The Cost of Anonymity

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on August 5, 2019 in collaborating, Community, impediments, Personal Values, Social, Striving

July 19-21-

I am back in my salubrious Home Base, for three days, give or take. No one knew I was back, until I announced my presence- such is the anonymous state of being that proceeds from apartment living, in a community that relishes independence.

I went down to one of the local coffee houses, on Friday morning. For most of the time, I was the only patron sitting inside. The barrista, a recent graduate of our community’s high school, was bored out of her skull. Too shy to talk to this old guy, she busied herself with grinding coffee beans, swiping her phone and otherwise staring into space. I’ve learned to respect personal space, and so focused on my simple oatmeal breakfast.

Towards lunch, a visit to Ms. Natural’s, one of my favourite hangouts, revealed a different atmosphere. The proprietor, C, was delighted that I was back, even if only for a few days. One of the waitresses, C2, engaged me in a lengthy comparison of summer adventures: Mine, on the road and hers. locally-based, but no less interesting. After C2’s boyfriend showed up, they left and I talked with C and another waitress for a few more minutes, feeling that I belonged here.

Much of the modern West thrives on anonymity. People don’t monitor a person’s actions, all that much. Some of my contemporaries make it look as if they are watching what’s going on, but an old white guy staring at others, and not saying much, isn’t doing anything to deter either loneliness or miscreance. I have chosen involvement in community activities, as an antidote to both. It’s a fine line that needs to be trod-one can not force oneself on others, nor can one just turn a blind eye to incidents, large and small, that impact a community.

So, I went to a couple of meetings, Friday evening and Saturday afternoon, and joined several comrades for breakfast at the Legion Post, Sunday morning. I was apprised of all that had gone on, drama and the rest, over the last six weeks. There was a fair amount of planning and the scene for Autumn looks to be fulfilling. The cost of anonymity can only be paid by breaking out of the chrysalis.

Now, I look forward to a week with my Carson City family.

Back Along A Golden Road

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on August 4, 2019 in Community, Hiking and Nature, Historical, Inspiration, Personal Values, Slow Food, Social, Travel

July 17-18, 2019-

It had been three years, since I was last in Colorado. In the words of a waitress at one of my favoured spots, Del’s Diner, in Fort Garland, “That’s just too long!” Del’s had been a bit of a dive, but had remodeled and was doing just fine. The food was every bit as good as I remember.

U.S. 160 is one of those roads that make me feel at home, regardless of where I am, along its passage. The same thing is true of Old 66; Highway 1, along the Pacific Coast; U. S. 30, through the Midwest,; and MOST of U.S. 1.

So, I took the road, from Ulysses, Kansas to its western terminus, in Tuba City, AZ. A side hop was necessary, for me to take in Sand Creek National Monument. From La Junta, though, I zipped down to Trinidad, then back up I-25 to Walsenburg, from which I could re-visit my favourite part of 160: Colorado’s southern tier. Thus came dinner at Del’s and a long search for a place to stay that wouldn’t mean my budget would need a budget. Colorado seems to be even more popular than usual, this summer. That does my heart good.

The Spanish Peaks are a fine greeter, just east of Walsenburg.

The San Juan Mountains, between Del Norte and Pagosa Springs, are a reminder that snow regards the Rocky Mountain State as its summer home. (I’ve been in Colorado, at some point, each month of the year, and seen it snow, each and every month.)

I stopped briefly in South Park, just west of the formidable Wolf Creek Pass, and found a Cal King was the only bed available. Since I’m not part of a package deal, up and over the Pass I went. Going through the pricey resorts of Pagosa Springs and Durango, the night drive came to an end at Mesa Verde Motel, Mancos. There, I was generously offered a room at discount. It is a “dog room”, the owners being pet lovers, but there was no sign of dog hair anywhere in the room. Mesa Verde’s owners are just gentle, laid back people, and I recommend the place for anyone finding themselves tired and on the west side of heaven.

The home stretch began with a stop at Mc Elmo Creek Flume, an irrigation channel, built in 1921.

Seeking to stretch my legs a bit, before lunch, I walked around the City Park, in downtown Cortez. A laid-back Ute gent, seeking to impress some ladies in his company, started to mock me, while I was walking up the hill. When that had no effect, he asked if i were a veteran. “Yes, I am, and you? ” “You know it, Bro….. Devil Dogs!” He had the tattoo of a Marine, and though I recall the name being used specifically for those in the Corps, who fought at Belleau Wood, during World War I, I gave him a pass on that. Everyone deserves a semblance of dignity and respect.

Lunch time was here. I sadly noted that my go-to place, Jack and Janelle’s, had gone belly up. A walk downtown showed that there was someplace fairly new: The Farm Bistro. I gave it a shot, and am glad of it. Alex and crew are spot-on, with great cuisine and set a spunky, welcoming ambiance. Each party selects a plastic animal for its table, as a cue to the server.

My visit to Cortez came to a close, and shortly, thereafter, I was back in Arizona. Along the drive down the Navajo Nation, I noted that two once grocery-deprived communities, Red Mesa and Dennehotso, now have local markets. One place that has nothing is Baby Rocks, yet this little village, east of Kayenta, could easily be the next big outdoors thing.

This little wonderland is close enough to tourist-mecca Monument Valley, that a Dineh entrepreneur could easily remove the “Best Kept Secret” label from Baby Rocks.

Going onward, for four more hours, I brought this phase of Summer, 2019, to a peaceful conclusion. Carson City, and my Nevada extended family, await next week, after a few days of meetings here at Home Base. My eyes and heart are always open, to what counts most in life: Love of humanity.

Wilbert’s Fantasy and World Class ‘Q’

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 31, 2019 in Community, Historical, Inspiration, Personal Values, Slow Food, Social, Spiritual, Travel

July 15-16, 2019, Kansas City (MO) (and Olathe, KS )-

In 1959, Wilbert Harrison, a rhythm and blues singer from Charlotte, delivered the signature rendition of the whimsical tune, “Kansas City”- imagining a visit there would bring him romance, which would change his life.

Of course, it was pure fancy and the real Mr. Harrison probably spent no more time in KC than anyone else who didn’t live there. He did have a good idea, though. Kansas City has long been a place through which I have driven, en route to somewhere else. I visited the Truman Presidential Library, in nearby Independence, in 2011, but the big city eluded me-until today.

KCMO, simply put, has the most welcoming hostel in which I’ve yet stayed. Considering that I have had great experiences in all but one of the hostels I’ve visited in the past four years, that’s saying a volume. Honeycomb, and its owner/host, Elsa, make every guest feel like family. This is a woman who has lived a full life, most recently having made an interesting attempt to climb Mt. Everest, which she says will NOT be her last attempt. Then, there is Max, the house dog, who has his own skateboard, on which he can barely fit.

Max does his skateboard trick, for a piece of cheddar cheese.

There is much to see and do in Kansas City, so this will not be my last time stopping here. There were two immediate goals for this trip, though: Finding signature barbecue and getting a handle on downtown.

The first goal was achieved when,courtesy of Elsa, I headed towards Q 39, a medium-sized barbecue palace, in mid-town, and in a strip mall,yet. There are more stately-sounding barbecue restaurants, recommended by Lonely Planet and Fodor’s, but I’d come back here again, in a flash. Burnt tips have become this steak lover’s favourite, and no one does them better than Q 39’s kitchen staff.

Upon my return, the conversation with Elsa and three other guests, young men who are here for an extended work-visit, left me thinking that a need to slow the cross-country engine down, and actually spend 2-3 days, or more, in a place like KC, as I do in Massachusetts and Carson City-Reno. Family is as much in the mind and heart, as it is on a tree of ancestry. No, I’m not implying following Wilbert’s whimsical example; most women I encounter on the road are perfectly content with the men who are already in their lives. I am seeing the wisdom in matching my intensive mode of exploration with an actual time frame that fits.

Tuesday morning I left Honeycomb around 11 a.m. and headed to Union Station, far more than a place to catch a train.

As the skeleton implies, here is a top-notch Science City, which is offering a Stonehenge exhibit. Having been in Carnac and to Cahokia Mounds, I passed this one up, but for the small children going in with their parents, it had to have been a blast.

The interior lobby, though, gives Grand Central a run for its money.

The lobby has a couple of nice little food nooks, so I got a sandwich from Harvey’s, following up with a fine latte and fresh scone from Parisi. That set me back on the road, for a forty-five minute auto tour of downtown. Following this excursion, KC’s nice system of boulevards and parkways made wrestling with the construction zones at I-70’s on ramps completely unnecessary. I was past Kansas City, KS within a half-hour.

Continuing notes to self: Kansas is making a concerted effort at increasing its foliage. I make it a point to record all such scenes as I encounter.

NEXT: Solemnity and Noise in Eastern Colorado

Father of Waters and His Diligent Children

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 30, 2019 in Community, Hiking and Nature, Historical, Social, Spiritual, Travel

July 14-15, 2019, Wapello, IA-

Almost as essential as a visit to the Baha’i House of Worship, when crossing the country, is some time spent in the vicinity of the Mississippi River. Its residents, whether north or south, have a temperament, a work ethic, and a resilience, all their own.

My meeting with a steadfast and inspiring friend lasted about forty-five minutes. Afterward, I prayed in the House of Worship for a half hour further, then made my way out of Chicagoland, stopping for lunch and to do laundry, in Bolingbrook, on the Metropolitan area’s southern edge. A horrific accident, coupled with ongoing roadwork, had left I-59 backed up, on the northbound side, for at least four miles. I would have felt fine, had we southbounders shared part of our road with our hapless fellow-travelers. The heat, this afternoon, was back, with a vengeance, after two days of fairly mild temperatures.

On we went, though, and my necessaries were done, after two hours. Bolingbrook is a cosmopolitan little place, the type in which I am quite comfortable. The genial, but imposing, laundromat manager kept order by circulating among the families, stopping to comfort a boy of about ten or eleven, who was crying after having somehow disappointed his mother. She wasn’t acting angry nor was she scolding him. It was just that love which a child has for a parent, in which feeling like the parent has been let down, is the worst feeling in the world. Mr. D. seemed to know this, and had the boy calmed down, by quietly getting to ht heart of the matter.

I stopped, briefly, in Peoria, to say prayers for the memory and soul’s progress of a native of that town, who had been a friend of ours in Dinetah, for several years. Nancy went back to Peoria for her final year or so, before passing on, earlier this year. The Clock Tower was about the only part of the River District that wasn’t blocked by construction, so it serves as a stand-in for the historic downtown area.

From Peoria, it was on to the Mississippi, in its northern segment. Crossing into Iowa, I found my first Riverside encounter in Bettendorf, the northwest quarter of the Quad Cities. (The other three being Moline and Rock Island, IL and Davenport, IA.)

The playground at Leach Park looks like it would engage a variety of child age groups.

Having had a childhood fascination with conical roofs, I would have gravitated towards that building, had it been in my local playground, way back when.

The Mississippi, though, remains the main draw.

This lodge-type structure is on Rock Island Arsenal, an island on the Illinois side, just west of the city of Rock Island. From the looks of things, it seems to have a role in flood control.

I was getting tired, as I passed through Davenport and Muscatine. When little Wapello appeared, I was grateful to see Roy-El Motel, just off the highway. As tourist traffic is light in these parts, the owners were glad to see me, too. This is a view of downtown Wapello. The town is named for a mild-mannered chief of the Meskwaki people, who led them to this area and enjoyed harmonious relations with the white settlers of the river front. I had a light breakfast at Chief Brew, where local farmers and retired folks gather, “three days a week, so we don’t get tired of one another.” The men were surprised to see someone from Arizona. I explained that I enjoy stopping along the River, to which one man said- “Bet you’d change your mind, after seeing one flood stage.”

There was no such deluge, this Monday morning, though.

The Father of Waters was enjoying his siesta. I headed on west, with the destination being Kansas City.

NEXT: Wilbert Harrison had it right.

A Temple and Its Concentric Circles

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 29, 2019 in Community, Historical, Matters of Faith, Slow Food, Social, Spiritual, Travel

July 13-14, 2019, Wilmette-

I have made it a practice, when going back and forth across North America, to stop at least once at the Baha’i House of Worship, in this leafy North Shore suburb of Chicago. Often, it is only for two or three hours, before I’m off again, to whatever awaits. This time, though, I took an Airbnb room, near Wilmette’s Village Center, the better to meet with a trusted friend at her convenience.

The House of Worship is, rightfully, a point of pride for Wilmette’s residents, regardless of their faith, or lack thereof. The town has a full complement of Christian denominations and an active Jewish temple, as well as several Muslims. My host, an Iranian-American, who is not a Baha’i, spoke well of our Faith and of the Temple.

My day started, in Wrigleyville, with my helping the most vibrant of the group of hostelers, whom I mentioned yesterday, to charge her phone. The Hostel’s breakfast master whipped up some incredible pancakes and waffles. Then came the navigation from the parking garage I used, to curbside near the hostel. A distance of two blocks required me to go around Cape Horn, figuratively speaking. At one point, I stopped, twice, at the same STOP sign, then inched forward, only to be chastised by a traffic control officer for not stopping a THIRD time. No ticket ensued, after his partner rolled her eyes at him and signaled me to turn. That’s Chicago traffic, though, and never anything personal. A police officer at another spot let me turn onto Sheffield, and I found the perfect spot for loading my car back up.

No freeway was necessary, going to Wilmette. U.S. 41 North gives one a nice slice of Chicago’s northwest side, at a leisurely pace, without a humongous amount of traffic, of a Saturday morning. A fine lunch at Potbelly Sandwich Shop, amongst an eclectic crowd, set a fine mood for the rest of the drive to my evening’s abode. The ambiance is as important to me as the food itself. Listening to Ella Fitzgerald’s rendition of “Sunshine of Your Love” was a bonus.

Above a Persian carpet shop sits a modest apartment. There, I took the spare room, and headed up to the House of Worship. My focus, after prayers and meditation, is always on the gardens, which surround the Temple, on each of its nine sides. I have shown these, in detail, in earlier posts. Here, though, is a small sample.

This is the North Shore Channel, which empties into Wilmette Harbor, between the House of Worship and Gillson Park, which has the village’s lovely beach.

I availed myself of two restaurants here in Wilmette: Ridgeview Grill, which I visited last summer, gave the same excellent fare and service on Saturday night; Walker Brothers Pancake House offered the finest of Sunday breakfasts. (Yes, San Diegans, your very own Richard Walker is a member of this family, and his superb Pancake House is a West Coast extension of the Wilmette establishment, which also has six other branches around Chicagoland’s North Shore.).Suffice it to say, I am getting spoiled by two days in a row of great pancakes.

With breakfast done, and 10 a.m. rolling around, I bid farewell to my host, J., and headed over to the House of Worship, to meet my friend. On the way, I encountered a crew fixing a broken water main, so prayers were offered for that situation as well. The Baha’i House of Worship in Wilmette (1953) was the second such Temple ever built, the first being in Ashgabat, Turkmenistan (1908). (It was confiscated by the Soviets, in the 1920’s, then was destroyed by an earthquake. The property remains vacant, under Turkmenistan government control.) There are now seven other Baha’i Houses of Worship – one for each continuously-inhabited continent, plus one in Samoa and one in Panama. National and Regional Baha’i Temples are being built, in several places around the globe. Each House of Worship is open to all, regardless of Faith.

Wilmette, this time, felt a lot more like home. The ripples of love and acceptance are radiating outward from this truly divine edifice.

The Joy In Wrigleyville

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 28, 2019 in Community, Hiking and Nature, Historical, impediments, Social, Travel

July 12, 2019, Chicago-

Being a lifelong Red Sox fan, I nonetheless, being a holistic thinker and inclusive by nature, I also have had a place in my heart for the Chicago Cubs. I was as happy when they won the World Series, as I was when my Home Team earned their title.

So, when Wrigley Hostel came up, as a place to spend a night in Chicago, I was ecstatic. As it happened, when Hostelworld bumped my reservation date back to June 12, I didn’t notice. I got here in mid-afternoon and was lucky that there was a spot available for tonight. From now on, I know I need to double check any reservations I make, using an online consortium.

At any rate, Wrigley Hostel, essentially one block east of the stadium, is a large and homey place, with plenty of room for about 60 people. My spot is in the room right next to the front desk, very close to the kitchen. The group of hostelers is relaxed, inclusive and fun-loving, as should be the case. The staff, save for one out-of-sorts desk clerk, is caring and friendly.

The kids went off to events like Taste of Chicago. I got my own Taste, at Shake Shack, south of here and equally close to Wrigley Field. There was a goodly crowd on Clark Avenue, as the game had let out, a few minutes earlier.

I feel fortunate to have two good shots of Wrigley.

After the very filling Chi-burger and mango shake, I took a stroll down to the edge of Lake Michigan. It’s always a soothing sight, especially from the serenity of Lincoln Park.

This expanse of greenery is a solace to many- from the water’s edge to Jarvis Bird Sanctuary, and, yes, to Lincoln Park Zoo. I spent about twenty minutes here, contemplating Chicago’s majestic side.

Along Addison Avenue, going back to the hostel, are several architectural gems.

I can’t look at a water tower in this city, without thinking of the Fire of 1871.

Conical roofs are appealing, both on apartment blocks and on churches.

I am just glad for one thing: I don’t have to drive in Wrigleyville as a daily routine. I think that would be way above my pay grade. It’ll be enough to navigate out of here, tomorrow morning.

The Valley of Five Colleges

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 23, 2019 in Community, Education, Historical, Inner Struggles, Inspiration, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving, Travel

July 8, 2019, Amherst, MA-

I learned much from my growing-up years in Saugus-certainly a lot more than some people, who knew me when, ever suspected. Some, especially in my family, still wonder how I’ve made it this far, ever managing to get out of my own way. Truth be known, what I learned as a child and teen determined what I retained from my college and university days, and from many experiences thereafter. I learned to survive in Saugus and how to thrive in Amherst.

Amherst both sheltered me from the real world and engaged the stretching of my comfort zone. I came to this place of five institutions of higher learning, at a time when the women’s movement was coming into full flower (no pun intended) and when the residue of the anti- war movement was settling into an ennui of apathy. Watergate rekindled a sense of outrage, for a time, but with Richard Nixon gone, by the Fall of 1974, many were back to focusing on I, Me and Mine.

I returned here today, for the first time since graduating in 1976, to see what, if anything, had really changed. Amherst College is still the centerpiece of downtown. The University of Massachusetts is the town’s largest employer. Mount Holyoke College, Smith College, and Hampshire College lie in a semi-circle to the south of Amherst, I took a stroll around Amherst College and downtown Amherst, before heading up to the University campus.

Here a few views of Amherst College.

The Loeb Center is a job placement hub for Amherst graduates.

Bassett is one of two planetariums in Amherst. Orchard Hill, on the University of Massachusetts campus, is the other.

Henry Ward Beecher was a pioneer in the abolitionist movement, but was later the focus of scandal, showing the two sides of even the most ardent of social reformers. Nonetheless, he is honoured by Amherst College as one of its most prominent alumni.

Lawrence Observatory, to which Bassett Planetarium is attached, is one of the first astronomical observatories in the United States, having been built in 1847.

My walk around Amherst town began with lunch. Fresh Side is a lovely Asian fusion cafe.

St. Brigid’s Roman Catholic Church is one of the most prominent non-college edifices in town.

Amherst Town Hall, though, is the signature Town Center building, across from the Town Green.

Fast forward a bit and I found myself gazing at the High Rise Dormitory, completed just before I attended the University.

Here is the Sciences Complex.

This scene appealed to me, as a fusion of two starkly different architectural styles.

I headed south, after a brief visit to the University Commons, and gazed towards Mt. Holyoke, from a highway rest stop. The Five Colleges were a solid unit in the 1970’s and are even more vital an educational force now. The concept of a unified and diverse educational consortium has only gained traction, in the decades since.

NEXT: Danbury, The Second Clarion of the American Revolution

On Differing With Ella Winter

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 21, 2019 in Community, Family, Historical, Inspiration, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Travel

July 3-7, 2019, Saugus, MA-

The fine North Carolina author, Thomas Wolfe, famously used, “You can’t go home again.”as the title of a novel, which he never lived to publish. His associates took care of that, sometime after his death in 1938, and we have the title as one of the more memorable things with which he is associated. The quote, though, originated with an Australian writer, Ella Winter, who gave Wolfe permission to use it in his writing.

I’ve been going back to Saugus, continuously, since I left here at age 18. Service in the Army, college, a quixotic two years getting my bearings in Maine, and then Arizona, South Korea and back to Arizona, all have had a common denominator: Hometown has never gone away.

There have been changes: The population has grown, from 25,000 to about 38,000; traffic has increased accordingly; the once lily-white community has opened its doors to people of colour; Hilltop Steak House has given way to Restaurant 110; most of the neighbours have died or moved away.

There are, though, things which endure: My mother is still living, quite well; two boyhood friends still live in the neighbourhood-one in his childhood home; Adams Avenue, the street of my youth, is still within walking distance of both Saugus Center and Cliftondale Square-as well as the West Side’s large shopping mall, Square One; traffic on U.S. Route One can still be daunting at times, though after dealing for so long with traffic in much larger cities, I know not to cringe.

We had the usual family gathering, this time at a niece’s large, beautiful new home, about 1 1/2 hours west of here and dropped in on a nephew and his family, in a town twenty minutes south of Saugus. These visits are fleeting, but far better than not seeing these gracious, beloved people at all. There was a visit to the aforementioned 110, where I got my fix of fried clams, a boyhood staple. There were the customary Hallmark movies and binge watching of old episodes of “Blue Bloods”, one of Mom’s favourites. There was a surprise, when Mom decided to check out a couple of Marvel films, on SyFy. She had enough, after “Iron Man”, but “Spider Man” was a hit.

I come from large families, on both sides. There are many cousins, some I haven’t seen in years, and a few aunts and uncles still living. The group will hopefully get together in late August. Though I won’t be there, people have to start with what they have available. I have been able to connect with a cousin in the Midwest, as you know, and will hopefully make more connections, in future visits. Gradually, the in-gathering progresses-with social media at least keeping the ties from fraying.

So, not to judge Ella Winter, for the circumstances of her life, but I CAN, and do, go home again. If nothing else, home remains in the heart. We four, and our extended family, want Mom to keep on, so long as life offers her a measure of blessing. May she keep the flame, until it’s time to pass the torch on.

NEXT: Amherst and Its Halls of Learning

Popeye Doyle Wasn’t Here

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 19, 2019 in Community, Historical, impediments, Personal Values, Social, Striving, Travel

July 3, 2019, Poughkeepsie-

In 1971, I viewed a film called “The French Connection”, a fictionalized account of New York Police Detective Eddie Egan and his work on a case involving a French heroin smuggling syndicate, and their New York associates. Gene Hackman played Egan, using the pseudonym, “Popeye Doyle”. In one scene, Popeye interrogates a suspect in a routine case, asking him “Do you ever pick your feet in Poughkeepsie?” The suspect is sor attled by Popeye’s pushing the issue that he confesses to the actual crime of which he is accused.

That put Poughkeepsie on the map for me. About a year later, I was given a ride to the town, by some frat boys from New Paltz State University, which lies northwest,across the Hudson River. Poughkeepsie didn’t impress me as a place where people would travel, to engage in weird behaviour, but one never knows.

I stopped here to get a glimpse of how the town was faring now, after reading how it is being compared with Newburgh, a few dozen miles to the south. Both are viewed by some New Yorkers as down-at-the-heels, miniature versions of the city’s own crime-ridden neighbourhoods.

I found Poughkeepsie to be in a slightly better state, right now, than Newburgh-at least with respect to its downtown area. It is a somewhat bigger city, and serves as the commercial hub of the Mid-Hudson Valley.

As in Newburgh,I focused on the architecture and the city’s relationship with the river.

The first two photos below show a Nineteenth Century building, which may have been originally used as a mental hospital. It is now a Seventh Day Adventist church- a far cry from its original use. It still left me with an eerie feeling.

Walking downhill, towards the Hudson, my attention was grabbed by two things: This mural which occupied both sides of the street, under an overpass and a rough-looking man, struggling with his equally rough-looking dog, which wanted to walk in the middle of the busy street. Twice, both man and beast were almost done in by cars which were not going all that fast. Somehow, the approach of a police car empowered the man to get control of his pet. My attention went back to the mural.

That is what I wish to see in the struggling towns of the Mid-Hudson-and in all struggling communities. The talent and drive are here. They have, for some reason, not been tapped.

The future doesn’t necessarily need to look like this Victorian-era resort, across the river in Highland, but it starts with bright minds etching their dreams, the way the muralists did in the above scenes.

This bridge takes people to and from Highland, eight miles southwest of New Paltz and its university. That is a short distance that, for people like the young man I met in the Waterfront Park, seems like a million miles. He wasn’t happy standing and staring at the cement whale that lies near the playground, but it seemed to him to be safer than being downtown.

There is, for those who see a way to self-expression, a vibrant drama and dance scene, based in Cunneen-Hackett Arts Center.

Making beautiful noise, and painting in bright colours, are what get a community started in building a mindset of recovery and moving towards prosperity. Handouts, which the young man in the park most certainly did NOT want, will only extend the misery. I have hope for Poughkeepsie.

NEXT: A Bit of the Southern Berkshires

The Two Faces of Newburgh

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 18, 2019 in Community, Historical, impediments, Inspiration, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving, Travel

July 2, 2019, Newburgh , NY-

One of the things I often find myself doing, when going back and forth across the continent, is spending at least a few hours in a town or city that is struggling with a variety of social ills, yet still manages to keep a semblance of what made it tick. Newburgh, in the middle Hudson Valley, is one such place.

I spent last night, and this morning, in Oley, PA, at the home of friends who operate Glick’s Greenhouse. It’s always a pleasure to stop there, with a house full of people and one sometimes grouchy greenhouse dog. When I was about to leave, after breakfast and lunch served up by a budding eight-year-old chef, the proprietor of the Greenhouse showed me some of his nephew’s latest blossoms.

The evening brought me to the Hudson Valley, and Newburgh. I made the choice to focus on the Inner City, thus spending the night at Imperial Motel, which has seen better days, though still home to some of the most regal people on Earth. A wander about the downtown area showed both early 20th and contemporary 21st Century architecture.

The City Courthouse is a busy place. Newburgh is said to be the murder capital of New York State, so it isn’t a place for the distracted or the unwary.

There are plenty of safe havens, though. These two churches signify the legacy, and the promise, that exists in places like Newburgh, and its upriver cousin, Poughkeepsie (more on it, in the next post).

I spent a little time, here and there, along Newburgh’s Riverfront, with plenty of locals celebrating the majesty of the Hudson-and a few signs of decay in spots.

Here is a view of a crossing, from south of Newburgh.

Looks like the boat might need some work.

Nonetheless, there is an enduring charm about the great river and its banks.

From this area of Newburgh’s waterfront, several ferries take people across the Hudson, to Beacon.

I took a walk, from Imperial to a small “spa”, which is another term in the Northeast for a convenience store. The dour South Asian proprietor took no crap from any of the young men who cam in and out, basically trying one scam or another. I got my coffee, treated everyone politely, while walking with confidence and had no trouble. Then again, it was broad daylight. Most trouble here seems to come from domestic disputes, and in a city where too many men have lost hope, that violence comes all too easily.

Up on the bluffs heading out of town, there is a far different ambiance. This Korean-American establishment offers one mindset that is the basis for solving many social ills: “We are one family.”

NEXT: Poughkeepsie, without Popeye Doyle

	Patty Wolters on Limits of Responsibility
	Sagittarian Seeker on Limits of Responsibility
	Patty Wolters on Limits of Responsibility
	Sagittarian Seeker on Limits of Responsibility
	slmret on Limits of Responsibility

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