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    • Hubbardton

      There was only one battle inside the borders of Vermont during the Revolutionary War.  Many people would point to Bennington as the location, but that battle actually took place in New York.  The Battle of Hubbardton erupted on the morning of July 7, 1777 when the British forces (mostly Hessians) and their Native American allies pursuing Colonial Army forces retreating from Fort Ticonderoga caught up to them on this site.

      The 11th Massachusetts Regiment was the rear guard and were late to join the larger forces commanded by St. Clair, who were marching to Castleton.  Colonel Seth Warner commanded the Green Mountain Boys and Nathan Hale (not the spy) commanded the 2nd New Hampshire Regiment that waited for the 11th to catch up.  Warner decided to spend the night instead of marching on, and the British caught up with them at dawn.  The combined forces of the Massachusetts, New Hampshire Regiments and Green Mountain Boys stood their ground along the top of a ridge and laid fire on the pursuing British forces, retreated further and engaged again.

      Casualties were high on both sides. On the Colonial Army side a combined 370 men were killed, wounded or captured, and New Hampshire’s Nathan Hale was captured in the battle and eventually died in captivity.  On the British side, almost 200 were killed or wounded.  The battle was technically won by the British, but it was a costly battle that, along with battles in Fort Anne and Bennington, were critical delays that helped lead the way to the American victory at Saratoga.  General Burgoyne’s critical mistake was losing focus on the ultimate goal of controlling the British along the water routes from the St. Lawrence to the Hudson River, which would have cut off New England from the rest of the colonies.  Saratoga proved a critical win as it prompted the French to join the Americans against the British.

      I walked around the site of the Battle of Hubbardton on April 18th when I took a quick detour from my business meetings.  Driving out to the battle site is an exercise in faith, as the signage is limited, cellular service ended for both my AT & T and Verizon phones, and you’re driving for what feels like a long time from the highway to the site.  But I’m not easily intimidated by such things.

      The actual battle site looks a lot like it did that day.  If anything, it’s even less developed now than it was then, as the fields once planted with corn, beans or hay have been taken back by the forest.  The battle site remains fields, with mown paths that carry you to signs that tell you where you are and what happened at that location.  This was the moment when I recognized that my old dress shoes were no longer waterproof, as the soggy grass transported water to my dress socks with ease.  I normally keep boots in my car but this side trip wasn’t anticipated and, well, it’s only water.

      The Battle of Hubbardton site is an active museum, but it doesn’t open until May and there’s a sign that let me know it’s okay to walk around the grounds.  There’s a small building that likely offers much more information on the battle and the related action at Lake Champlain, Fort Ticonderoga, Fort Independence and Saratoga.  But that will have to wait for another day.  A white marble monument surrounded by an iron fence offers a stoic tribute to the events of that day, and I spent a few minutes walking around it reading the engravings on each side.  I was alone that day, and that solitude made the experience all the more moving as I reflected on the quiet ground that once roared with violent conflict.

    • Identity

      For all the goals and strategic plans I’ve put together in my lifetime, I don’t believe it all led to a massive leap forward in fitness levels, or weight, or quota attainment, or some other goal I’ve had along the way.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big believer in goals and working plans.  But identity trumps all.  And over time, what you identify yourself as is much more critical to who you are in the end.

      “No, that’s not me.” – Arya Stark, Game of Thrones

      “The identity itself becomes the enforcer.  You do it because it’s who you are and it feels good to be you.” – James Clear, Atomic Habits

      Identity changes over time of course, hammered into shape by life experiences, hardships and setback, lucky breaks, being born in the right place at the right time, and the people you surround yourself with.  I grew up thinking of myself as a son, grandson, brother, cousin, nephew, friend.  Later I evolved into a student, athlete, hiker, rower, mountain biker, sailor, salesperson, manager, husband, father.  And along the way I’ve dropped a few things while adding others.  I don’t mountain bike anymore, but I still had my mountain bike from when I was 24 until I was 48.  I kept telling myself I’d get back to it eventually until I told myself eventually wasn’t happening.

      I’ve seen friends go from couch potatoes to avid, frequent hikers and change their bodies and outlook on life in the process.  I’ve experienced and watched others deal with depression, loss of family members and job loss, divorce, health scares and relocation to faraway places.  Ultimately it all impacts your identity – who you believe you are – and changes it.  But identity works the other way too – when you identify yourself as a resilient, disciplined athlete you’re much less likely to react to setbacks with destructive behavior.

      Time and bad habits erode the best of foundations, so reinforcing identity with positive habits is the best way I know maintain a solid base.  I’ve watched my wife run consistently for the entire time that I’ve known her, and it’s a core part of her identity.  We have more 5K t-shirts in this house than I can count, and everywhere I look there’s another road race medal hanging off of something or other.  But it’s an identity that makes her healthier and more resilient than a lot of other people in the same age bracket.  Her consistency of effort is admirable and a source of inspiration for me as I fight year in and year out to build a similar level of consistency in my workouts.

      I’ve been doing the same routine all month, and honestly I’m not making a ton of progress from a weight loss standpoint, but I am getting stronger, I am reading and writing more, I am feeling better about myself and I am reinforcing a new identity as an disciplined person who works out every morning, is an avid reader and consistent writer.  That reading and writing part of my identity has led me to seek out new places on the map, and to chase down long forgotten ghosts and dance with them across history.

      James Clear’s Atomic Habits was a timely read for me, and I’ve referenced it here and in many other blog posts since I read it.  Perhaps the one phrase of his resonates more than any other, and that is in building habits slowly, at a point that feels like it’s not work, we are casting votes for your new identity.  Such a simple phrase, and yet it instantly highlights exactly what daily routines, habits and systems are doing; working in your favor or against you.

      New Years Eve, birthdays, new quarters or months; all offer an opportunity to reflect on the past, determine what went right, what needs to be improved upon, and what changes to your routines and system need to change.  Of course, every moment offers the same opportunity.  What I was five minutes ago impacts who I am now (so don’t eat that donut), and what I do now – this moment – casts a vote for what my identity will be now and in the future.  Simple right?

       

    • The Rewards of Restless Wandering

      This has been, to now anyway, an unfocused morning.  These are the mornings that test your routine. Something’s off.  It started by waking up twenty minutes earlier than usual, dwelling on that for a moment too long, staring at the reflection of the moon in the pool, then looking up at the moon being tickled by the budding tree branches, then back down to the reflection and so on.

      But I got dressed and did my usual exercise routine.  And yet it too was unusually unfocused.  Not pulling the handle down to the catch position on the erg, not putting my ring back on after rowing, and on and on.  But I made it through the minimum workout unscathed.

      Reading was off too.  My mind wandered to an article I’d read which made me wonder how a certain author I’ve read before would think about that article, which made me search for said author on Twitter instead of pressing ahead with my reading.  This restlessness of mind isn’t uncommon, but perhaps I’m just paying more attention to it given the routine I’m trying to hammer home.  But I did the bare minimum of reading that I wanted to do and set about writing this blog post.  Looking at the time, I’ve realized that in getting up early I’m still way ahead of the game and despite being “off” the day is not at all in jeopardy of spiraling out of control.  Life is full of distractions and unexpected detours.  Following a system allows you to stay on track even when you get pulled off the mark a bit.

      All that restlessness did accomplish a few things.  Instead of reading ten pages of my current book, I looked up Wayne Curtis’ Twitter account and started following him.  I saw a post of his that inspired me to look up a unique travel experience in Edinburgh when we’re there next fall.  I read a Ryan Holiday article on the magic of bookstores that made me want to return to a bookstore on Martha’s Vineyard that I especially enjoy.  I read an NPR article about Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit that reminded me of my life in 1991 and reflect on that for a moment.  The morning, only 90 minutes old at this point, has not been unproductive at all.  Such is the human experience.

      Through all that unfocused 90 minutes, my routine kept me on track, ensuring that I did the three things I want to do every morning while giving me the flexibility to… wander a bit.  And the wandering is where the magic is.  Yesterday I finished a meeting in the Hancock Tower in Boston and walked back to my car in the garage, threw my bag in the trunk and went for a walk on Commonwealth Avenue.  There was purpose in it too – I wanted to see the John Glover statue there, which I’ll write about sometime soon.  But the wandering served its own purpose as I took the long way back to the car I visited the finish line of the marathon.  If you’re going to pay to park in this part of Boston you might as well get your money’s worth.

      I’ve written the equivalent of a long novel over the last 15 months of blogging.  Last year I lapsed a few times and fell out of the habit of writing.  This year I haven’t missed a day yet, and hope to continue that consistency for the rest of my life.  This morning, as I was fighting through that restlessness, my morning routine served as guard rails to keep me on track.  I still wandered, but managed to get where I was trying to go nonetheless.

       

    • Seeking Adventures

      “Rise free from care before the dawn, and seek adventures.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walden

      Good old Henry David Thoreau, planting seeds of wisdom throughout Walden.  There are stretches of this book that are tough to digest, but when he’s on point he’s a brilliant sage.  I’m glad that I’ve come back to Walden, and will spend more time on the book overall soon.  For now, there’s this quote to ponder.

      Rise free from care before the dawn…
      I’ve been off and on again with that early to rise thing.  For years I prided myself on getting up very early indeed.  But approaching midlife (for me that meant 50) I started “sleeping in”; not setting my alarm, waking up at 6:30 naturally instead of making myself wake up at 5 or 5:30 AM.  No, I’ve come to value sleep.  But now I just go to bed earlier.  No use staying up late to overindulge myself on television, junk food, alcohol, social media or other nonsense.  No, early morning is my time, and this habit I’m re-establishing (day 23!) of working out, reading and writing is a hell of a lot better than that other stuff.

      … and seek adventures.
      Well, I can certainly embrace that idea.  Adventure means different things to different people of course.  For me it means accepting a little risk in life, seeing new places, trying new things, stretching myself in new ways and generally getting on with the business of living an interesting life.  But life is about balance, or at least that’s what we tell ourselves.  I’m okay with balance, but with the scales tipped towards adventure.  I’ll have time for balance when I’m unable to do the things that must be done.

    • From Bloody Pond to Winter Street

      During the French and Indian War the pristine Lake George saw some horrific battles for control of the lake.  The British and French continued attempts to push each other out of the region with force.  The Battle of Lake George in 1755, the siege on Fort William Henry in 1757, the Battle on Snowshoes in 1758 and countless skirmishes in between let to high body counts on both sides.  One relatively small battle in 1755 illustrates just how bloody the fighting was.

      The New Hampshire Provincial Regiment, consisting of a company of men led by Colonel Nathaniel Folsom (including Robert Rogers in his first battle) plus another 40 New York Provincials under Capt. McGennis came across the baggage and ammunition that the French had left protected with a guard.  They quickly overwhelmed the guard and waited for the larger force of French Canadians and their Indian allies to return.  Late in the afternoon a combined force of roughly 300 returned to the camp and walked into a field of fire from the New Hampshire and New York milita.  In this battle over two hundred men were killed, and subsequently rolled into the pond, which turned red as the blood of the French, Canadians, Native Americans, and colonial militia mixed together in the water.  Enemies returning to the earth together.

      McGennis didn’t survive the battle.  Folsom did, and would go on to participate in other battles of the French and Indian War, and then took up arms in the Revolutionary War.  Folsom and John Stark were both leaders in the New Hampshire Militia.  Folsom  was a delegate representing New Hampshire in the the Provincial Congress and ultimately the Continental Congress.  By all accounts I’ve read he led a life of service to New Hampshire and the country.

      I visited the Winter Street Cemetery to visit Major General Nathaniel Folsom.  I wasn’t sure where his gravestone was when I got there, but looking around I noticed that there weren’t that many that had American flags posted next to them so I used that as my starting point.  I walked around that cemetery for 40 minutes reading each gravestone.  Most of the Revolutionary War veterans had a similar shape and size, with the unique badge carved in the front.  And yet I couldn’t find Folsom’s gravestone.  Folsom was a hero of two wars for the American Colonies, he must have a flag, right?  No flag.  Perhaps it blew over in the wind, or someone took it, or someone forgot to place one next to his gravestone to honor him.  Who knows?

      My time was limited, and I still hadn’t found Nathaniel Folsom.  But I did find the graves of his fellow Revolutionary War veterans, and read the family names of the people who were his neighbors and friends.  And finally it was time to go, and as I stood near the gate I thought I’d just walk down the middle one last time and try an area I hadn’t recalled walking past in my search… and there he was.  His was quite literally one of the very last gravestones I came across.  It’s almost like he wanted me to pay my respects to the rest of the people in the cemetery before coming to see him.

      Like other roadside monuments, the small memorial on Route 9 in Lake George, New York, crowded by motels, auto parts stores and a sushi restaurant, called out to me as I drove by.  It led me to read more about Nathaniel Folsom and eventually to my visit to his home town and final resting place.  For all that he did for his state and his country, his grave is modest – no different than those of other soldiers from the Revolutionary War buried nearby.  If these two modest monuments bookend his life, they served their purpose by helping me get acquainted with this gentleman from Exeter.

    • Finishing What You Started

      This morning I find myself in Hopkinton, Massachusetts for a meeting.  Being typically early offers benefits beyond being late.  Today it meant a quick visit to the starting line of the Boston Marathon, which has been the traditional starting place for the race since 1897.  I’ve watched the finish of the marathon many times, particularly those years when my wife ran the race, but I’ve never seen the start in Hopkinton other than watching it on television.  The race was a week ago so the paint is still fresh on the starting line.  And just like on race day this year, the road is wet from all the rain we’ve had.

      I’ve crossed the starting line and the finish line once in my life, but I wasn’t running.  I did the Jimmy Fund Walk 12 or 13 years ago.  I raised money of course, but otherwise I did the walk with little fanfare and no family or friends lining the course for me.  Young kids at home at the time, soccer game that day, and frankly it’s a walk-a-thon it wasn’t the running of the marathon.  Some things don’t warrant much attention I guess.

      I was commenting on the string of jobs I’ve had since that Jimmy Fund Walk.  Outside of a five year gig at one company, I’ve had two-year stints at three different companies, and I’ve been at my current company for one year.  I like small companies with a level of risk in them.  I also like the flexibility that comes with sales jobs, as I’ve documented recently.  But I always intend to finish what I’ve started and keep pressing ahead trying to make things work wherever I land.  I hope to be at this company until I retire, but you never know.  I have learned from each place I’ve been, even if I haven’t gotten rich at any of them.

      If I wasn’t in Hopkinton today I wouldn’t have sought out the starting line.  I’ve driven by the exit a million times without a thought of stopping in.  But here I was today, thinking about the start, and that walk back in 2006 or 2007.  Hell, I don’t even know where the medal is I got that day.  I’m happy that I finished what I started of course, but for all my ghost dancing I don’t live in the past.  I move along, believing that slow and steady wins the race….  or at least gives you a fighting chance of finishing what you started.

    • John W. Weeks

      Today is Earth Day, and a good opportunity to celebrate the life of John Weeks.  You may not know John Weeks, but if you’ve hiked in the White or Green Mountains in New England you’ve directly benefited from the Weeks Act, which was designed to protect the headwaters of rivers in the eastern United States.

      Weeks made his fortune in banking, became Mayor of Newton, Massachusetts and then steadily advanced in politics first as a United States Representative and then as a Senator.  He became Secretary of War after World War One.  His most notable accomplishment in his political career was the passage of the Weeks Act, which he had introduced to Congress on March 1, 1911.  More than 20 million acres of forest were protected with the passage of this Act, including the White Mountain National Forest, Green Mountain National Forest, Allegheny National Forest and others.  There’s also a State Park named after him near his summer resort in Lancaster, New Hampshire.

      As a rower, I’ve known John Weeks’ name without realizing the things he’d accomplished in his life.  The Weeks Footbridge connects the Harvard University campus at a critical bend in the Charles River.  Critical because if you’re racing in the Head-of-the-Charles Regatta this particular bend in the river combined with the choke point of the bridge arch and some very aggressive coxswains, leads to some notable collisions under the Weeks Footbridge.  It thus became a popular spectator destination.

      So while I know his name from the bridge, I’ve come to appreciate him through his Weeks Act and the preservation of lands that I’ve come to love.  On this Earth Day, with so many weak politicians in Washington doing nothing notable except protecting their careers, it’s nice to reflect back on a different kind of Week.  I’ll be sure to toast the late Senator next time I’m hiking in the Whites.

    • Crown Point

      The strategic importance of Lake Champlain during the early colonial years when the French and British and later the Americans and British were wrestling for control of this region is well documented.  Controlling the flow of supplies and men along the lake was critical, and the French chose a point of land where the lake narrowed significantly on the southern end to build Fort Saint-Frédéric in 1734.  This gave them both a foothold of consequence at a choke point on the lake and a launching place for attacks into British territory.  They held this ground until 1759, when Jeffrey Amhert’s 10,000 man army marched northward from Albany to take it.  The French destroyed Fort Saint-Frédéric as they retreated, but the strategic importance of the location wasn’t lost on the British.

      When Amherst’s army reached the destroyed French fort, they immediately set to building a much larger fort next to the location of the original.  In fact, if you look at satellite  image of the location you can see the faint outline of the French fort right next to the larger British fort that replaced it.

      Walking around on this site you feel just how exposed you are to the elements.  For the soldiers stationed here, it must have been brutally cold in the winter.  The large fireplaces for the upper and lower floors in the officer’s quarters must have been heavily utilized during those winter months.  Officer’s quarters were much nicer and the fireplaces much bigger than those of the enlisted men.

       

      Ultimately Crown Point fell into disrepair as the threat from the French disappeared and threats from the Native American population moved further and further west.  The strategic importance of Crown Point was also diminished by the decision to strengthen Fort Ticonderoga closer to where Lake Champlain and Lake George overlap.  The other concern about Crown Point was that it was set on a peninsula, and thus soldiers manning the fort would become trapped there should the land it connected to be controlled by the British and their Native American allies.  That proved a salient point as the Continental Army was barely controlling the lake at this time let alone the western lands adjacent to Crown Point.

      Walking along the top of the earthworks the British built, it’s easy to see just how clear the sight lines were for the cannon overlooking the lake.  Ironically the fort was never directly assaulted and never fired a shot at a passing ship as far as I can tell.  The Green Mountain Boys overwhelmed a skeleton crew manning the fort in 1775, shipped many of the cannon to Boston (along with many from Ticonderoga), and then the Continental Army opted to abandon Crown Point in favor of what they believed to be stronger ground at Ticonderoga and Fort Independence in 1777.  The British took back control of Crown Point and held it until the end of the Revolutionary War in 1783.  This was the last hurrah for Crown Point, and it fell further into disrepair until it was declared a National Historic Site.

      I’ve walked the grounds of Crown Point once in the spring, and hope to get back there sometime when they’re open for tours.  Perhaps I can combine a visit with one I’m planning later this year for Fort Ticonderoga and Fort Independence.  I’d also like to hike up Mount Defiance to round out my knowledge of the campaign and to complete my tour of this region.

       

    • Backyard Observations on this Easter Sunday

      The deer are 50 yards away moving silently in the woods.  Their movement betrays them as much as their flicking white tails.  Another few weeks of spring buds leafing out and I won’t see them at all.  We glance at each other occasionally just to keep tabs, but otherwise go about our business in our own ways.

      The red wing blackbirds call out in the forest, no doubt telling each other how close I am to the feeders they hungrily raid.  They travel in packs, those blackbirds, and they make quick work of the seed.  There’s a chorus of other songbirds surrounding the yard.  I can pick out a few, others blend together.  A lot of conversations this morning.

      Writing this I’m buzzed by a fat bumblebee flying over to the flowering Mountain Laurel.  A squirrel circumvents the yard eying me warily as it makes its way to the base of the feeder, looking for the seed the blackbirds toss aside as they pick through for the juiciest meal.  A chipmunk scurrying along the fence joins the squirrel for an easy meal.

      Human neighbors are using this time for chores.  I can hear the hum of a pressure washer a few doors down, and hammering of something or other nearby.  My chain smoking neighbor’s phlegmy cough invaded my space and I brace for the smell of her cigarette wafting over the fence.  Some things aren’t welcome.

      The air cools quickly as the warm sunshine gives way to overcast skies.  The day changes quickly, and I’ll take it as it comes.  We have places to go, family to see.  I’m reluctantly getting up and heading inside.  So much to do on this Easter Sunday.

    • Pruning

      “Relentlessly prune bullshit, don’t wait to do things that matter, and savor the time you have.” – Paul Graham

      Spring is a good time to assess the yard, clean up the debris that accumulates over winter that was covered over in snow, fix things that need fixing, and prune the trees and shrubs to clean up any winter kill and promote growth of healthy new shoots.  I’ve gotten better at pruning over the years.

      I watch less television than ever.  I moved all my social media apps into a file called Time Suckers.  I deleted Words With Friends and other such games.  I steer clear of negative people who infect the air with poisonous rhetoric.  I eliminate a meal more often.  I’m not a monk mind you, but I’ve gotten better at pruning over the years.

      Instead, I write more than I’ve written since college.  I exercise every morning even if just a little bit.  I read immediately after exercise, even if just a little bit.  I research the places I go and look for interesting things to see and do there and try to get to those places and then write about them to help me remember what I saw and learned during my visit.

      I’m more present in the moment.  Not just the easy stuff like smelling the roses when they’re in bloom, but the harder stuff that’s easy to ignore.  I wash the dishes, sweep the floor and do the laundry.  I call old friends and family more often, and try to see them when I can.  And in work break out of the familiar routines and make new contacts, learn new skills and push myself out of the comfort zone.  I’ve gotten better promoting growth over the years.  And savoring the time that I have.

      I was going to end this blog post right there, and in fact did publish it.  Then I read Brain Pickings today and apparently I’m not the only one thinking this way today.  Maria Popova tackled time management in her own way, with quotes from Walt Whitman, Seneca and others.  So instead of ending this post on my own observations, I’ll lean in on Seneca to wrap up this post:

      “Set yourself free for your own sake; gather and save your time, which til lately has been forced from you, or filched away, or has merely slipped from your hands…  Certain moments are torn from us… some are gently removed…. others glide beyond our reach.  The most disgraceful kind of loss, however, is that due to carelessness.” – Seneca