The late character actor Andy Devine called Kingman, Az home, and the town has returned the favour, having named its stretch of old Route 66 “Andy Devine Avenue”, shortly after his death in 1978.  Kingman is mainly known as a southern gateway to Las Vegas, but to me, it is also the jumping off point to a variety of Mohave Desert vistas- some of which are inside the city limits.  Kingman is a good place for a fairly cheap, but colourful, weekend.

So, on Sunday, Feb. 17, after spending time with some friends in a wilderness area near Watson Lake, Prescott, I drove up to Kingman and settled for the evening at an Economy Inn.  I had a good afternoon and evening just walking around the downtown area of this old mining community.  Kingman is not Bisbee, or Jerome, but it holds its own and is worth a day or two of exploration.  A good place to start is the Powerhouse Visitor Center, at the junction of Andy Devine Ave. and Beale Street.  There is a Route 66 Museum within, for those who enjoy such things.

I was more interested in the model train set.

The town was settled by Italian miners, so downtown has its share of Italian Cypress.  The trees grace several properties, including the Mohave County Courthouse.

Downtown has several places listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

Chief among them is Bonelli House, originally built for an Italian immigrant, George Bonelli, and his family.  It is available for viewing until 2:30 PM, except on Sundays.  I had a full schedule on Monday, so it will be there to check out, another time.

Kingman folks have a healthy sense of humour- and funky shops are as common here as anywhere.

I  enjoyed reasonable meals at a couple of spots in Kingman:  Mr. D’z (fairly good food, with a heartfelt and hard-working staff) and Calico’s (friendly staff, good food-in modest portions).

Kingman and towns to the immediate north are bounded on the north and east by the Cerbat Range.  The Hualapai Mountains, viewed below, lie a bit further to the east, and will be the subject of a post later in the Spring.

Next up, a visit to the Cerbats, their interesting rock murals, and Arizona’s oldest mining town:  Chloride.

By my usual standards, this is ancient history, but since I am just now getting over a strain of flu that was not covered by the widely-available shots, here it is.

Last Sunday afternoon, I drove out to Lake Havasu City, on the Colorado River, for the purpose of helping at a Red Cross event, at the Fourth Annual Lake Havasu Balloon Festival.  This town is geologically ancient, but historically among the more recent arrivals among Arizona’s communities.  

                                              

                                           

                                            

While  I would not be likely to skydive, ever, being in the basket of a hot-air balloon might be an interesting way to spend an hour or two.  Have a great day, everyone, whether on the ground or far above it.

When one heads west from Boston’s North End, it’s a few hundred steps into what many young urban professionals (Yep, they’re still here) regard as a Promised Land.  The old brownstones and row houses of Charlestown, one of  the Hub’s traditionally Irish neighbourhoods, are now drawing the upwardly mobile.

I did not dwell too much on that aspect of the home of the Sacred Cod.  It is better experienced as the northern sector of the Freedom Trail, with the Bunker Hill Monument and USS Constitution as the Trail’s main draws.

Arriving on the west end of the bridge, a visitor is greeted by two parks:  City Square and Monument Square.  The first lies at the foot of the bridge across the Charles.

           

Note the twin Sacred Cod in the photo to the left.  No Boston politician worth his or her handshake would ever ignore the breadwinning fish.

Charlestown’s long-time residents are as devout as their neighbours across the river.  St. Mary’s Catholic Church is well-established, just to the north of City Square.

Monument Square is a bit to the east of St. Mary’s.  It has Charlestown’s war memorials

and the foundation stones of the area’s first tavern.

Walking further up Breed’s Hill and Bunker Hill, Charlestown’s masterpiece becomes visible:  Bunker Hill Monument.

202 steps brought me to a majestic, panoramic view of Boston’s skyline.  I am becoming a fan of this sort of activity, after visiting the Space Needle a few months ago.  This view equals that in Seattle.

The obelisk is capped by an marble ceiling but, for freedom, the sky’s the limit.

I decided to save the Constitution for a later date, and hurried back to Saugus just in time for my birthday dinner.  Thus did Nov. 28, 2012 end on a very happy note.

The two neighbourhoods which hug the northwest sector of the City of Boston, of the Charles River and its confluence with the Mystic River are also integral to the Freedom Trail and the story it tells of our nation’s beginnings.

The North End has become best known for its Italian culture, restaurants and shops.

There are three Roman Catholic parishes in this relatively small area:  St. Stephen’s, St. Leonard’s and Sacred Heart.  The last identifies itself as an Italian Catholic parish.

Below are, in order of appearance, St. Leonard’s, St. Stephen’s and Sacred Heart.

      

 

The unifying element in North End life, aside from the strong ethnic identity of many of its residents, is the legacy of Paul Revere.  He is best known as a benefactor of the Revolutionary cause and as the bell-ringer of Old North Church.  Longfellow’s poem and Copley’s portrait have made Revere one of the most famous Americans of the War for Independence and Federal period to have not served in either the military or national government.

Old North Church, Paul Revere House and Copp’s Hill Burial Ground are the three most prominent landmarks of the War for Independence in the North End.

Here is the  famous North End church of the Independence Era:  Old North.

Paul Revere’s house is preserved by an historical trust.  It will seem familiar to the connoisseur of colonial New England architecture, as it was built by the same man who built Salem’s House of the Seven Gables:  Joseph Chandler.  He built residences with low ceilings, to preserve heat, in the harsh winters of pre-central heating Massachusetts.

Paul Revere, by profession, was a silversmith.  Silver being expensive, then as now, Revere also worked with copper and bronze, as well as with gold.  A bronze bell, cast by Revere for the Old North Church, was rung by him on that fateful night of April, 1775.  It now lies in the courtyard of his preserved home.

The last place I visited in the North End, before crossing the bridge into Charlestown, was Copp’s Hill Burial Ground.

Here are interred the good, the great and those of checkered repute, from Boston’s early days.  The patriot Robert  Newman, the abolitionist and educator Prince Hall and the early religious fundamentalist Mathers (Richard, his son Increase and grandson Cotton) are all laid to rest in this hallowed ground.

                            

 

Having paid my respects to one and all, I gazed out upon the Charles River.

 

Tomorrow, I will recap my visit to Charlestown.  For now, I recall the words of the townies, to any young boy who hung around too long in a “Connah Stoah”, “Hey kid, go home and tell ya mutha she wants ya.”

 

I first walked the better part of the Freedom Trail in Boston with my Dad, in 1964.  Back then, Quincy Market was called Durgin Park and the Old Corner Book Store was still selling books.  We got as far as the Charles River, then went back to the car, so as to beat the afternoon traffic.  It was my first real understanding that freedom came after considerable struggle.

I went back to the edge of the Trail last year, visiting Boston Common and Park Street Church, during a Copley Square excursion.  This time, I was determined to walk the rest of the trail and see this beloved city through the eyes of struggle and endurance.

It was a cold, somewhat brisk day, with snow in the air, on my 62nd birthday.  The first place I encountered was the newest point on the Freedom Trail:  Holocaust Memorial.  There is no more fitting place than here, to honour the memories of those lost in the second-worst war in human history.  Jews have been an integral part of American society since the mid-seventeenth century, with sites like Newport, RI’s Touro Synagogue to prove it.  Boston’s memorial is modern, and tasteful.

The message is clear, and only the ignorant will deny what happened.  Freedom is an ongoing struggle- lest we forget.

The victims speak through these media.

          

The foresight of Dwight D. Eisenhower provides us with further assurance.

The first freedom fighters here included men of means and paupers alike.  They were of all the  “races” who lived in Boston at the time:  White, Black, Native American.  Their common thread, which had a distant echo in England itself, was the cry for personal freedom.  No one really was represented in government, save the upper classes and aristocracy.  Women could only speak through their menfolk.  In 1770, on a street corner in what was then the heart of Boston, push came to shove.

The story of the five year run-up to the War for Independence is superbly told in the Old State House.  I spent an hour here, learning new details of the Tax Enactment Period and of the complex interplay between the British soldiers and Patriots, in the aftermath of the Boston “Massacre”, which actually cost five lives and six injuries.

From this site, I walked to the Old South Meeting House, so named because it was used primarily by Quakers and Mennonites.  It was a safe haven for those meeting to discuss their grievances, in the early 1770’s.  Below, are views of the exterior and interior of this vital building.

The morning segment of my wandering led next to the Old Corner Book Store (now a Chipotle).  It is the red brick building just diagonal from the truck.

Next is Old City Hall, where there is a statue of Benjamin Franklin in the front yard, close to King’s Chapel.

King’s Chapel is important, as it was the site of the first school in Boston, and a Loyalist gathering spot.  It is also the site where, ironically, the patriot William Dawes, among other notables of the colonial era, is buried.

I had reached the point where I had left off last summer.  In the interests of doing justice to the North End and Charlestown, as well as to my own birthday dinner later in the evening, I headed towards Fanueil Hall, Quincy Market and lunch.

En route, I saw living proof of our nation’s freedom- a group of carolers, spontaneously offering holiday cheer.  Across the street from them was the famed Parker House.

Hot rolls aside, I was in the mood for a lobster salad and clam chowder.  Hence, it was off to the great market place.  Fanueil Hall itself serves as headquarters for Boston National Historical Park.

For serious eating, it’s Quincy Market.

There is a touch of kitsch at the end of the complex, as there is at all great city markets.  But, hey, ya gotta love “Cheers”.

Next up:  The North End, home of Paul Revere.

Growing up on the North Shore of Massachusetts Bay, I have been mesmerized by the history-oriented culture of places like Boston, Cambridge and Salem.  To be sure, my own hometown of Saugus had a hand in this.  Our Ironworks was the parent of the American steel industry.

During my recent, Thanksgiving-oriented visit “up home”, I made it a point to revisit some of my favourite sites in Salem, as well as to re-walk  Boston’s Freedom Trail from the point where I left off in September, 2011.

In today’s post, I want to pay homage to the “Witch City”, and share my visit there, of November 20.

Taking an easy bus route from Saugus, through Lynn, I arrived at Salem’s Chestnut Street, in the heart of the 18th Century McIntire Historic District.   It’s named for Samuel McIntire, who built many of the homes that are still preserved in this exemplary neighbourhood.

The first place I visited in the McIntire District was Hamilton Hall.  It is so named because Alexander Hamilton frequented the house when he visited Salem.  Unlike the colonial-era homes which McIntire built, this Federal-period classic was clothed in brick.

Its interior is suitably ornate, befitting the nation’s first Treasurer.

           

After leaving the Federalist era, I jumped backwards in time, to Salem’s Days of Infamy.  The Witch House, at the edge of the McIntire District, predates Samuel, but shows the full story of the religious persecutions and the mass hysteria which led to them, in late seventeenth century Salem- and a few nearby towns.

Due to the delicate nature of the furnishings, photography inside the Witch House is discouraged, as is of course handling of the various artifacts.  What is ironic is that it was the home of the Witch Trials’ presiding judge, Jonathan Corwin.  The structure is the only house remaining in Salem with direct ties to those dark days.  There are numerous other places in the downtown area with exhibits of witch memorabilia.

Salem has two other historic periods in which it played an important role:  The Clipper Ship Era and the Industrial Age.  Several tanning factories and some heavy manufacturing facilities were located here, in the 19th and 20th centuries.  Salem’s port was a rival of Boston’s, until the mid- 19th Century.

The economic boom enabled Salem to build impressive public buildings and places of learning, like Salem Athenaeum, which still exists as a private library.

The County Courthouse and Salem Town Hall (now a city museum) are shown below.

      

After a satisfying lunch at Nick’s Firehouse, I revisited the Peabody Essex Museum, behind the old Town Hall.  I was last there in 1965, when a grudging curator let my three siblings and me walk around the Maritime exhibit, unsupervised.  He made no pretense of liking children and teens, but I found the exhibits fascinating.  They still are- although no photos are allowed there, either.

Nonetheless, the Museum is now popularly called “The PEM”, school groups are welcomed- even by the eldest of  docents and the Museum involves itself fully in community life.

After ninety minutes of studying paintings, household finery and marvelous Chinese ceramic ware and figurines, I headed to the brisk open air of Salem’s waterfront.  Here are the great wharves, Salem Neck, Cat Cove and all that brought wealth to the city, during the Clipper Ship Era.  The scene is preserved as the Salem Maritime National Historic Site.

             

Above is the SS Friendship, a restored clipper ship, open to visitors during the summer months.  Below left  is Salem Neck.  To the right is a shore view of Derby Wharf, built by one of Salem’s most successful mariners:  Samuel Derby.

           At the end of Derby Wharf lies a short lighthouse, which once guided tall ships and fishing boats into Salem Harbor.

Overseeing it all, for nearly five decades, was Salem Custom House, now part of the Historic Site.

The New England Literary Renaissance was represented most notably in Salem by Nathaniel Hawthorne.  His “House of the Seven Gables” is a real place, of course, and one can still climb the steps in back of the fireplace, under the watchful eye of a tour guide.  As ever, photography is not allowed inside the house itself.

I was, however, able to photograph the Counting House, both inside and out.  This 19th Century office space underscored Seven Gables’ maritime importance.  Properly called Turner-Ingersoll Mansion, the house was important to Hawthorne in real terms, because his older cousin, with whom he was very close, was an owner of the mansion during Hawthorne’s teen years.  His own birthplace was moved from the downtown area to the Mansion grounds.

Here are the exterior and interior ceiling of the Counting House.

           

A view of Salem Neck is in order.

Lastly, here is a peek at Nathaniel Hawthorne’s birthplace.

Salem remains, in my heart, one of the classic American cities- always worth a “pilgrimage”.

I have things to occupy me, besides hiking.  The Red Cross Disaster Assistance Team for Yavapai County has become one of them, and indeed, it will be my main focus next weekend, as we have a training seminar.

On Saturday, I went, as I had promised, to a Health & Wellness Fair in Bagdad, AZ, as part of a Red Cross presence.  It turned out I was the ONLY presence, but I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of that, soon.

Bagdad is a small, spirited mining town, 50 miles west of Prescott.  I bided my time by talking with a handful of people, both about the mission of the Red Cross and about the course of suffering among those in declining health.  The somewhat flinty-eyed fair director seemed a bit suspicious of me, but offered me lunch anyway.

Here are some scenes which await the traveler, both in and en route to Bagdad.  The first two scenes are just west of Kirkland, which lies halfway between Prescott and Bagdad.

 

These are sort of a gateway into the northwest arm of the Sonoran Desert, for which Bagdad and Wickenburg are the commercial centers.

 

Above are the Connell Mountains, north of Kirkland and Hillside.  Below are a few scenes of the Sonoran Desert, just east of Bagdad.

This shrine is on a ranch, in the small settlement of Hillside, fifteen miles east of Bagdad.

The Bagdad Community Center itself is at the foot of Sanders Mesa.

On Saturday, it was a happening place.

After the delicious lunch, I switched gears.  The evening brought me to Lynx  Lake, southeast of Prescott.  I took a leisurely walk along a segment of Homestead Trail, which skirts the west shore of the lake.  I saw a cormorant, ready to get its supper.

Following the bird’s lead, I went in search of my Oktoberfest dinner.  Lynx Lake Cafe is a full-service restaurant, with German fare.  So, I sat at an outside table, near the entrance, and ordered a full German meal- with bratwurst as the centerpiece.  Trio salad, sauerkraut, spaetzel, and German potato salad were there on the plate, as well.  Apfel (apple) strudel and coffee topped it all off.  The place was packed, inside and out.  My Poppa would have been proud.

My table-for-one (or two, if need be) was right where that bench is in the photo, to the right of the door.

(Above photo courtesy of phoenix traveler.com)

I was probably the only person there that evening who made do with water and coffee, but my Oktoberfest, my rules.

Next- Sunday brunch and the Red Rocks of Sedona.