Alexandersmap

    Month: June 2019

    • Clean Water or Jobs?

      In 1969 the Cuyahoga River in Ohio caught fire.  It wasn’t the only time – the river had caught on fire at least 13 times in 100 years.  This wasn’t a case of a temporary oil spill sparking a fire, it was a case of a river so polluted that it would just CATCH ON FIRE.  Time Magazine described it as the river that “oozes rather than flows”.  The 1969 fire had one benefit, it was a catalyst for the creation of the Environmental Protection Agency.  People had had enough of disregard for the environment and this gave enough political will for Congress to do something about it.

      Closer to my home, the Nashua River famously changed colors daily depending on what they were dumping into it that day.  There’s a great story in the Huffington Post that describes how the efforts of one woman inspired other to join in to save the Nashua River, once, like the Cuyahoga River, one of the ten most polluted rivers in the country.  When people questioned the reasoning of companies dumping waste into the rivers, which was legal until 1962, one industrialist smugly replied to an employee; “Which would you rather have—clean water or your jobs?”  

      The Nashua River flows into the Merrimack River, which flows into the Atlantic Ocean.  Cities like Lowell, Lawrence and Haverhill, Massachusetts tap into the river for drinking water.  I still remember when I went to college in Lowell in 1984 and first smelled the water.  It was a smell you got used to, but it wasn’t comforting.  And that was almost twenty years into the cleanup of the Nashua River and other upstream tributaries.

      The Housatonic River is a Superfund site because GE dumped PCB’s into the river for years…  after all, it was legal to do so, and what would you rather have – clean water or jobs?  Onondaga Lake in Syracuse was considered the most polluted lake in America because of a lovely combination of human sewage and Honeywell PCB’s and other chemicals being dumped into the lake.  Boston Harbor was considered the most polluted harbor in the country back in the 80’s until a massive cleanup effort and the Deer Island Wastewater Treatment Plant finally began operating in 2000.  So why the hell did we let our waterways be treated so badly for so long?

      There are different categories of disregard for the environment, running from casual disregard to malicious intent.  Most people fall into the ignorant category.  People who throw their trash out the window of their car are no different than the person dumping chemicals into the river.  Their problem goes away, but it becomes someone else’s problem.  Selfish, narcissistic behavior that requires societal intervention ranging from public shaming, to fines to prison time.  Tossing your McDonalds bag of trash out the window might make your car cleaner, but it’s an eyesore for the rest of us.

      Not in my backyard.  It doesn’t matter that the river is bright orange as long as I’m not tapping into it for drinking water.  It doesn’t matter how many PCB’s are flushed into the lake because I don’t live on that lake.  Its okay to have more coal burning power plants because I won’t be around when the planet is a vast wasteland.  It’s okay if we erode the power of the EPA because shareholder value increases when enforcement gets swept under the rug.

      I had a roommate in college who got all of the people in the apartment together at the beginning of the semester to agree to a dirty dish enforcement policy.  If your dirty dishes where left on the counter or in the sink instead of cleaned after you made a meal the dishes were put into your bed.  This proved to be surprisingly effective, because it was hard to ignore a pile of dirty dishes piled on your bed.  It’s easy to ignore things until it directly impacts your quality of life.  That applies equally to a pile of dishes as it does for a polluter or litterer.  There’s a great video of a person sweeping the road when someone throws their trash out the window right at the feet of the person sweeping.  Another guy sees this, walks up and borrowed the broom and dustpan, swept up the trash that was just dumped out and dumps it into the car of the litterer.  It’s viral because most of us would love to do that to the person dumping the trash.  It’s the equivalent of putting the dirty dishes in the bed of the offender.  I’m all for taking the CEO of GE or Honeywell and having them swim in the Housatonic River or Lake Onondaga, or taking those PCB’s and dumping them in that CEO’s pool.

      The world is a fragile place.  We only have the one planet, but there are too many people who think the world is flat, that climate change is a scam or political ploy, that jobs are more important than clean water.  When Marketing genius Seth Godin proposed changing the discussion point from “Climate Change” to “Atmosphere Cancer“, there were some indignant bloggers whining about the insensitivity towards people with cancer.  They completely missed the point as usual.  At one point when the Cuyahoga River caught fire and the Nashua River flowed a different color every day we reached a critical mass of people who said enough is enough – we don’t want orange rivers or rivers of flamable sludge.  We don’t want to be forced to wear a pollution mask when we take a walk.  We’d like to have things like coral reefs and glaciers and plastic-free oceans.  The race is on, will we reach the resolve needed to course correct, or will we slide into Exponential View’s Climate Calamity.  The choice is ours.

    • Samuel Mott; General and Justice of the Peace

      I love random events that introduce me to people from the past.  It’s a dance with a ghost, a handshake with history.  This is one of those stories…

      I’d driven by this monument several times over the last few years whenever I went to Foxwoods Casino for meetings.  Shaped like a pawn on a chessboard, it was big and different and meaningful when placed on this spot, but seemed largely neglected and ignored by the thousands of cars that drive by going to and from the casino.  I’d glance over and contemplate stopping to read the engraved tributes on the monument, but the driveway was tight and not particularly welcoming for someone zipping by in a line of cars.  From the road I could read the dates on the top of the front face of the monument – 1861 1865 – the American Civil War.  Just about every town that was a town during the Civil War has a monument to those who served, and in many cases died there.  I resolved to pull into the tight driveway on my return from my meeting for a quick visit.

      By all accounts, this monument isn’t a big draw.  I may be the first person to pull into the driveway to walk around it in months.  It’s lovely and all, but let’s face it, most people aren’t thinking about the Civil War and World War One veterans of Preston, Connecticut.  The monument is right up on the road, but there are no flags commemorating those who fought, and on this rainy day no flag on the flagpole behind the monument either.  The monument was sited on the grounds of the former mansion of General Samuel Mott, who lived here and apparently, like seemingly every soldier in the Revolutionary War, hosted General George Washington.  His home is long gone, but the library that replaced the building stands watch.  The library in turn has been replaced by a newer building somewhere else in town and the old one, like the monument, doesn’t appear to have a lot of visitors.

      Of the four faces on the monument, two are dedicated to the Civil War veterans from Preston who served, one to the guy who paid for the monument in 1898 (That guy gets a nod if only for preserving his name for the life of that monument for a modest cash donation.  Hey, you can’t take it with you…), and one face was dedicated to General Samuel Mott.  That face was facing the old library, meaning it was facing away from the road…  meaning that very few people ever read his name anymore.

      This monument marks the dwelling place of General Samuel Mott

      Eminent citizen

      Upright Magistrate

      Soldier of the Revolution

      Friend of Washington

      To honor the Civil War veterans, the town offered these two tributes:

      “From this town obedient to the call of patriotism and humanity went forth one hundred and fifty men as soldiers in the Civil War.”

      “In grateful memory of those citizens of the town of Preston who served their country in arms in the war for the preservation of the Union.”

      Interestingly, the town decided to bolt on a bronze tablet honoring the men from Preston who served in World War One below the “grateful memory” engraving.  I imagine there are other memorials in town to the veterans of each war, but I found it curious that they turned the Civil War memorial into a general “War Memorial” after WWI.  There’s likely a story about the bolting on of the tablet buried somewhere in the town’s history, but it speaks to Yankee frugality.  At least they faced it towards the road so people could see it.

      “Colonel (afterwards General) Samuel Mott, at whose house General Washington is said to have called, lived in Preston City; his house occupied the spot where now (1922) stands the Public Library of that town  …  Samuel Mott was appointed an Engineer in 1776.  He was Lieutenant-Colonel when he served in the Northern campaign at Ticonderoga, Crown Point and Quebec…” The Descendents of Governor Thomas Wells

      Samuel Mott wasn’t a big name in the Revolutionary War, but he served his country in some of the most critical battles in the early part of the war.  Being promoted to general was a highly political business during the war, but it does speak to some level of respect for his accomplishments to that point.  I’m sure he knew Benedict Arnold well, being a fellow Connecticut guy, and likely served under him on those early campaigns when Arnold was still a complicated hero.  Arnold led troops to Quebec through Maine and was met there by General Richard Montgomery, who came up from Lake Champlain.    The soldiers who laid siege on Quebec faced starvation, smallpox, and a determined enemy.  They barely escaped with their lives when the British sailed up the St Lawrence River in the spring to reinforce Quebec and drive out the Northern Army.  Mott is a guy who saw a lot in his time in the army.

      Mott moved to Preston in 1747, and came back after the war, where he served as the Justice of the Peace.  There’s a record online of the many marriages that he blessed from 1769 to 1811.  He died in 1813 at the ripe old age (for the time) of 78, and likely had quite a few people remembering him fondly as the gentleman who married them.  I think of that Jewish saying when I meet someone long gone randomly:  We all die twice; the day we stop breathing and the day people stop saying your name.   If that’s the case, Samuel Mott has a little more time with us.  I appreciated the call to go visit his old stomping grounds on a rainy June afternoon.  My dress shirt quickly darkened as the rain pelted down on me as I walked around the monument reading and taking pictures.  Drivers buzzing by surely thought I was crazy and they may be right.  But I’m glad I stopped, and I’ll be sure to give a nod to the General whenever I drive by that monument.

       

    • The Daily Whip

      My morning begins with exercise, however modest, moves to daily stoic, then reading whatever book I happen to be tackling, and some writing if time allows before I plunge into the daily routine of work and life. I’ve continued this long enough that it’s become habit, and there are worse things than beginning the day this way. I won’t win the CrossFit Games or Jeopardy, but I’m further along than I’d otherwise be.

      A month after Bodhi passed, the muscle memory of my routine with him is fading. I don’t look out the window to see if he’s ready to come in, but he’s still lingering somewhere in my mind. But underfoot is a newer morning dance partner; Mookie joined us when the Red Sox we’re making their World Series championship run last fall. Once chipmunk size, she’s a lanky teenager now; full of energy, mischief and spirit.

      Make no mistake: I don’t generally bond with cats. I’m a dog person, and always have been. But Mookie got hold of me early on, and I find myself picking her up and petting her when I might have ignored another cat (as I do with the older cat). So here we are, sharing our morning together once again.

      It starts from the alarm going off, and she follows me from the closet, down the stairs and at my feet while I hydrate. When I’m done with exercise and sit down with my coffee and book she bounces back into my life and inevitably finds her way behind my right shoulder, surveying the action out the windows behind me. And that’s when it starts… the tail flicks once, wacks me in the cheek. A second time, swatting the top of my head. And then a steady beat of rhythmic whipping begins as her eyes flit from robin to chipmunk to a hummingbird working the honeysuckle. It feels like a fight scene from the old Batman TV show complete with kitschy Smack! Bang! Pow! thought bubbles.

      And I tolerate it. I’d never tolerate it from another cat. But I tolerate it from this one. This cat has worked her way into my routine. Strange days indeed.

    • Keep Your Head Down and Sap That Fort

      The northeast United States is dotted with old forts that once played a critical role in our history.  Four of the most famous during the French and Indian War and the Revolutionary War were Fort Duquesne, Fort William Henry, Fort Niagara and Fort Stanwix.   They were famous because they each occupied a critical point in the waterway transportation of the day, and because of their strategic important each was attacked (sometimes on multiple occasions).  Because they were protecting waterways, each was located on relatively flat land.  Without the high ground and hard ledge that prevented digging, each of these forts was attacked using the same tactic; siege trenching called sapping.

      The act of laying siege on a fort requires significant manpower, patience and a willingness to continue pressing forward towards the enemy, thus pressuring them to surrender.  A well-entrenched enemy isn’t going to wave the white flag and come out if they’ve got strong enough fortifications, enough food, enough manpower of their own, and enough ammunition to continue the fight… in short, if they have enough hope that they’ll prevail in the fight.  To diminish this hope, an army laying siege would deploy multiple strategies – negotiation, bombardment, psychological warfare, and sapping.  Sapping was the act of digging trenches closer and closer to the fortification, where bombs could be set to open up the walls.  Trenches were dug in a zig-zag towards the fort to avoid enfilading, which is devastating fire directed directly down the trench killing many people at once.

      “By persistently hanging on the enemy’s flank, we shall succeed in the long run in killing the commander-in-chief.” – Sun Tzu, The Art of War

      There are two ways to fire on the enemy; defilade was firing straight into the face of the force attacking you, and enfilade, which is flanking fire.  Enfilading is a favorite tactic for any army or navy as its lethally efficient.  One cannonball can take out a hundred soldiers as it flies down the column destroying everything in hits.  In the Battle of Trafalgar raking fire shot into the stern of the French ship Bucentaure resulted in 195 killed and another 85 wounded – simply stunning casualties in any battle, but particularly on a ship.  Enfilading creates carnage quickly.

      Forts were built with enfilading in mind.  Bastions protruding at the corners opened up fields of fire by eliminating blind spots, making them very challenging to approach.  Bastions provided defenders with an opportunity to apply cross fire into attackers, creating an enfilade.  A quick look at the Google Earth images for Fort Niagara, Fort Stanwix and Fort William Henry (rebuilt on original footprint) show the shape of the forts.  Fort Niagara, pressed up against a point on Lake Ontario, didn’t have the complete star shape because it didn’t have the threat of armies rolling up on their flank, but you can see how the walls offered fields of fire consistent with enfilading attackers.

      So sappers – trench diggers – had to contend with steady musket and cannon fire raining down on them from many angles.  This had to be one of the worst jobs in the army, especially in soil with heavy rocks and roots, to be digging a trench while someone is trying to kill you from an elevated position.  But sapping worked, and throwing bodies at a problem has historically been appropriate behavior with European armies.  To give sappers a fighting chance of finishing the trench, they used mantlets and other protective structures to shield them from enemy fire.  Eventually the fort they were digging towards would run out of ammunition, or the besieged would grow exhausted from constant bombardment, and momentum would shift from the inside to the outside of the fort.  There’s another definition for sapping, and that’s gradually draining the strength and energy from someone, and that’s exactly what a siege would do to the inhabitants of the fort.  Watching the enemy get closer and closer must have been incredibly stressful, especially when you knew some of those enemy chose not to take prisoners.

      Fort Duquesne, in what is now Pittsburgh, wasn’t the most robust fort to begin with, and quickly fell to the French siege to begin hostilities in the French and Indian War in North America.  At Fort William on Lake George, the British and American forces held until their cannon began to overheat and fail.  A failing cannon was a dangerous thing indeed, often exploding and killing the crew that was manning it.  During the Revolutionary War, Fort Stanwix famously held the siege off, but largely because the British, loyalists and Iroquois laying siege on them were scared off prematurely by Benedict Arnold’s deception (fed a rumor that he was much closer and with a much larger force than he actually had).  If it weren’t for Arnold’s ploy the fort may have fallen within a day or two.

      Sappers got the enemy to your walls, but cannon was the great equalizer.  Without cannon to pulverize walls and the people behind them, armies had to play a waiting game.  Basically starving the besieged out.  With enough stores the army might run out of time before they were able to get through.  The Shawnee tried this tactic on Boonesborough in Kentucky; burning crops and killing cattle to starve the settlers out.  When it didn’t work quickly enough they dug a tunnel towards the settlers walls to plant British gunpowder.  Heavy rains collapsed that tunnel killing many of the Shawnee and saving the settlers.  Tunneling, or mining, was different from sapping in that you’re completely underground and vulnerable to these types of collapses.  The most famous mining attack took place at the Battle of Messines in Belgium during World War One when upwards of 10,000 German soldiers were killed when a million pounds of explosives mined below the German lines were exploded.  Clearly, digging towards the enemy didn’t end with the Revolutionary War, and no war proved that like World War One.

      Having walked through a few forts in my time, I’m struck by the amount of work that went into their construction.  It must have been formidable and more than a little terrifying to be on the outside trying to fight your way in.  But being trapped on the inside surely wasn’t much better.  When you hear about the defenders of Fort Stanwix or Fort William Henry fighting to exhaustion, knowing the fate of many who surrendered to the Native American warriors in other battles, its clear there wasn’t much pleasure rendered on that side of the wall either.  Troops sent to relieve the besieged were often vulnerable to ambush, which is exactly what happened at La Belle-Famille during the siege on Fort Niagara and at Oriskany during the siege on Fort Stanwix.

      Sapping offered refuge from the designed killing fields that star shaped forts created.  It was a harsh, horrific, exhausting slog digging under fire from the perimeter to the fort walls.  The alternative was an exposed, high-casualty ground level attack.  Given the choice, I’d probably have grabbed a shovel myself.  Thankfully, I can just stroll the grounds and contemplate the violence that took place around these forts early on in our history.

    • Treaty of Canandaigua

      This week, on my drive from Buffalo to Seneca Falls, I made a quick detour to visit a rock.  I live in the Granite State, so I know a thing or two about rocks, but the rock I was visiting is unique because of a tablet mounted to it commemorating the Treaty of Canandaigua on November 11, 1794.  The location of the 1902 monument, on the lawn of the Ontario County Courthouse, is roughly where the treaty was negotiated between representatives of the United States, the Iroquois Confederacy and Quaker moderators trusted by the Iroquois.

      After the Revolutionary War, American sentiment towards the Iroquois Confederacy was at a low point. The Iroquois were significantly weakened after the war, and the Americans were operating from a position of strength when they signed the Treaty of Fort Stanwix in 1784. The location is notable, as it was five miles from the site of the Orinasky ambush that wiped out many of the men from this county. Western Iroquois tribes with loyalists participated in that ambush, and seven years later a treaty was being negotiated at the fort those ambush victims were marching to relieve. The treaty ceded massive tracts of land from New York, Pennsylvania and Ohio to the Americans in an agreement known as “the Last Purchase”. The Six Nations refused to ratify the treaty but the damage was done.

      Fast forward ten years and growing tensions between the United States and Native American tribes on the western border threatened to blow up into war. Suddenly the Iroquois Confederacy seemed a significant threat should they side with western tribes and declare war on the United States. President George Washington sent Colonel Timothy Pickering, a Bunker Hill veteran from Salem, Massachusetts, to negotiate a new treaty with the Iroquois.  The location for the meeting to negotiate the treaty was chosen by another Massachusetts man, Israel Chapin.  When Chapin died a few years after the treaty was ratified, Red Jacket, once an enemy of Chapin’s during the war, gave a eulogy at his gravesite.  I wrote briefly about Red Jacket practicing his speech for Canandaigua at the spectacular She-Qua-Ga Falls previously.  There’s a deeper dive that needs to take place into the lives of these three men in particular, but also the incredible list of names on the tablet.  I can’t wait to learn more about Heap of Dogs.

      The treaty is called both the Pickering Treaty and the Treaty of Canandaigua and is still in use today.  Every year on November 11th there is a ceremony and celebration at the monument to lasting legacy of the treaty.  It undid some of the damage from the Treaty of Stanwix, and reserved land for the Iroquois that is still protected.  The land rush that took place after the Revolutionary War was like a tidal wave sweeping over New York westward.  That they were able to set aside significant tracts of land for those who called it home before Europeans settled here remains a notable achievement.

    • The Sound of the Paper

      When I was younger, straight out of college, I took a trip to Washington, DC for a conference. I thought reading the paper in a chair in the lobby of my hotel was the most glamorous thing in the world. I crossed my legs, open up one of the papers stacked in the lobby and thought I was living large. As a regular business traveler now, I know that the only people sitting in a lobby reading the paper came in to use the restroom and are waiting to pick someone up.

      When I started traveling in earnest for work, I remember waking with a start at a scraping at the door deep into my REM state. I’d flip on the light, look at the door I thought was being infiltrated by a burglar, and realize it was the daily newspaper being slid under the door. In hotels with a narrower gap between the door and threshold the paper would be dropped neatly in front of the door like a doormat. You’d open the door and there it was, welcoming you to a new day. I’d tune in to that sound too, and track the progress of the night manager by the thump of paper moving down the hall.

      In some hotels that scrape of paper was the invoice being slid under the door on your last night. Folded neatly, it would politely serve notice that it was time to pack up and leave. That paper would slide right into my plastic envelope of receipts for my next expense report.

      Everything is done online nowadays. Receipts are easily downloaded or emailed to you. News is scanned on your phone now, and if you want the paper it’s usually stacked in smaller piles near the elevators or in the lobby. Business travel has changed as the world has changed, and I’ve changed a lot too. But I still like to slow down and read the paper now and then.

    • Oriskany

      I wasn’t planning on another detour on this trip, but saw the sign, calculated the total time the detour would take and made the decision to stop by the battlefield.  I was deeply impressed with the quiet dignity of the site, and reflected on the violence that took place in the ravine I walked down into.  The battlefield is nothing but tranquil today, save for the landscaper mowing the fields.  But at 10 AM on August 6, 1777 this valley erupted in thunderous clouds of gunfire and screams the hidden Loyalists and Iroquois aligned with the British ambushed a column of American patriots and Oneida Indians allied with them.  That this battle pitted neighbor against neighbor, Iroquois tribe against Iroquois tribe makes the results all the more devastating.

      “We met the enemy at the place near a small creek. They had 3 cannons and we none. We had tomahawks and a few guns, but agreed to fight with tomahawks and scalping knives. During the fight, we waited for them to fire their guns and then we attacked them. It felt like no more than killing a Beast. We killed most of the men in the American’s army. Only a few escaped from us. We fought so close against one another that we could kill or another with a musket bayonet…. It was here that I saw the most dead bodies than I have ever seen. The blood shed made a stream running down on the sloping ground.” – Blacksnake, Seneca War Chief

      When I decided to divert from I-90 to check out the battlefield, I had no idea what to expect.  I’d seen pictures of the monument, but there’s an emotional weight in walking in the footsteps of those who perished here down into that ravine, across the creek and up the other side.  The land looks remarkably similar to what it looked like then.  Perhaps more fields have replaced the deep forest of the day, but this area remains largely undeveloped, and will remain so as the Oriskany Battlefield State Historic Site.

      So I pulled into the driveway leading to the monument and drove down to the parking area.  The 85 foot tall oblisk built in 1883 dominates the landscape in front of you.  But I’d noticed another monument and some signs marking historically relevant locations on the battlefield off to the right as I drove in, and decided to walk over to check those out first.  This is the best approximation of where the ambush took place, and looking around it seemed as appropriate a spot as any.  I walked up to the monument honoring General Nicholas Herkimer, wounded in the initial ambush, who famously directed patriot forces into defensive positions from behind an ash tree at or near this location. The Iroquois warriors would wait for a soldier to fire their one shot then rush at them with tomahawks and knives. This was up close, brutal fighting that decimated the American forces. Herkimer directed his men to pair up, with one firing while the other reloaded, to counter this rush.  Herkimer was shot in the leg, and died when the amputation to save him didn’t go as planned.  I wonder sometimes if Benedict Arnold, shot in the leg later in the same year, refused to have his leg amputated after seeing what happened to Herkimer?

      Of the almost 800 American and Oneida ambushes, almost half were killed, and overall casualties were over 500. For the patriotic farmers who rallied to save their brothers-in-arms under siege at Fort Stanwix, the ambush quickly ended their dreams and destroyed the lives of their families back home.  By all accounts these were tough losses for any army, but for Tryon County, it was a devastating loss of fathers, brothers and sons that brought the county to its knees.

      Ultimately the relief column suffered far more casualties than the defenders at Fort Stanwix, who were saved when Benedict Arnold orchestrated a con to make the British and Iroquois think he was much closer to engaging with them, and with many more troops than he actually had.  But that’s a story for another day.  The Loyalists who survived would eventually flee to Canada or other British territories as reprisals reached their homes as momentum swung away from the British.  While the battle at Oriskany was a huge setback in momentum, it was another domino in the string of events that led to the defeat of General Burgoyne’s army at Saratoga.

      On this rainy June afternoon, I had the place largely to myself.  There were about a dozen New York State Troopers visiting, a couple huddled under an umbrella, a man walking two Labrador retrievers, and… me.  The experience reminded me of my trip to Hubbardton a couple of months ago, the quiet solitude and signs describing the lay of the land on the day of the battle were similar.  But Oriskany felt different, because what happened here was different. Hubbardton was a retreating rear guard being caught by a faster moving British force. Oriskany was neighbors ambushing neighbors. Iroquois tribe against Iroquois tribe. A mass casualty event that shook a region. The Revolutionary War was far more complicated than Americans overthrowing a tyrannical oppressor. It was a messy divorce that forced each individual to decide which parent they were going to remain with, and which one they would betray in the most violent ways.

      Visiting the Oriskany battle site is easy. Roughly ten minutes off I-90, it offers a quick respite from travel, and perspective on the sacrifices others made to give us the freedom to do so. On the day I visited, as with other battlefields related to the Saratoga campaign, a quiet stillness prevailed. There’s a small building set down behind the monument where you can learn more about the site and events that day, and (please) leave a donation to help support the maintenance of this sacred ground.  The obelisk is showing signs of wear and needs renovation, but remains a striking tribute to those who fell here.

    • The French Castle on Lake Ontario

      I paid a quick visit to Fort Niagara when I arrived in Buffalo earlier than anticipated.  The site is an active museum, but it closes at 5 PM.  I arrived at 4:15 and set about to quickly absorb as much information as I could in the museum before walking through the incredibly well-preserved/restored fort.  I could make a dozen posts just on Fort Niagara’s history, and I think I may just do that over time, but today I’ll focus on the crown jewel of the site; Gaspard-Joseph Chaussegros de Lery’s “machicolated house”, known forever since as the French Castle.

      Wikipedia describes a machicolation as “a floor opening between the supporting corbels of a battlement, through which stones or other material, such as boiling water or boiling cooking oil, could be dropped on attackers at the base of a defensive wall.”  The French Castle doesn’t have the traditional boxlike structures you might see in a castle in Europe, but the third floor dormers clearly serve this purpose.  For the French, the primary concern in 1725 was defending against attacking Iroquois, who resented their permanent presence at the strategic point on at the mouth of the Niagara River as it flowed into Lake Ontario.  The French had built two forts here previously, Fort Conti in the winter of 1678-1679, and Fort Denonville, the ill-fated staging ground the French used for aggressive campaigns against the Iroquois in 1687.  The French met with a delagation of the Iroquois Nation and requested a “house of peace” be built on the site.  They were granted permission and construction began in earnest, and completed in 1726.

      As a history buff, and particularly as someone fascinated with the period when this fort was active, walking into the French Castle is extraordinary.  It’s a time warp into the past, and looking out onto Lake Ontario on a beautiful June afternoon, it looked very much like it would have for the French soldiers stationed there…  save for Toronto rising up on the horizon.  On this day, the buses of tourists were leaving for the day, the roving pack of Boy Scouts were busy taking pictures elsewhere, and I was almost alone wandering around in the French Castle.  I made a point of walking through each of the rooms open to the public – and almost every room was open – and soaking up the history of the place.

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      Contrast Fort Niagara with a fort the English built at roughly the same time (1726 vs. 1754), Fort Western in what is now Augusta, Maine.  Fort Western was for the British pushing the limits of exploration at that time, and the fort was built with a wooden stockade and wooden buildings designed to defend against Abenaki raids.  Fort Niagara is huge by comparison, built of stone, and with a much larger military presence.  Wooden stockade fencing, as with Fort Western, was initially utilized, and eventually when the threat moved from attacks from Native Americans to British military campaigns with cannon, earthworks and walls were built to reinforce the perimeter.

      The French Fort would eventually be occupied by, in succession, the French, the British, the United States, the British (War of 1812) and finally back to the United States.  It’s witnessed some incredible history in the last 293 years.  I was delighted to see it so well-preserved, and can’t wait to get back to this little corner of the northeast.

    • A Long Walk on the Erie Canal

      Leaving on a Sunday night for a business trip is never fun, but this week I tried to keep it in perspective.  Time away from home sucks, but time seeing new things usually tempers that a bit.  I got to the hotel in time to watch game 6 of the Stanley Cup finals, celebrated a Bruins win and prepped for the week ahead.  Monday would be a long day of customer-facing meetings, and by the end of the day I was ready to get outside and move.  My hotel was in Bushnell’s Basin, an especially lovely part of Perinton, New York.  A large part of the charm is the Erie Canal running through.  The tow paths have been reclaimed as walking paths, akin to a rail trail but with the benefit of a waterway on one side of you for the entire journey.

      A quick five minute walk from the hotel is Richardson’s Tavern, built in 1818 and now the oldest original canal house left on the Erie Canal.  I’ve written about it previously.  Just across the single lane Marsh Road Bridge is the Erie Canal Heritage Trail.  The bridge was built in 1912 but was just completely renovated.  It was the first time I was able to cross it to walk the trail so I made the most of it.

      The great thing about the Erie Canal is that it’s still a functioning transportation corridor.  Where once it was barges full of commerce coming from the Great Lakes to the Hudson River, today it’s largely pleasure boats making their way from point-to-point.  I thought it would have been a great place to row, with long straightaways and a convenient bike path for coaches barking instructions.  Funny how I always come back to rowing when I see the right body of water…  but today I was walking, and my goal was a quick five miles before dinner.  From the bridge I walked 2 1/2 miles towards Pittsford, turned around and walked back.

      Walking the trail, I passed walkers, joggers and bicyclers.  A highlight was watching two boats cruising the canal.  People wave to boats, and boaters wave back.  The world would be a better place if everyone else would follow their example.  This stretch of the Erie Canal is best known for a particularly challenging engineering project that had to happen to support the canal traveling through.  The Irondodequoit Creek ran perpendicularly 70 feet below the path of the proposed canal.  So James Geddes, the assistant engineer for the Erie Canal, designed the Great Embankment, a mile long, 7-story pile of rock and fill from the canal, with a 245 foot culvert to channel the creek they were building over.  This was the early 1800’s mind you, so digging and dumping required a significant labor force.  The embankment was completed in 1822.

      Back in Bushnell’s Basin after my walk, I took a right turn and headed for a new brewery that opened last year.  Named Seven Stories after the height of the Great Embankment and for the seven forms of storytelling, this brewery had great beer and better names for it.  They’re right along the canal, and I replaced my burned calories with a pint and a couple of 5 ounce tasters.  Seven Stories will be on my regular rotation on trips to the Rochester area.

      A lovely evening walking along the Erie Canal certainly beat eating at the hotel bar and watching television.  Getting out and seeing the world in earnest is my goal.  The Erie Canal Heritage Trail, paved in stone dust and lined in stretches with bollards for tying down barges once upon a time, was a lovely place to spend the final hours of Monday sunlight.

    • Revisiting Pabos

      My breakfast meeting was running late, so I decided to go see my Basque buddy Pabos again. After all, he died right down the street. We’re kindred spirits, Pabos and I, 400 years apart. I first spotted him a little over a year ago when I was driving to an appointment. His pyramid-shaped monument immediately caught my eye and I went back after the meeting to investigate. You can read about that encounter here. Pabos remains one of my favorite posts, partly for the randomness of finding him in the first place, but partly because I admire the explorer he was.

      So this morning I check out of the hotel, get in the car and I get the text message that my meeting is delayed. I’d been thinking about a drive-by at the monument yesterday so I decided to do it with my newfound time. I swung by to say hello – it’s only a few minutes from every customer in the Victor area – and gave Pabos a nod. Back at Denny’s waiting for my breakfast meeting to show up I re-read my original post, saw the date Pabos died and did a double-take. June 10, 1618. No wonder I was thinking about him yesterday.