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    • Windshield Indicators

      Here in the northeast, there are a few things that mark the change from early to late spring.  Many tend to show up in decorative patterns on my windshield as I drive around the northeast or park my car outside for any length of time.  Bugs and pollen are the two leading indicators that late spring is upon us.

      I drive a white car.  At least it used to be white.  Now its faded tennis ball green.  I just had my car washed yesterday.  Not because of the pollen, but for the bugs.  Last week I was in Upstate New York.  There are few places on earth where mass quantities of bugs meet their maker like I-90 in New York.  Wiper fluid barely makes a dent in the spatter marks on the windshield.  No, these glue-like guts require elbow grease and a heavy duty gas station squeegee to remove the last remains of the unfortunate bug that found my windshield.  It’s a sad tale, really.  This bug waited all winter to come out for the big spring bug fling.  Things were going well, hope was springing and…  thwack!  Darkness.

      When I was ten years old I had a similar date with a windshield.  Running across the street I thought of nothing but the bottle I was chasing in the stream (don’t ask how the bottle got in the stream).  When it went under the bridge I dashed across the street to meet it on the other side.  Well, I dashed part way across the street.  Until I met a lovely couple who were coming back from the grocery store, talking about the latest episode of Solid Gold or CHIPS when my right leg connected with their bumper and I cartwheeled headfirst into their windshield.  I can still see the shocked expression on the face of the woman in the passenger seat.  I hope they didn’t buy ice cream that trip because it must have melted in the trunk while we sorted things out.  By we I mean everyone else.  I took the opportunity to assess the gravel on the side of the road until the ambulance arrived for me.

      So I’ve had experience with windshields.  Not the catastrophic bug explosion kind, but not far from it.   Thankfully he was trying hard to stop, and my leg bore the brunt of the impact instead of my head.  But if you’re wondering just what the heck is wrong with me, well, now you know; I identify with bugs.

      The other indicator of spring is this pollen.  Today it’s birch and maple gumming up my sinuses and coating everything in that lovely yellow-green.  In a few weeks it’ll be pine, which dramatically releases from the trees in a giant green cloud that drifts across the landscape looking for a point of entry into your nose and throat.  Spring has a distinct chain of events:  Pollen, sneezing, antihistamine, nodding off, caffeine, bathroom.  So I blame pollen for having to go to the bathroom more this spring.

      This is the price of spring in the northeast.  Sure, you survived winter and mud season.  But Mother Nature isn’t done with you just yet.  Still, we have it better than the bugs.

    • Halifax Citadel

      Overlooking Halifax and the harbor beyond it is the Citadel.  Situated high up on a hill, the star-shaped fort has sweeping fields of fire for the soldiers who manned it.  Both rifle fire and the cannon designed to swivel to provide a wide arc of fire on any ship daring to challenge from the harbor would have been deadly.  The hill from the water to the walls of the Citadel is steep, and until the city was built up it offered little in the way of shelter for anyone crazy enough to attack it.  No army ever did.

      This fort (officially “Fort George”) was rebuilt several times as threats emerged, first from the French, then from the upstart Americans.  When Benedict Arnold sailed with his army from Newburyport to Maine for the long march through the wilderness to Quebec, the British thought they were sailing for Halifax.  This would have been a devastating blow to the British had they won, but on the flip side, the army could easily have been decimated in an attack, which would have been equally devastating for the Continental Army.

      I’ve visited the Citadel each time I’ve been to Halifax.  The climb up the hill is a workout, especially if you’re starting from the waterfront.  The views from the top aren’t what they used to be – after all Halifax is a city of skyscrapers that obscure parts of the waterfront.  But the view, and perspective you receive, is worth the workout.  While there was never a shot fired at the Citadel, it was a great deterrent and a reassuring presence high up on the hill for residents of Halifax and for the sailors anchored in the harbor.

      For the soldiers stationed here during the wars with the French and Americans it was a reprieve from the dangers of the front lines.  This may have led some to be a bit casual about their duty.  In an effort to resolve the tardiness of the troops who manned the fort,  Prince Edward, the Duke of Kent commissioned the Halifax Clock Tower in 1800.  It was completed and began keeping time in 1803 and continues to mark the passage of time on this hill overlooking the city.

      When you’re standing on the top of the hill looking out on the city and the harbor beyond, you can see the site of the Halifax explosion to your left, Pier 21 to your right, and some great bars and restaurants in between.  Halifax is a fun town; a great walking city with a lot of history.  As a guy from Boston I can appreciate that.

       

    • Pier 21

      Pier 21

      People in the United States look to Ellis Island as the port of entry for many of the immigrants to our country.  In Canada, Halifax was that port, and Pier 21 was where people were either welcomed or turned away.  I visited Pier 21 on a rain-soaked day a year ago.  Like Ellis Island its a museum now.  A place to visit, learn and reflect.  For me it was a welcome reprieve from the sideways rain and on that day I almost had the place to myself.  I’d also arrived at the end of the day and entry is free in the last hour, so I took advantage of the opportunity.

      Ellis Island was the major entry point for immigrants to North America, taking in over 12 million people from 1892 and 1954.  By comparison, Halifax was active between 1928 and 1971 and took in about 1 million immigrants through Pier 21.  Quebec City and Vancouver were also entry points for immigrants to Canada, spreading the load between these three eased the burden on Halifax.  Pier 21 is the only site still in existence today.

      Walking around the Pier 21 museum essentially alone on that rainy day it was easy to immerse yourself in the stories of the immigrants who came through this point of entry.  I’m generally more sympathetic to the plight of immigrants than most, and hearing stories about desperate immigrants who were turned away angers me.  The most famous example of course is the HS St Louis, with over 907 refugees fleeing the Nazis, being turned away from the United States, this port in Halifax, Canada and Cuba before having to return to Europe.  254 of those refugees died in the Holocaust.  Canadian President Justin Trudeau announced this week that Canada would formally apologize for that act.  Certainly I believe everyone should know about the plight of the HS St Louis before they blithely turn a blind eye on the latest generation of refugees.

      I’ve heard about ancestors who came through Halifax and have wanted to spend a little time researching it, but I keep putting it off.  As a history buff I’m not sure why I wouldn’t dive deeper into my own family history.  Maybe that’s a good goal for the remainder of 2018.  Certainly another excuse to get to Halifax is always welcome.  Travel has a way of opening your eyes to the rest of the world.  And the world could use a little more empathy today.

    • Richardson’s Tavern

      Richardson’s Tavern

      When the Erie Canal was being constructed, it ignited the local economy along its length first as laborers moved in and eventually as the travelers on the canal moved through the area.  One such boomtown was Perinton, a canal town with a tavern located alongside the Erie Canal where travelers could get a meal and drink some ale.  The tavern, which opened 200 years ago in 1818, was operated by Elias and Gould Richardson and became renowned as the best tavern on the Erie Canal.

      Today the Richardson Canal House is listed on the National Register of Historic Places and is the oldest original canal house on the Erie Canal.  While the building has served many purposes over the years, today it’s back to being a tavern of renown.  The long building has much of its original character, with painted brick columns supporting the overall structure and much of the original building intact.  That yellow paint is the original color of the tavern.  The building was almost torn down in the dark days of 1970’s when historic preservation was less interesting than strip malls and office parks.  Thankfully logic won out with the help of local support and the old tavern was restored to its former glory.

      Those locals love the summer dining outside next to the canal, where Richardson’s has a trendy vibe and al fresco dining is embraced in the snow belt of Upstate New York.   I’m sure that’s lovely, but for me sitting at the bar drinking a couple of pints of Richardson’s Bicentenni Ale and having a meal in the same tavern that the engineers and laborers who built the canal ate and drank in 200 years ago was more my style.  I’m sure Elias and Gould would have been thrilled to know that the tavern they built along that new canal would survive and keep the Richardson name alive long after they were gone.

    • Memento Mori

      Memento Mori

      “Do not wait for life.  Do not long for it.  Be aware, always and at every moment, that the miracle is in the here and now.”
      – Marcel Proust

      On the north side of 50 your perspective changes.  I’m more inclined to take the side trip to see something new than I was at 30 (when I was rushing from one place to the next just to get there).  When I had kids I focused on being a decent dad.  Supposedly 90% of the time you will ever spend with your children is used up by the time they graduate high school, and damn it I made sure to be there whenever I could be.

      Who knows what the day brings, let alone the next decade, but I’m working to make my 50’s a memorable and interesting time.  I figure if medical advancements, a healthy lifestyle and good luck get me to 100, then I’ve got 48 more trips around the sun.  Best to make the most of those.

      Today will be a great day.  Picking up Emily and driving her back home for the summer.  If luck and timing work in our favor perhaps a side trip along the way before the horrors of the Mass Turnpike on a Friday afternoon inflict it’s emotional toll on us.  There’s something cruel about traffic getting worse as you get closer to home from a long trip.  Sort of like the cruelty of the body and mind breaking down as you reach your “golden years”.  But as a well-seasoned 52 year old, I’ve learned to just take the road as it comes, but with an eye towards adventure.

    • Taming the Mohawk River

      Taming the Mohawk River

      The Erie Canal was first proposed when Thomas Jefferson was President.  The sheer expense and amount of labor that it would take were much more than Jefferson could imagine, and he described it as a “little short of madness”.   However, the upside for a canal that would open up the west to commerce was immense.  Investors saw a clear return on investment, and DeWitt Clinton, the Governor of New York, supported the project.  Opponents called it Clinton’s folly, but in the end he was proven right.

      The Mohawk River, a powerful East-West tributary to the Hudson River, was chosen as a key part of the Erie Canal, and 110 miles of the river were re-purposed as part of the it.  But rivers run wild, and the Mohawk River was no exception.  The engineers designed a series of trusses that stepped the river down while also regulating the flow.  These were effectively dams that looked like bridges.  Each had a lock for boat traffic, seen on the right in the photo below.  Today these trusses are massive steel and concrete structures that run the length of the Mohawk River.  While the barge traffic has given way to pleasure craft, the canal remains an engineering marvel.

      There’s no doubt that the Erie Canal was a massive success, and helped bring the resources and natural wealth of the western interior to the east, making cities like Buffalo, Rochester, Albany and New York much richer in the process.  Its hard not to be impressed with the scale of the Erie Canal, but there’s a part of me that would love to have seen what it looked like before 1817, when the first shovels cut into the ground in Utica.  It’s not lost on me that it was the year after Captain Clement died in my “neighborhood” in New Hampshire.  These were big years for the country, finding its place in the world after two wars with Great Britain.  The Erie Canal would fuel the industrial revolution and help the North win the Civil War.  It would be another hundred years before the world realized just how powerful the United States had become when we entered World War I.  It’s easy to see how much the canal meant for the sustained economic growth of this nation.

      The Mohawk River, like the tribe that shares its name who lived alongside it, was forever changed by the rapid expansion west.  Just like the Niagara River, the Colorado River and the Columbia River, the Mohawk River that flows into the Hudson has shrunken from a mighty river to a fraction of what it once was.  The taming of rivers is at once an impressive feat of engineering and a sad tale of man bending natural resources to our will.  I like my rivers on the wild side, but write that knowing that the taming of the Merrimack River in Lowell created that city, and as a side bar made it possible for me to row in college.  So just as I am who I am partly because of the taming of the Merrimack River, so too America is what it is because of the taming of the Mohawk River. 

    • Pabos: A Long Way From Home

      On the edge of a lawn on County Road 42 in Fishers, New York is a seven foot pyramid built in 1959 to honor a man named Pabos.  Pabos was a Basque explorer who traveled deep into the wilderness of North America only to die here 400 years ago on June 10, 1618, a little more than two years before the Pilgrims settled in Plymouth.  His grave is one of the oldest known European graves in North America.  That his final resting place was here in this Rochester suburb is fascinating.  That he is remembered at all is an accident of history.

      The Basques are people from the region in Spain that borders France.  They were focused on commerce, not settlement, and were very active fishing, whaling and trading in the Gulf of St Lawrence in the 15th and 16th centuries.  They would sail over from Spain and establish semi-permanent fishing and hunting camps in that great estuary, fishing for cod and hunting whales for a century before Jacques Cartier explored the St Lawrence River and claimed the northern lands for France.  The Basque traded with local tribes and learned to speak their languages.  Over the decades they moved further and further inland up the St Lawrence River, eventually reaching Lake Ontario and beyond.  Like his fellow Basque explorers, Pabos was likely looking for new fishing grounds, tribes to trade with and for the elusive Northwest Passage to Asia.  He likely followed the shoreline of Lake Ontario to Irondequoit Bay and then up Irondequoit Creek to see where it would take him.  Pabos may have been the first white man to walk through the old-growth forests that covered Western New York in 1618.  How he died is lost to history, but disease, illness, accident and violence claimed many explorers and the native tribes they encountered along the way.  Smallpox and other diseases brought by early visitors decimated local tribes well before the first permanent European settlers arrived.

      Almost two centuries before Victor, New York was incorporated as a town in 1812 and laborers started digging the Erie Canal something took the life of Pabos in this remote corner of Upstate New York.  What we know is he wasn’t alone.  Someone in his party buried him 300 feet from this monument and marked his grave with a limestone gravestone engraved with his name and the date of his death.  And it was there that Pabos rested in peace, lost to history until his grave was discovered in 1907 by Fred Locke, inventor of the porcelain insulator.  Locke was digging for clay when he unearthed the limestone marker of Pabos’ grave.  Had Pabos been laid to rest a few hundred feet away, his grave may never have been unearthed.  Lost forever to the accumulation of sediment, or covered over by the construction of Wangum Road or the Auburn and Rochester Railroad.

      The larger pyramid monument that sits alongside Wangum Road was built and dedicated in 1959 after a decade of extensive research on Pabos by George Sheldon.  That dedication was noted in the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle on June 10, 1959.  Sheldon and the local Boy Scouts built this pyramid and placed the plaque to honor Pados.  The actual gravesite sits 300 feet away from the pyramid on private property.  Portions of the trail he walked his final steps on still exist to this day.

      Pabos thus lives on because someone in his group carved his name and date of death on a piece of limestone, and someone stumbled upon that limestone 289 years later, and someone a generation after that dedicated ten years of his life researching the Pabos and how he came to be in this place, and with the support of the community dedicated the pyramid monument that marks this path through history.  Ironically, the person who survived and paid tribute to him with the carved gravestone is lost to history.  Yet they set in motion the series of events that bring us to this moment, 400 years later, acknowledging a Basque explorer who died alongside a creek deep in the wilderness far from home.

    • Robins

      Robins

      One sign of spring in the northeast is the reappearance of robins.  This bird migrates back in spring, feeding on worms, grubs and berries.  After a long winter they’re a welcome sight on the lawn.  On this rainy Sunday they’re very active in the yard hunting worms and gathering straw for their nests.
      Growing up this was my favorite bird.  I’ve grown to appreciate the predators and the showier cardinals and bluebirds, but there’s a lot to be said for the robin.  While others gobble up seed from the feeder, the robin hunts for its own meal.
      So welcome back robins.  It’s been a long winter and we’re glad to have you back in the neighborhood.  I’d ask that if you’re going to linger, please take as many grubs as you’d like out of the lawn.  Just watch out for the neighbors cat.  

    • A Sense of Place: Visiting the Neighbors

      A Sense of Place: Visiting the Neighbors

      The 5th of May is a big deal for distillers of tequila, brewers of Mexican beer and every Mexican restaurant in North America.  To me the 5th of May, especially on a Saturday, is a day of yard work.  After a typical New England winter and spring, meaning it was all over the place, there’s a long checklist of things that need to get done.  Loam to spread, trees to trim or cut up, potted plants to bring outside, pool chemistry to dive into, and pressure washing to get to.

      The Cinco de Mayo celebration kicks in tonight, when I’ve earned a beverage or two.  In other words, it’s just another day, but with a better tagline.  But that doesn’t mean its ordinary.  Every day is a gift after all, and there’s memories to make today too.  Yesterday, on “May the 4th be with you” day, I noted that I was only 9 minutes away from a spot I’d wanted to visit for a few years now (refer to yesterday’s post).  I had a productive, impactful work day for sure, but its the side trips that make the day.  See a historic site, meet a new and interesting person, smell the roses, seize the day.

      Considering that, I’ve often thought I should visit the graveyard down the street from my house.  This morning I walked over to it and read the gravestones.  There were Hale’s, Dustin’s, Clement’s and other families buried there.  Hale’s Bridge crossed the stream right near the cemetery, but it’s long gone now, replaced by a modern road.  I’m looking up Hale’s Bridge for a post another day.  The Dustin family must be related to Hannah Dustin, we are only a few miles away from where they lived.

      Some gravestones are easy to read, others are worn down to a point where there’s no lettering at all.  Most are in between.  This is one I’ll revisit sometime with a pencil and paper.  These are the families who lived here two hundred years ago.  They likely built the stone wall that runs behind my house, and farmed the land where my house sits now.  Time reveals little of them now, save for engraved facts about the deceased, and the occasional note about what a good person they were.  Captain Clement was a “tender husband and father dear”.  He died in 1816 at the age of 37, which likely set up hardship for the family who had to endure without him.  Sure, it was a tougher time when it came to life expectancy, but 37 is pretty young.  Life is a fleeting dance with the abyss, so best to make the most of this day.

    • Moswetuset Hummock

      Moswetuset Hummock

      There are a couple of stories about how the Commonwealth of Massachusetts got its name.  One story points to the Blue Hills, which are prominent in Eastern Massachusetts.  The tribe that populated this area, “the Algonquian Indians whose name derived from mass-adchu-seuck or ‘people from the big hill’”. (answers.com)  The other story, points to Moswetuset Hummock.  Moswetusset Hummock, as www.discoverquincy.com states, “was the seat of the Massachusett Native American sachem, Chickatabot, where he negotiated with the early English settlers” supposedly including Myles Standish.  The pilgrims first settled 35 miles away in Plymouth in 1620 and started running into the natives in 1621.

      The true origin was probably a combination of both.  The “people from the big hill” spent their summers fishing and farming near Moswetuset Hummock, and that’s where they met with the Pilgrims, who would have made the trip from Plymouth Harbor in the warmer months.

      What’s notable about Moswetuset Hummock is that it looks much as it probably did then.  Sure, there are cinder paths, signs and other nods to modern times, but as you walk around the island you’re seeing roughly what Chickatabot and and those early settlers saw when they stood in the same spot 400 years ago.

      Reality is a brute, and the facts were that Myles Standish was a thug who proactively killed and intimidated Native Americans, setting the table for many more generations of brutality on the native populations of North America.  Arrowhead Hill is one of the few undeveloped tracts of land in this part of Quincy.  It would have been interesting to have seen it 400 years ago.  Perhaps a warning to the native population to be a little more skeptical of the new neighbors would have helped, but in many ways the waves of encroaching settlers, combined with diseases and weapons the native population couldn’t imagine were going to wash over this land sooner or later anyway.