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    • Ambient Light

      Last night was one of those nights you hope for when you’re a stargazer.  Brilliantly clear skies, with cold air providing sharp focus.  Just a quick glance at the sky showed old friends Orion, Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, and down low in the southern sky, Canis Major with the brilliant Sirius a beacon on the constellation.  Sadly, the neighborhood was lit up like a prison yard as several of the neighbors chose to leave their outdoor lights on.  Another celestial show foiled again by the neighbors…

      I seek out the sky, and often walk looking up, sometimes started when I step off the pavement onto the shoulder of the road.  I once sailed from Norfolk, Virginia to Newburyport, Massachusetts, and eagerly watched the night sky when we were well offshore.  Cape Cod in winter offers some good viewing.  Any large body of water serves to subtract ambient light, simply because there usually aren’t lights shining there.  A favorite place in southern New Hampshire is Big Island Pond, where many a late night boat ride was spent marveling at the night sky.  Another spot I have fond memories of is the Robert Frost Farm in Derry.  Back in the late 1990’s I joined a couple of friends for a late night viewing of the Hale-Bopp comet in these Frost fields.  I think old Bob would have approved and joined us for a turn at the telescope had he been alive.  The next comet will be Halley’s Comet in 2062.  I would be 96 in 2062.  I hope I’m around to see it, and have my wits about me to recognize it.

      In search of dark skies, I came across The International Dark Sky Association, which lists Mont-Mégantic (Québec) as the closest, and first-in-the-world, International Dark Sky Reserve.  I’ll confess I wasn’t aware of this distinction prior to today.  Mont-Mégantic is roughly a four hour drive, directly through the White Mountains of New Hampshire, past the Connecticut Lakes region and into Quebec.  This region is familiar country for me.  I’ve visited the area to see moose, canoe on First Connecticut Lake and see and hear loons.  It’s an area that stays in my memory even after a quarter century.  If I was going to pick a part of New England that would have the darkest skies, this corridor between Franconia Notch and Pittsburgh would be on the short list.  Shifting northeast into Maine, I’d pick the Hundred Mile Wilderness along the Appalachian Trail as a likely dark sky candidate, and of course the unnamed wilderness to the north.

      Curious about where the darkest places in New England actually are, I came across this helpful site called Dark Sky Finder, (http://www.jshine.net/astronomy/dark_sky/index.php?lat=40.384212768155045&lng=-74.300537109375&zoom=8).  As this image shows, the darkest areas are in the north-easternmost corner of New Hampshire northeastward through a large swath of remote wilderness in Maine between Baxter State Park and the Allagash Wilderness Waterway that runs along the Canadian border.

      It was an easy guess picking the wilderness of Maine as the darkest skies in the northeast.  My memories of hiking the Hundred Mile Wilderness aren’t filled with a lot of ambient light.  Another memory comes to me.  The first time I hiked the Appalachian Trail through Mahoosuc Notch I was in my early 20’s.  A bunch of us set up camp at the Speck Pond Campsite, had dinner and swapped stories from our day through the Notch.  After dinner we hiked halfway up the trail to Old Speck Mountain and settled in for star gazing.  There was a meteor shower that night and the clear dark skies gave us the perfect canvas for a stunning show.  That night is what I think about when I look to the skies.  I guess I’m still chasing stars.

    • Population Growth and Conservation

      This morning there were six to eight deer in the woods behind my home.  It was hard to tell exactly how many since they blend into the woods so well.  That camouflage helps with survival in a harsh world full of predators.  The wild turkeys that make an appearance almost daily around the area sport similar camouflage.  It’s no coincidence that both are rebounding in record numbers in New England. While there’s some irony that this is happening while development encroaches on more and more of the undeveloped areas that they live in, wild animals enjoy the relative security that comes with fewer predators.

      I know a few hunters, but I know a lot more people who don’t hunt.  According to the Quality Deer Management Association, there are 5-8 hunters per square mile in New Hampshire, Maine and Massachusetts, 9-12 hunters per square mile in Connecticut and Vermont, and 13-16 per square mile in New York and Rhode Island.  Pennsylvania leads the way with more than 20 hunters per square mile.  Of course, when you factor in the length of hunting season, and restrictions in where hunters can hunt, you see why deer and turkey populations continue to increase.

      I’m not a fan of urban sprawl, and I hate to see new developments pop up in the town where I live.  I recognize that the very neighborhood I live in was once woods that someone else valued for it’s pristine condition.  Being a preservationist or a conservationist is tricky business.  Ultimately, the market determines real estate values and the appeal of new developments.  Towns determine zoning restrictions, size of lots, and how many building permits are issued annually.  Towns like Carlisle, Massachusetts have a lot of conservation land, mixed with unbuildable wetlands.  Real estate prices escalate as a result of supply versus demand.  Carlisle happens to be in a desirable part of the state and shares a school system with another desirable town (Concord), so those two factors combine for one of the more expensive towns to live in.

      Contrast that with neighboring towns Billerica or Chelmsford.  Each of these towns have conservation land, but they’ve also allowed significant development as residential and commercial development has snatched up much of the available land in these towns.  The train has left the station for large tracts of conservation land.  What they have is largely what they’ll have going forward.  Even in neighboring Concord, which has large tracts of conservation land and significant cultural and historical value, the fight to save Waldon Woods from developers has taken decades and millions of dollars to secure, and that fight is long from over.

      Perhaps the future of development will be Serenbe, the “progressive community connected to nature on the edge of Atlanta” that blends large tracts of preserved natural areas with properties for sale or rent, restaurants and recreational facilities.  As rural areas become increasingly developed, this may be one way to stem the tide of urban sprawl.  As we’ve seen with the current President, designating lands as public doesn’t necessarily protect them from those who would profit from them.

      My own development was built when there was a four acre minimum for each house.  This restriction created a natural buffer that theoretically limited development.  My neighborhood utilized a loophole where the lots could be smaller – my lot is 3/4 of an acre – while still preserving large tracts of the land as natural buffers.  So the land behind my home is preserved for wildlife and for us all to enjoy.  Sadly this hasn’t been the norm, and many of the developments that have popped up in this and surrounding towns are designed to maximize the profits of the developer versus ensuring open space.

      While cities seem to be gaining more popularity, there seems to be a parallel explosion in 55+ and condo/townhouse developments spreading into previously rural towns.  Hunters and conservationists can work with developers to protect large tracts of land for future generations, but the time to do it is now.  Ultimately money and political will drive much of what will happen.  Time will tell who wins.

    • Salt

      I came back from a trip to Upstate New York to find a skating rink for a driveway.  It’s a northeast thing.  February snow quickly turns to concrete when you add freezing rain on top of it and give it a night to set in.  The key is to be diligent about cleaning the driveway, deck or other surfaces that you actually want to use.  But when you travel sometimes the weather gets ahead of you.  So when you’re greeted by ice, you turn to rock salt.  Salt changes the melting point of ice in ways I’ve chosen not to be qualified to answer.

      Bags of rock salt are a must when you have constant freeze/thaw conditions.  With a driveway completely coated in ice, I had to bring in the heavy artillery and sprinkled 120 pounds of salt on the driveway.  Salt, scrape off what you can, repeat.  Salt is tough on the pavement and nearby plants, and it’s equally tough on any metal it contacts.  It’s not optimal for maintaining a pristine environment.  But it’s a necessary evil in the northeast, especially at times like these.  That I had to use three bags of salt is insane, but it’s indicative of just how much ice was on the driveway.

      Much of the rock salt used on roads and driveways like mine comes from Upstate New York.  Syracuse is nicknamed the salt city, and there are salt mines all through the area.  It’s an industry that took off in the 1800’s, and remains one of the largest exports from Upstate New York.  People that live in that area know all about it, and I’d heard about one of the salt mines from a local who told me about the Cargill Mine that run underneath Cayuga Lake in Lansing, NY.  This and other mines were highlighted a couple of years ago when 17 miners had to be rescued when an elevator failed.

      Salt mines tap into the ancient salt deposits left from Ohio to New York.  To think of Upstate New York or Ohio as the bottom of the ocean 450 million years ago shrinks the ego down to size.  Our world is both much smaller and much larger than we believe.  But our lifetimes on this earth is infinitesimal when you think about the time it took for these salt deposits to form.  So I confess I don’t generally think about salt, but I’ve come to appreciate it for more than the job it does on my driveway.  The humble rock salt in turn has humbled me.

    • Playlist: Beach Music, February Edition

      My musical tastes are pretty eclectic and diverse.  I run from classical to heavy metal, with long stops in alternative and classic rock.  But beach music is what I come back to time and again.  It’s a year-long soundtrack, whether I’m on a beach or thawing out inside after shoveling the driveway.  Beach music isn’t meant to challenge you or pump you up.  It’s not getting critical acclaim.  Beach music enhances your good mood or helps get you there.  Beach music is about celebrating life, or reflecting on it with a cocktail and a setting sun.

      Reggae, Calypso and Latin music are all great, and I play a fair amount of each.  But to me beach music means the blend of 70’s singer/songwriter with a dash of pop and country crooner.  Jimmy Buffett, Kenny Chesney, Jason Mraz, Zac Brown, Jack Johnson, and The Eagles are the most common contributors.  Sprinkle in a few other gems and you’ve got a 40 song playlist that pairs well with rum.  As with any playlist you could go on forever adding songs.  This is a good starter kit.

      A Pirate Looks at 40 – Jimmy Buffett
      Nautical Wheelers – Jimmy Buffett
      Havana Daydreamin’ – Jimmy Buffett
      Blue Island Rendezvous – Jimmy Buffett
      Barometer Soup – Jimmy Buffett
      That Luck Old Sun (Just Rolls Around Heaven All Day) – Kenny Chesney & Willie Nelson
      Soul of a Sailor – Kenny Chesney
      Somewhere in the Sun – Kenny Chesney
      Boston – Kenny Chesney
      The Life – Kenny Chesney
      Three Little Birds – Bob Marley
      One Love – Bob Marley
      Slip Away – John Frinzi
      Do You Remember – Jack Johnson
      Better Together – Jack Johnson
      Constellations – Jack Johnson
      Island Song – Zac Brown Band
      Loving You Easy – Zac Brown Band
      Tequila Sunrise – Eagles
      Peaceful Easy Feeling – Eagles
      Best of My Love – Eagles
      Ol’ 55 – Eagles
      I’m Yours – Jason Mraz
      Live High (From an Avacado Salad Session) – Jason Mraz
      Come Away With Me – Norah Jones
      Find It – Bankie Banx
      Sitting Here in Limbo – Jimmy Cliff
      Secret O’ Life – James Taylor
      Sweet Baby James – James Taylor
      Don’t Worry Baby – Beach Boys
      Good to be Alive – Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
      Just Another Sundown – Toby Keith
      At Last – Etta James
      The Summer Wind – Frank Sinatra
      Carey – Joni Mitchell
      Lovely Day – Bill Withers
      The Rainbow Connection – Willie Nelson
      Smile – Uncle Cracker
      Summer Side of Life – Gordon Lightfoot
      Vienna – Billy Joel

    • What’s in a Name, Part II

      Driving through the Southern Tier in Upstate New York is like time travel in slow motion.  You can see the change that time brings.  The wooded hills aren’t as tall as they were when the Oneida and Mohawk tribes ruled this land, but the woods have re-established themselves in many areas.  And with the trees the whispers of the mighty Iroquois Confederacy float through the valley.  The  Mohawk, Onondaga, Oneida, Cayuga, Seneca and Delaware tribes that populated Upstate New York will never return, but in some ways they’ve never left.  Their names live on as counties, towns, rivers and other place names like monuments to the tragic past of disease and violent displacement that stole them from these lands.  The remnants of the Seneca Nation reside mostly in three reservations in the area.

      Place names may honor our own past or be borrowed from those who came before us.  Towns and villages are often named for the settlers who first cleared and farmed the land, or to honor a notable person from the time, like Washington, Franklin, or Madison.  Upstate New York was settled at a time when names pointed towards Greek or Roman culture or mythology.  Ithaca, Greece, Rome, Ulysses, Syracuse all point to this practice from the 1800’s.  Perhaps the best story of the randomness of naming a town comes from Utica, where the name was literally pulled out of a hat.

      Today’s rural Upstate New York is dominated by corn and dairy farms, but the life of a farmer is difficult, and many of the old farms are returning to the land.  Rotted and falling barns and silos dot the land.  Farmhouses advertise the poverty level of the region with flaking paint, sagging porches and and blue tarp roofs.  Villages along Route 206 like Whitney Point, Triangle, Greene, Coventry and Bainbridge proudly point to their roots between the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812 while looking towards an uncertain future.  Technology or population growth may one day bring growth and prosperity to this region, but I hope the land returns to nature and the names fade like whispers on the wind.

       

    • Chasing Waterfalls

      I seek out waterfalls.  And sunrises… and sunsets… and just about anything else that makes magic out of the ordinary.  If I’m in a place with something to see then, well, I’m going to try to see it.  I’ve chased down steamed cheeseburgers in Connecticut, lighthouses in Maine, Heady Topper in Vermont and driven halfway across Portugal to see the end of the world. Like Thoreau, I want to live deep and suck the marrow out of life.

      Today I found myself hunkered down in a hotel in Ithaca, NY.  For a snow town they do a lousy job plowing this city during a storm.  Ithaca is known for its hard winters, its hills, and its gorges.  And of course the gorges are where you’ll find the waterfalls.  Like this one, Cascadilla Falls, from the creek that bears the same name.

      It’s no wonder Cornell chose this location for his land grant college.  Ithaca is unique and interesting, and largely undiscovered for me.  Driving around gives you a sense of this, but there’s no substitute for walking.  Even if walking today meant shuffling through eight inches of snow on uncleared sidewalks.  Sometimes living deeply is more work than at other times.

      There’s never enough time for these detours from the routine.  But I manage to squeeze in a few memorable moments each week.  I’ve grown to love Upstate New York over the years.  It’s more than cows and corn at 70 MPH on I-90.  I hope to convey that in future posts.

       

    • A Walk With Bodhi

      Walks with my dog Bodhi are getting shorter as he gets older.  Winter walks around the neighborhood have always been a part of our time together.  Generally around 10 PM I’ll go find him, or more often he’ll find me and we’ll start our routine.  I dress for the weather du jour, he wears his usual ensemble.  Bodhi takes a big drink from his bowl, sometimes lasting up to a minute, and we head out.  The ritual is time-tested and only interrupted by work travel or other such distractions.

      In his younger days Bodhi would be beside himself with anticipation as we walked out of the garage and down the driveway.  He’d look eagerly left and right to see if any of his neighborhood friends were out, or if there were any rabbits or skunks to chase down.  Many times in his adolescence Bodhi would be several steps into a sprint before I could stop the rapidly unspooling retractable leash.  There were a few times when he’d cut behind me and I’d be spun around by his power.  Discipline was never his strength.  Did I mention Bodhi is a puppy kindergarten graduate?

      As we learned each others habits, I’d come to anticipate these moments.  Combined with the use of a harness when walking him, we soon dropped the tug-a-human habit.  Walking Bodhi at night is always interesting, as he’ll see animals in the dark that I can’t possibly see.  Whether it’s a raccoon, rabbit, skunk or something more ominous, it’s a game of squint in the direction he’s pulling in.  I rarely carry a flashlight with me, as I prefer to have my eyes adjust to the darkness.  So outside of the occasional sniff of a skunk or flash of white on black fur, I’ll never know what animals triggered most of these moments of excitement.  In summer we’d hear the distant sound of coyotes, or the too-close sound of fisher cats in the woods between our house and the horse farm.  Living in Southern New Hampshire near a stream, woods and farms is like Wild Kingdom.

      Our walks on the dark street awaken the senses in other ways.  Every night is different, and often there are dramatic changes in the sky during our time outside.  Many times we’d start a walk with cloud cover and end it with clear starry skies.  Or start clear and end with raindrops or snow pelting us.  Clouds, planes, and satellites cut across the terrestrial backdrop.  Familiar friends Orion, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, the moon and the planets greet us as we walk,  Some days we’ll be lucky to see a meteor shower, a solitary shooting star or the International Space Station streak across the sky.  Other nights when the moon is full and there’s snow on the ground it feels like we’re under a spotlight.  I’ve grown to love the night sky and its ever-changing magic.  I often resent my otherwise lovely neighbors for leaving their outdoor spotlights on, as it encroaches on the darkness and impacts my night vision.

      Back at dog-level, Bodhi has a different sensory experience than I do.  Aside from his interactions with the creatures of the night, he’s also taking stock of what’s changed during the day since he last visited the street.  He has his usual sniffing spots, to see what the other dogs in the neighborhood have been up to.  Bodhi contributes significantly to the sniff telegraph himself, marking his turf, and opening the floodgates several times on the walk.  All that binge water drinking for a cause.

      Besides peeing and sniffing, Bodhi’s favorite activity on walks is snacking.  In winter he munches on snow.  In summer it may be road kill.  Trying to keep him away from these things in the dark is a constant challenge.  Squeezing his jaw to free the crushed remains of a flattened frog is a skill I’ve used many times over the years.  Bodhi has never been squeamish about what he eats.

      Stairs are tough now.  So are snow banks.  Our walks are getting shorter, even if they take the same amount of time.  My step counts used to be easy to maintain with Bodhi, but the days of us doing three or four laps up and down the street are over now.  So I accept the long pauses he takes to sniff and catch his breath.  The walks are at his pace now, and I’ll miss these nights when they’re gone.

       

       

       

    • The Merrimack River

      The Merrimack River runs from the Lakes Region in New Hampshire to the Atlantic Ocean.   Source to Sea it’s roughly 117 miles long from the confluence of the Pemigewasset and Winnipesaukee rivers at Franklin, NH to the mouth at Newburyport, Massachusetts.  This stretch of river has served as a source of food, commerce and transportation for thousands of years.  Depending on who you believe, the name is derived from Native American words merruh and auke, which together mean “the place of strong current”.  The Merrimack lives up to that name.

      The powerful current of the Merrimack drew the attention of the Boston Associates, who expanded their manufacturing operations from Waltham to the Pawtucket Falls in what was East Chelmsford, and soon would be known as Lowell (named after the founder of Boston Associates, John Cabot Lowell).  The massive success of the textile mills in Lowell was quickly duplicated in other locations along the Merrimack, sprouting the cities of Lawrence and Haverhill in Massachusetts, and Manchester and Concord in New Hampshire.

      The explosive growth of colonial expansion and then the textile industry transformed the Merrimack River from sleepy Native American fishing villages to massive red brick cities connected by an increasing network of roads.  Dams and canals have changed the flow of the river and impacted the migration of salmon.  In many ways the river has changed forever from what it was in the early 17th century, but much of the river looks essentially the same as it did 400 years ago.

      If 60% of an adult man’s body is made of water, then much of mine is Merrimack.  I’ve lived most of my life in the Merrimack Valley, spent my college years rowing between Lowell and Nashua, visiting my father’s home along the river in Franklin, hiking the old Native American trail network from Lowell to Andover and now sailing out of Newburyport.  The brook in my backyard flows into the Spicket River, which in turn flows into the Merrimack River in Lawrence.  The Merrimack River continues to shape me, as it shapes the eastern border between New Hampshire and Massachusetts.

    • LII and Counting

      Super Bowl LII is tonight.  I’ll be 52 myself this year.  For almost 1/3 of my life the Patriots led by Tom Brady and Bill Belichick have been in or contending for the a place in the Super Bowl.  It’s been a memorable run.  Tonight they’ll play in another one.  We all know that it won’t go on forever.  We know that someday they’ll both retire.  Time catches up to all of us eventually, and in sports it seems to happen even faster than in life.

      I watch my dog Bodhi getting older, and I look in the mirror and see it in myself.  There’s something cruel about the lifespan of a dog.  You grow together over the years.  Those first years together are full of energy, discipline, and sometimes anger and frustration.  I’ll always remember the time I planted daffodil bulbs in the garden, sprinkled with bone meal fertilizer.  I came outside later to see Bodhi wagging his tail and my garden looking like a scene out of World War I – large holes dug, dirt and bulbs scattered all over the place.  I questioned having a dog in that moment.  Nowadays I watch Bodhi struggling to stand up and walk up and down stairs, and I wonder how long we’ll have him with us.  I hope for at least one more year, but we’ll see.

      Time is ticking along for all of us, and we’re really only guaranteed this moment.  As I watch Brady get older (on paper anyway), I wonder how long he’ll keep playing.  He’s a major injury or a candid conversation with Giselle away from hanging up the cleats.  Today I’m going to live in the moment, enjoy the Super Bowl for the spectacle it is.  We’ll be with friends and celebrating the Patriots getting there again, and rooting for another win.  And I’ll hope for at least one more year, but we’ll see.

    • On Coffee

      This morning I’m sipping a Starbucks Italian Roast coffee.  I could have chosen Peets or something else.  I’ve grown lazy in my coffee habit.  I have coffee beans and could have ground them using my hand grinder, poured them into a French press and savored the rich results.  Brewing coffee is a ritual.  Some days I’m into ritual.  Today I’m into having a cup of coffee in my hand in under a minute.

      Coffee probably came to New England sometime in the early 17th century, but New Englanders were tea drinkers like their cousins in the mother country.  Coffee didn’t really take off here until after the Boston Tea Party, when coffee became an anti-establishment beverage of choice.  Boston still wasn’t known as a coffee mecca though.  Coffee was something you sucked down to give you a boost or warm you up on a cold day.  And the choices were the same as in most of America – Folgers, Maxwell House, etc.

      Now anyone from Boston better mention Dunkin Donuts when talking about coffee.  Some of my earliest childhood memories were sitting at a Dunkin Donuts counter eating an Old Fashioned Donut.  Coffee memories with Dunkin started much later.  Back before the McDonalds lawsuit, I remember the coffee was scalding hot and you had to wait it out for a bit before you could safely drink it.  Being of questionable intelligence, I always tried to start drinking my coffee a bit sooner than I should have.  Since that lawsuit coffee seems to have throttled back on the temperatures.  Probably for the best but it does take some of the adventure out of the morning.  We all must be protected from ourselves.

      Like many people after college I started paying more attention to the stuff I ate and drank.  Beer was the first thing to get upgraded.  Coffee followed shortly after.  I know it’s sacrilege in New England, but to me Dunkin Donuts is like that K-Cup coffee.  It does the job, but it’s not something I’ll savor.  But savoring coffee wasn’t a thing around New England for the first half of my life.  It became a thing in the 90’s.

      Around Boston, Coffee Connection was our first exposure to a truly rich coffee experience.  It was a place you stopped in when you went to Harvard Square.  Then they started growing and you could find it elsewhere.  Coffee Connection peaked in the mid-90’s and then was acquired by Starbucks.

      Starbucks changed the way we looked at coffee.  It changed the way I looked at coffee.  The first time I had it was on a ferry between Seattle and the San Juan Islands.  I was in line to buy a coffee and when I got up to the front they had two kinds; “coffee” and “Starbucks”.  I remember asking “What’s Starbucks?”  The answer, “It’s like coffee but stronger.” still makes me smile.  Starbucks coffee is not just stronger coffee.  It’s more robust, more flavorful, richer coffee.

      Starbucks jump-started their presence in Boston when they acquired Coffee Connection.  And started a religious war in the process.  Starbucks vs. Dunks.  West vs. East.  Lakers vs. Celtics.  Flashy and expensive vs. working class.  Dunkin Donuts has seized on this in their ads, and customers followed suit.

      I’m an unapologetically diehard Starbucks fan.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ll buy DD when I need to, and I love Peets and some of the local coffee houses that serve rich dark roast coffees.  Coffee, like beer, is something to savor.  And the growth of microbreweries coincided with the growth of the coffee industry.  But it’s not for everyone.  Just as InBev owns 45% of the American beer market, and MillerCoors owns the next 26%, Folgers and Maxwell House own the majority of market share in coffee.  Sometimes taste matters, sometimes people only care about the net result.