighbours on the Great Plains.
This is the backdrop to the three days that lie ahead, at the Colorado East Baha’i School, here in Black Forest. Nonetheless, as we take pains to conserve water, be fire wise and love our host Mother Earth, all of us, Coloradans and visitors alike, are grateful for the paradise that this state presents.
I hope the blessed little lady at Junction can find some peace, this weekend.
August 31, 2023, Cortez- The Super Blue Moon is playing peek-a-boo, thanks to the intermittent cloud cover in the eastern sky. I am here in Colorado’s anchor to the Four Corners region, having just enjoyed a dinner in my favourite restaurant in town: Farm Bistro.
Setting out from Home Base, after running someone to a doctor’s appointment, I encountered no obstacles or diversions, on what is now a familiar route. The greatest part of the journey goes through the Navajo Nation. Like many areas of the country, Dinetah is gradually seeing an uplift in its infrastructure, while other segments of that framework remain challenging. Communities that were once food deserts, like Dennehotso, Shonto and Teec Nos Pos (“teese naws poss”) are seeing a resurgence in dry farming techniques and have clean, modern convenience markets. The highways are in fairly good shape, but highways need constant repair and attention, anywhere in the world. Running water, electricity and wireless fidelity have a ways to go, before becoming universal. I am always at home, in either the Navajo Nation or Ute Mountain Tribe, and always show respect for the privacy and dignity of the people, as should be done anywhere.
Cortez, is as ever, a welcoming, full-service community. Farm Bistro, where I have dined several times, has a bustling and friendly staff-working extra hard to serve the unexpectedly early Labor Day crowd. Looks like a four-day weekend is afoot.
NEXT: Across southern Colorado and up to C-Springs
A Sagittarian Seeker 