Alexandersmap

    Month: April 2018

    • The Middlesex Canal

      The Middlesex Canal

      New England Yankees in the late 1700’s and early 1800’s had a transportation problem.  Water routes were the most efficient but rivers were often challenging to navigate.  Footpaths gave way to coach paths and turnpikes as the need for more efficient transportation between Boston and points north and west developed.  Three modes of transportation developed in the 1800’s that still exist in some sections: the Middlesex Turnpike, the Middlesex Canal, and eventually the railroad.

      The Middlesex Turnpike was chartered in 1805 and opened in about 1810.  It ran from Cambridge, Massachusetts to the New Hampshire border in Tyngsboro.  As a turnpike, coaches would pay to ride this route.  But other options made it unprofitable as a business and it became a free road in a little more than 30 years.  You can still drive sections of the Middlesex Turnpike today.

      One of the big competitors to the Turnpike was the Middlesex Canal, which had opened eight years before and ran roughly parallel to the Turnpike and had the advantage of tying directly into Boston Harbor on one end and the Merrimack River at Lowell on the other end, so barges could be loaded once and towed by horses to their destination at the mills.  Other goods from New Hampshire could be floated down the river and right into the canal.

      The Middlesex Canal killed off much of the trade flowing down the Merrimack River to Newburyport.  This route was problematic as boats needed to divert around the falls at Lowell and Lawrence.  Lowell’s Pawtucket Canal was built in 1796 for this purpose.  But a canal that ran directly from Lowell to Boston was attractive and surveys were done even as the Pawtucket Canal was being constructed.  As traffic on the Middlesex Canal increased, Newburyport struggled and the Pawtucket Canal was converted as a source of power for the growing textile mills in Lowell.

      Just as the Middlesex Canal expedited the demise of the Middlesex Turnpike, Pawtucket Canal and Newburyport, it suffered a similar fate with the construction of the Boston and Lowell Railroad.  The irony of this demise is that the construction materials for the railroad were transported on the canal.  Just as the canal was far more efficient at transporting goods between Boston and Lowell than the Merrimack River or the turnpike had been, so the efficiency of the railroad brought a quick end to the Middlesex Canal.

      Today you can see reminders of the canal, particularly in Billerica, Wilmington and Woburn.  The water hazard between the second and third holes at the Mount Pleasant Golf Course in Lowell was once the canal.  The Baldwin House in Woburn sits next to an overgrown section of the canal.  In North Billerica running from the Concord River towards Wilmington you can clearly see the canal path on satellite images.  And arguably the most interesting surviving structural component of the canal is the stone foundation of the Shawsheen River Aqueduct in Wilmington.

      While the Middlesex Canal is nothing more than a ditch that most people ignore today, the railroad that replaced it is still heavily used.  Sections of the Middlesex Turnpike are heavily used to this day.  The Pawtucket Canal still looks much the same as it did when it was constructed, though only used now for tours.  And Newburyport, once economically decimated by the Middlesex Canal, as rebounded nicely.

      The glory years of the Middlesex Canal lasted for one or two generations between the Revolutionary War and the Civil War.  This was a time of massive expansion, innovation and population growth in New England.  The canal featured many firsts, including the first use of hydraulic cement in America, and it inspired growth of other canals, like the Erie Canal in New York.

      There were many factors that went into the canal’s demise, but ultimately it was done in by the technology race.  It became a footnote in history, but also a stepping stone.  The lessons of the canal carried over to generations of engineers who helped build the exploding network of roads, bridges, canals and railroads that fueled the industrial revolution and America’s population growth.

    • Expiration Dates

      Expiration Dates

      I’ve gotten in the habit of checking the expiration dates on food items in the pantry and in the refrigerator at home and especially at my parent’s house on the Cape.  Expiration dates are a guideline and plenty of items last longer than the printed expiration date.  But plenty of items – I’m looking at you bagged salad – go bad before the expiration date too.

      Memento mori: “Remember we all die”.  I’m in no hurry, but I’ve seen too many reminders that it’s all just a brief stay on this earth before we’re faded snapshots in someone’s photo album.  Even those had an expiration date.  Today your photos are on a hard drive or parked in a data center somewhere.

      Memento mori.  This Stoic reminder pairs well with Carpe Diem.  Know you have an expiration date and strive to live a larger life now.  Take the leap while you can.  Don’t be an irresponsible idiot, but damn it make the day memorable for yourself.  I wrote that line and the sun just burst through the thick fog over Buzzards Bay.  Talk about validation.

      That bagged salad may still be edible when you have a few soggy, decomposing spinach leaves in the mix, but it’s not nearly as enjoyable.  Living a bold life is far easier when you’re healthy and fit than when your sick or frail.  I don’t have to look far to see what time does to all of us.  So make the most of today.  You never know what tomorrow might bring.

    • Boston LIght

      Boston Light

      Guiding ships into Boston Harbor since 1783, when it replaced the original 1716 lighthouse blown up during the Revolutionary War, Boston Light sits atop Little Brewster Island marking the way for 234 years.  Much of the lighthouse is exactly as it was then; a time machine to the first years of America.  I was able to visit the lighthouse in 2016 during the 300th anniversary of the original lighthouse.

      The bands seen in this picture replaced iron bands installed in 1809 when the structural integrity of the lighthouse was in question when cracks appeared.  The new aluminum bands won’t rust out the way the iron bands did.  They’re placed where the original iron bands were, making this image from the water very similar to how it would have looked during the War of 1812 when American and British forces fought each other within sight of the lighthouse.

      A fog signal cannon was added in 1719 and after time at the Coast Guard Academy is back on display on the island.  This cannon was the first fog signal in America.  It must have been quite a show for one to see the lighthouse keeper standing outside firing the cannon into the white swirling bands of fog.

      Walking the circular route up the stairs to the top on that hot summer day in 2016 left me sweating and a little out of breath, but blessedly far away from the ravenous flies that seem to thrive on tourists.  There’s a boat that leaves from the campus of UMASS Boston.  I happened to be on that boat for a harbor cruise put together by people in the industry.  Some work days are better than others.

      A lot has changed in America since its construction, but Boston Light is roughly what it’s always been; a beacon of hope for sailors trying to find their way to port.  I’m glad to have spent time on the island, immersing myself in the history of the lighthouse, looking back on the city skyline and making the most of a sunny day on Boston Harbor.

      The original lighthouse keeper and five others drowned while canoeing back to the island on November 3, 1718, immortalized in a poem by a young Benjamin Franklin aptly named “The Lighthouse Tragedy”.  On the day that I was out there the swells were large enough for some extra care docking.  It isn’t hard to imagine an overloaded canoe overturning in swells like that.  As we approach the 300th anniversary of that incident, I’ll give a nod to their memory towards the bay.

    • On 51

      On 51

      It’s been an interesting year.  As I look back on it in the last couple of hours of my 51st year, I’m generally pleased with where I’ve been, what I’ve seen and who I’ve spent my time with.  My 51st trip around the sun brought me to new places near and far, allowed me to meet new people, catch up with old friends and spend quality time with family.

      I greatly appreciate my previous company funding my travel lust, even if they fell short in just about every other way.  Trips to Portugal, Phoenix, Arizona, Vail, Colorado, Halifax, Nova Scotia, St. John’s, Newfoundland each offered checks off that bucket list.  Looking East from the Easternmost point in North America and a month later looking West from the Westernmost point in continental Europe were each memorable moments.  Hiking up Camelback Mountain was an interesting contrast to hiking the White Mountains.  Visiting Halifax four times during 51 gave me an opportunity to immerse myself in the city.

      White water rafting down the Colorado River in Colorado was a lot different from white water rafting on the same river through the Grand Canyon.  Jumping off a raft into the Colorado 19 years after the last time I’d done it certainly crossed my mind as I bobbed down the river in 2017.  But that’s how I think anyway.  Life is about milestones, smelling the roses, making the most of your opportunities.  Make the toast, give big hugs, take the long way home, play music too loud, make an ass of yourself, dance with life.  I tried to do that during 51.  I think I’ve mastered at least one or two of those.

      I followed in the footsteps of Mark Twain – literally walking up the stairs to his study in Hartford, and figuratively in a visit to his relocated octagonal study in Elmira, New York.  Twain wasn’t the only literary giant I checked in with.  I also had a chance to spend time in the Robert Frost Farm in Derry, New Hampshire.  I like to listen for the whispers of history in my travels and a visit to an old stone wall in the woods speaks as loudly as seeing the island that Hannah Dustin escaped from or the desk that Mark Twain wrote at.

      I hunted down waterfalls in Ithaca, New York, sunrises in St. John’s and sunsets in Sagres.  I saw a few, but never enough of each in Pocasset.  I visited lighthouses in Portland, York, Falmouth, Sagres, St. John’s and Peggy’s Cove.  I chased down beer in Greensboro, Vermont and Port in Lisbon.  Hiked Tecumseh, Hale, Camelback, Mahoosuc Notch, and the Roto Vicentina on the coast of Portugal.  Spent time on beaches in Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Portugal,  Shorter but no less memorable walks on Signal Hill, at Dogtown and in an old monastery turned resort near Lisbon.

      Time spent with family is more important than ever as the nest emptied in my 51st year.  Graduation parties, reunions and holidays brought the extended family together.  Trips to New York, Pennsylvania and Rhode Island offered a few more images to the Instagram account and a few more minutes of family time to the coffer.  But the shared suffering of hiking Mahoosuc was the largest deposit to the bank of family lore.

      51 was a heck of a ride.  Here’s to tomorrow being another step forward.  Life offers no guarantees, but I know this; I’m not finished sucking the marrow out of life.  Let’s keep this party going 52.

    • John Paul Jones

      John Paul Jones

      Portsmouth, New Hampshire is an old town by North American standards.  Settled in 1630, it played a notable role in the American Revolution.  Paul Revere rode here from Boston to warn the town that the British were coming – by sea – to bombard them.  With a great harbor and a ready source of lumber right upstream, Portsmouth was a natural place for a shipyard and an attractive target for the British.  The forts that protected Portsmouth Harbor were one reason it didn’t burn to the ground.

      One notable resident of Portsmouth was John Paul Jones.  Jones was a Scottish-born sailor who had risen up the ranks in the British Navy before controversy over two deaths associated with Jones prompted him to get out of dodge and head for America.  Jones lived in the Philadelphia area and was soon earmarked for command of a ship in the Continental Navy.  Many raids on Ireland and the capture of a British warship at a time when victories were few and far between garnered him fame in America as a hero and in Britain as a pirate.  Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  By all accounts Jones was a brilliant tactician and sailor.  But killing one sailor by flogging and another with a sword make it clear he wasn’t a “hugger”.

      Jones’ most famous battle was in 1779, while under command of the Bonhomme Richard.  While attempting to raid merchant ships, British warships engaged with the Bonhomme Richard and four other ships.  The 50-gun frigate Serapis was much bigger, so Jones locked onto the ship for close fighting and sniper action from marines in the rigging.  Sustaining heavy damage but refusing to surrender, this is where Jones supposedly said “I have not yet begun to fight!”  Whether true or not it made for a great war slogan and a larger than life character in Jones.

      Jones arrived in Portsmouth on August 31, 1781 and lived there for about a year, boarding at a house that still stands at 43 Middle Street.  He had been appointed command of a new ship, appropriated named America, being built at Badger’s Island just across the Piscataqua River from Portsmouth.  So boarding at the Purcell house was a convenient place for Jones.

      Jones was likely bitterly disappointed when Congress decided to give America to France as a gift for its role in winning the American Revolution, but he stayed on to oversee completion of the ship.  America was launched on November 5th, 1782 and sailed to France where it served for a brief three years before being scrapped.  It seems the Americans used green wood in construction.

      John Paul Jones ended up joining the Russian Navy and served for some time against the Turks in the Black Sea.  He died at the young age of 45 in 1892.  Buried originally in Paris, his body was exhumed and he was re-buried at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland.  Jones was considered a father of the US Navy.  His battles on the Ranger are the stuff of movies.  Whether a pirate, privateer or Continental Navy hero, he certainly lived an interesting life.  For a year of that brief life he walked the same streets I just walked today.

    • On Pileated Woodpeckers

      On Pileated Woodpeckers

      As birds go, there’s no better song than that of the pileated woodpecker calling out to its mate.  For the northeast, this is as exotic a bird call as we’re going to get.  These birds are huge, approaching 20 inches in height.  They feed on ants and beetle larvae in deciduous trees.  Often you hear them well before you see them, either from their call or from the reverberating rap of their beaks pulverizing a tree in search of a meal.

      Pileated woodpeckers don’t migrate and make the most of the territory they stake out for themselves.  I’ve seen them year round, but spring right before the trees leaf out seems to be when they’re most active.  They’re shy birds, and it’s hard to get a good picture it you’re not sneaky about it.  I made a point of being sneaky for this picture.

      I’m not sure what the population of pileated woodpeckers is in North America, but I’m glad to live in a town that sustains these magnificent birds.  As much as I hate the encroaching development that’s seemingly closing in on us, there are still large enough tracts of woodland for wildlife to thrive here.  Looking at the town next door, with strip malls and 55+ housing developments quickly replacing stands of trees that have been there for decades, I wonder how long it will be before vinyl siding crowds out the tree bark.  So here’s a vote for conservation, and for woodpeckers.

    • Jupiter Rising

      Jupiter Rising

      April 22nd and change is in the air.  Spring is finally here.  With it come the return of the peepers, buds on the trees and pollen.  The puffiness in my eyes betray the rise in pollen counts.  But I’ll accept the discomfort to push aside a stubborn winter.

      The night sky is changing with the season.  With the tilt of the earth come longer days as the northern hemisphere embraces the sun.  With that tilt comes a different look to the sky.  The sun rises and sets in different places than before as we march towards the 23.5 degree rotation on June 21st.  So we say goodbye for now to Orion, still low in the western sky.

      Jupiter is rising in the East.  I don’t buy into the hype that I’m suddenly going to be lucky financially or that it brings some other astrological windfall my way.  But seeing Jupiter rising is a welcome site for me.  And sure, I’d be happy to accept a financial windfall or good luck or positive mojo emanating from the planetary power of Jupiter.  But I’d be happy just to see spring win out for awhile before conceding to summer.

    • Fish & Chips

      Fish & Chips

      In my travels I have a few standbys that I order; salads, fish tacos and fish & chips.  Sure, deep fried food isn’t the best option for my waistline, but sometimes you just need to spoil yourself.  Salads get boring, fish tacos get messy, and I just don’t want to eat that many burgers.

      Since I’ve eaten fish & chips in so many places, I’ve started to rank them.  To me a good fish & chips plate should a great, fresh piece of fish that’s lightly breaded and fried to a crisp crust that surrounds and continues to steam the fish as its placed in front of you.  To get the right consistency the oil needs to be the right temperature, the breading has to be just thick enough to give you a great coating but not so thick that it becomes a grease sponge, and of course the cooking time has to be long enough to give you that perfect crunch.

      The other component to a great fish & chips plate is the chips, or fries.  They need to be thin, with a light flavor, and salted just right.  The chips make the meal.  I like mine skinny with a nice crunch to them.  Soggy is a sin.  Finally, coleslaw and some tarter sauce round out the plate.  Some places give you a slice of lemon.  Whatever.  The coleslaw needs to be fresh or it shouldn’t even be on the plate.

      So in my travels the best fish & chips I’ve had in North America was in Halifax at The Five Fishermen.  It doesn’t even appear on their menu, so it must have been a special lunch menu item at the time.  Two crispy pieces of fish wrapped in paper the English way, with a pile of fries.  Fantastic.

      There are clearly more important things than fish & chips, but this basic dish is one of the staples of the fried seafood menu.  As a fast, relatively inexpensive meal it provides a quick fix for protein and carbs, while skimping greatly on nutritional value.  So be it.  Fish & chips belongs on every menu on the coast, and should be shunned with suspicion at most landlocked establishments.  On my quest for the best fish & chips in North America I’ve run into the good, the bad and the fugly.  I’ll take that risk for the greater good of identifying the best in the region.

    • In Search of Mark Twain

      Growing up on Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer, I have an affinity for Mark Twain.  As a kid I always thought of him as a Mississippi River guy.  No wonder given his most memorable characters and the settings for his greatest work.  But Mark Twain moved from Missouri to Hartford, Connecticut and spent summers at his wife Olivia’s family farm in Elmira, New York.  These are the places where he wrote most of his novels.

      Both places have developed and changed since Mark Twain’s death in 1910.  The Hartford neighborhood beyond the block on Farmington Avenue is grittier and more urban, while Elmira beyond Quarry Farm has grown more industrial.  Mark would surely look around in wonder at both.  I have a lot to say about this guy.  More than one blog post possibly can contain.

      I visited Elmira a couple of weeks ago to visit Mark Twain’s study and grave site.  I was envious when I visited his study in Hartford, but seeing the octagonal study with it’s fireplace made me positively jealous.  It once was perched on a hill at Quarry Farm overlooking Elmira and the river below.  Since 1953 it’s been at Elmira College, where it’s open to the public.  Mark Twain viewed it as a place away from distraction where he could focus on his writing.  In Hartford he would chat with friends and neighbors, or play pool in his study there.  In Elmira he could draw inspiration from the views and simply write.

      On the day I visited it was raining and I found myself alone looking in the windows of the study.  I made a point of checking the door knob just to see if it was open, but also imagining Mark Twain grabbing this same door knob on his way in to write The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.  I’d had a similar feeling walking up the stairs in his home in Hartford, sliding my hand up the railing, which was one of the only things you were allowed to touch there.  I wonder if the door knob is original, it certainly looked like it.

      I’ve written before that I like to chase ghosts.  Not the poltergeist kind, but the living history kind.  Visiting Hartford and Elmira brought me a little bit closer to Mark Twain.  And gave me a little inspiration.  I’m not sure how long I’m going to live in the house I’m in now, but I think I’m going to build myself a study.  Perhaps not as ornate as Mark Twain’s, but something that gets me out of the house and looking at the trees out back.  Maybe I have a novel in me, or maybe I just use it as a base of operations in my current job, but either way I think of it as a way to be a little more like Mark Twain.  That’s not such a bad goal.

    • The Beer Run

      The last twenty years has seen an explosion in micro brewing.  There was a time when I talked about starting a brewery myself, and sometimes I wonder what might have been.  Some of the breweries from the late 1990’s have come and gone, others sold out to the mass market brewers, and a few have stood their ground and grown organically.

      As a lover of good beer, I’ve been known to make a side trip or two in search of a great brewery.  A trip to Halifax brings with it an obligatory stop at Alexander Keiths.  A trip to St John’s demands a visit to Quidi Vidi brewery.  Breweries are popping up everywhere now and it makes drinking local easier than ever.

      No trip stirs the beer lover’s imagination like a trip to Vermont.  Some of the best beers in the world are brewed in Vermont.  According to Beer Advocate’s rankings, The Alchemist, Lawson’s and Hill Farmstead consistently rank in the top tier of brewers.  There’s something in the water up there in Vermont.

      Yesterday I found myself with extra time in Burlington, Vermont.  My last meeting cancelled on me and I recalled a beer fridge at home that needed a refresh.  So I went to a local beer store I’ve been known to check in with on occasion and purchased some Sip of Sunshine and Focal Banger.  Two worthy beers for sure.  But I was out of Heady Topper and wasn’t sure when I’d be back in Vermont again, so I planned a side trip on my drive home that would take me to Stowe for a visit to The Alchemist.  This is a route I know well and I was able to secure my designated share of Heady Topper, along with a four-pack of Holy Cow.

      Beer purchases complete, I plugged my home address into Waze and backed out of my space for the trip back to I-89.  And then it hit me.  I’ve done this drive a dozen or more times.  Every time I say to myself that I need to visit Hill Farmstead.  I’ve had some of their beers before, but always felt the side trip to Greensboro was tough to justify.  Today was feeling like one of those days too.  I’d picked up my favorite Vermont beers already, why get more?  Maybe just plug the address into Waze and see how much time it would add?  Sure, what’s the harm of that?  What’s this – it will only add a little more than an hour to the trip?  That’s not so bad!  Let’s do it!

      I thought of that as I drove down Vermont’s route 15, turned northward onto route 16 and watched my cellular signal fade from 3 to 2 to 1 to no bars.  Waze kept me on track anyway, but boy this place is out there.  But that’s where the adventure comes in.  While driving down Hardwick Road, I came across a monument that marked the Bayley-Hazen Military Road, built during the Revolutionary War for troop movement towards Quebec.  Sadly I didn’t take a picture of it, which means I clearly have to return to it another time.

      If you ever want to see what some of the areas near Boston looked like before they were built up, visit this part of Vermont.  There’s nothing but farms, woods and general stores that time forgot.  As I drove closer to Hill Farmstead, it became clear to me that brewing beer was the best thing that’s happened in this area in a long time.  Great beer brings beer tourism, as people make the pilgrimage to the brewery, buy beer and maybe stop at a few of the other businesses in the area while they’re here.  It’s an economic boon for an area that otherwise relied on dairy, maple syrup and livestock.

      As I got closer to Hill Farmstead, the roads got progressively narrower, and finally the pavement itself ended.  Great reminder that April is the beginning of mud season.  Did I mention that it was snowing lightly too?  Did I mention I was wearing business attire and dress shoes?  Did I mention that there was nobody else around?  This was my view of Jaffin Flats Road as I drove closer to Hill Road.

      I finally arrived at Hill Farmstead and glanced around.  Bit of snow on the driveway but a few cars parked there put me at ease.  Walking up to the building, I was crushed to see a sign saying they were closed.  Damn, I hadn’t checked that on their web site.  This was Tuesday and the sign said they’re only open Wednesday through Saturday.  Damn.  Long way to go for nothing.  As I was cursing myself for not checking the schedule first a guy walked out of the building with a keg over his shoulder.  I joked about not checking the schedule before I drove out here and he clued me in that there were people inside who might still sell me beer.  It turns out Tuesdays are for locals only, and I was feeling a bit local myself, even if I wasn’t dressed that way.  The bartender and locals were gracious with me, gave me a few pointers on the extensive beer menu and sold me a couple of growlers full of liquid gold.

      Not all beers are created equal.  I generally curse the artificial scarcity that some brewers inflict on their beer-loving public.  But supply and demand dictates that some beers are harder to get than others.  The Alchemist makes some outstanding beer, but they’re invested heavily in the hype with a shiny new tasting room and gift items for sale.  Hill Farmstead is charmingly authentic, dictated in no small part by how far off the beaten path they are.  Both are worth the pilgrimage.  Maybe just not Sunday through Tuesday, and perhaps not during mud season.