Alexandersmap

    Category: History

    • Worthy of Its Own Passion

      “What else is love but understanding and rejoicing that another lives, works, and feels in a different and opposite way to ourselves? That love may be able to bridge over the contrasts by joys, we must not remove or deny those contrasts. Even self-love presupposes an irreconcilable duality (or plurality) in one person.” — Friedrich Nietzsche

      We all understand the concept of the battle of good and evil. It’s deeply embedded in every aspect of our lives, from religion to politics to movies and literature. Good and evil always gets our attention, which is why dualism is used so frequently by those who would divide us. As a society and as individuals, just who do we want to become? If there is an evil in this world, it surely resides in those who would divide us.

      The rhetoric of good and evil is a red flag for extremism. Such all or nothing, black and white language is designed to call us out. We’re either with the crowd or we’re suspect. They used to burn people at the stake for such things. Now we cancel people, deport or ostracize them. The outcome is the same with less screaming. If we aren’t good we must be evil, and evil must be wiped out. The voice of reason gets drowned out in the fervor.

      Manichaeism was a religion founded on this idea of light and darkness, good and evil and all that. It lasted a thousand years before being swept away by Christianity, which has it’s own dualistic tendencies. Manichaeism may have died out, but dualism is alive and kicking. We know it when we hear it, because it’s just so commonplace in our culture.

      Being a voice of reason in an unreasonable time is a lonely path. People want us to pick a side, and dismiss anyone who attempts to weigh the opinion of others deemed woke or MAGA or some other version of dark and evil. Isn’t it a pity that we’ve reached a point where reason isn’t heard? The thing is, dualism stirs the survival instinct within us, where “fight or flight” overpowers the nuance of reason.

      We ought to turn off the noise that would draw us away from reason. We ought to find more creative ways to influence and help people to see that most of the world is good, and very little of it is evil. That those who would use dualism to divide us are stoking that fire for their own gain. Is it so unreasonable to see that unity is a path worthy of its own passion?

    • Hiking Through the Boulders of Pawtuckaway

      On a cool, raw and occasionally wet Sunday an avid hiker friend and I explored the trails and summits of Pawtuckaway State Park. Situated within the towns of Nottingham and Deerfield, New Hampshire, Pawtuckaway is easy to reach compared with some other mountains in New England. And of course it’s hard to call them mountains at all, if you want to get righteous about the height thing. Doing North and South Mountains together offers a gain of only 1409 feet, I’m told, but the story isn’t the elevation gain, it’s the geological interest that draws you here.

      “High up on South Mountain a dike of black trap rock cuts the granite-like rock of the mountain, and breaking out rectangular blocks provides the treads and risers of Devil’s Staircase. The top of South Mountain and the firetower rising above it command a view overlooking the sea to the east and the mountains to the north. The Devil’s Den Trail to North Mountain first passes the huge Pawtuckaway Boulders. These tremendous blocks of rock ranging up to 60 feet in some dimensions and probably comprising the largest group of boulders anywhere, are strewn for about a quarter mile along the trail. Once a part of North Mountain, they were plucked by the glacier during the Great Ice Age and dumped in their present position when the ice melted. Devil’s Den was hollowed out by this same plucking action.”
      — Jacob Freedman, The Geology of the Mt. Pawtuckaway Quadrangle

      “Forces in the earth developed a circular fracture around the solid rock, and into this fracture more magma of a different composition rose. It consolidated to form a gray coarse-grained granite-like rock called monzonite, which now makes up the circle of the Pawtuckaway Mountains in what is called a ring-dike.” — Jacob Freedman, The Geology of the Mt. Pawtuckaway Quadrangle

      Winding through these fields of plucked glacial erratics, you’ll find plenty of rock climbers bouldering the monzonite, mountain bikers and the usual assortment of casual and serious hikers navigating the trails, and a surprising amount of horse manure indicating that some of the trails are very popular for horseback riding. There are gravel roads throughout the park as well, and we found these to be useful connectors between trails on our 12 mile hike.

      Reading about the history of the area, it seems there was a character known as the “Barefoot Farmer of Pawtuckaway” named George Goodrich who played a large role in making it a state park. The Goodrich family farmed this rocky land, and you can find the family graveyard within the state park. I can’t imagine hiking the terrain barefoot the way he farmed it, but I suppose a few decades of barefoot farming would go a long way to toughen up the toes.

      New Hampshire is in a serious drought, and you could see the impact it’s having in the streams, ponds and wetlands. Stream beds are largely dried up and the ponds are showing plenty of their muddy bottoms. The foliage is muted this year too after the stress of a dry season. But our hike coincided with the beginning of a few days of rain, and we hiked out to a misty, raw sendoff.

      I’d hiked this place before, almost twenty years ago, focused mainly on South Mountain and the fire tower you can climb up. That’s surely the most popular trail because it’s relatively easy with a nice payoff in views when you reach the summit. But for my money, North Mountain and the ledges and boulders below it are the most dramatic and fascinating place in Pawtuckaway. If you go, you can’t miss them. Shoes are optional, of course, but highly recommended.

    • The Schooner Ardelle on a Celtic Sunset Cruise

      These summer clouds she sets for sail,
      The sun is her masthead light,
      She tows the moon like a pinnace frail
      Where her phosphor wake churns bright.
      Now hid, now looming clear,
      On the face of the dangerous blue
      The star fleets tack and wheel and veer,
      But on, but on does the old earth steer
      As if her port she knew.
      — William Vaughn Moody, Gloucester Moors

      We know when we are in the midst of something extraordinary. Anticipation creeps up on us as the minutes pass by, awaiting our participation. Awareness floods in as the magic unfolds. Joy and gratitude edge in, provoking other emotions. There comes a time when we must simply put away the camera, stop searching for just the right word or phrase, and simply be a part of all that is happening around us.

      Gloucester, Massachusetts has a long history with the sea. Its famous harbor has long welcomed home fisherman and sailors from passages as far and wide as the ocean’s reach. One feels the history sailing in this harbor, and you play some small part in the play for having been here at all. The fleets of old are mostly all gone now, ghosts of what once was. But there are a few holdouts, and newcomers built in the traditional way, to offer some hint of what it was like long ago.

      Harold Burnham has built several schooners in the traditional fashion. For a couple of centuries the Burnham’s have built ships in Essex, Massachusetts. Two of his schooners are harbored in nearby Gloucester, and Harold himself captains sunset cruises. You simply have to put yourself in the way of beauty and sign up to participate. And if you’re especially fortunate, you may join on a night of Celtic music to offer a proper soundtrack for a September night when the clouds are just so to harness a bit of heavenly magic.

      Maritime Heritage Charters offers many opportunities to learn and experience a few hours on a schooner sailing in Gloucester Harbor. One not to miss is the Celtic Music Sunset Sail with Michael O’Leary & Friends cruise, when traditional music and song fill the heart and soul as you slip past history and witness the divine dance of fading light. The experience is one that will stay with you forever.

      The Schooner Ardelle, Gloucester, Massachusetts

    • The Loyalty Building

      In Milwaukee, Wisconsin there are plenty of fascinating things to see, ranging from the strikingly gorgeous Milwaukee Art Museum to the time machine Bronze Fonz statue to the exceptional German food and beer scene. But beyond all of that, there’s a gem hidden in the most unusual of places that most tourists would never see. Unless, of course, they stayed there.

      In the late 19th century, the Northwestern Mutual Life Insurance Co. had commissioned the construction of a Richardsonian Romanesque building designed by S.S. Beman. That building, known as the Loyalty Building was completed in 1886 and is now both a National Historic Landmark and the most beautiful and unique Hilton Garden Inn I’ve ever been in.

      The building was built of Maine and Indiana granite, with arches and modern features like dual-lighting (gas and electric!), heating and an innovative cooling system. A massive glass ceiling lets in tons of natural light, and the floors feature terra cotta and terrazzo tiles in intricate patterns. Honestly, you don’t know where to look there’s just so much to see!

      But then you see and know. The star of the show is the staircase, with cast iron balusters and bronze newels topped with tall copper inverted cone-shaped finials. It’s those finials that catch your attention—that’s a lot of copper sitting their marking time. Those cones made it through the Great Depression and two world wars. And it’s the story of their survival that is most interesting of all.

      During World War II, copper was in short supply and being scooped up and thrown into the war effort all over the country. The building’s owner at the time, not having the heart to see the copper finials melted down, painted them black to escape notice. They stayed that way, forgotten it seems, until the 1960’s when they were uncovered for the world to see once again. And all you have to do is step into the Hilton Garden Inn in Milwaukee.

    • Following the Rhode Island to Bermuda Thread

      We stayed on St. David’s Island this week while we were in Bermuda. It wasn’t a conscious choice to stay there, but I’m pleased we did, for otherwise I don’t believe we would have gotten there on this particular trip. When I speak of conscious choices, I want to acknowledge that unconsciously I knew the connection between New England and Bermuda. In particular, between Rhode Island and St. David’s Island. Not simply the famous sailing race, but the historic slave trade. Bermuda was the destination for many of those “problematic” Native Americans who were being crowded out by waves of settlers changing the landscape of North America.

      One generation after the Pilgrims were saved in their first brutal winter in Plymouth, their saviors’ offspring were fighting for survival in what became known as King Philip’s War (1675-1676). King Philip was the English name for Metacomet, Chief of the Pokanoket, who’s seat was in Mount Hope, Rhode Island. The direct descendants of the Pokanoket are the Pocasset Wampanoag Tribe. When Metacomet was eventually tracked down and killed, ending the war, his wife Wootonekanuske and their son were sold into slavery in Bermuda, meeting the fate of many other Native Americans. Mother and son were separated on the island and lived out their lives as slaves. The son was said to have been on St. David’s Island.

      What seems completely separate is often connected in ways we don’t always understand. Our histories all blend together at some point, sometimes generations later. The story of humanity is tumultuous, tragic and beautiful all intertwined as a tapestry. One thread leads to the next, and we are one. We are forever learning, forgetting and relearning those connections. In a place called St. David’s Island, or in Bristol, Rhode Island, we find those threads and are reminded that our stories will forever be one and the same, even as our outcomes diverge.

      Smith Island, as seen from St. David’s Island, looks a lot like Bermuda in its earliest days might have looked. An active archeological dig is uncovering English settlement in this part of the island.
      The rugged point of St. David’s Island near Fort Hill Bay, with Nonsuch Island seen to the left

    • Quo Fata Ferunt: How Fate Created Bermuda

      The normal way to cross the Atlantic east to west is to go south to the Canary Islands and catch the trade winds over to the Caribbean. But what should one do when the two end points are controlled by hostile forces? The answer for the British in 1609 was to sail the route north of the accepted route to avoid the Spanish altogether. And this led them to fate.

      The Sea Venture was the lead ship in a small flotilla resupplying Jamestown, Virginia. They ran into a major storm and the ships got separated. One ship sank with all souls lost, and the Sea Venture was foundering, taking on dangerous levels of seawater after the chalking between the ship’s timbers failed. And then by some miracle (that northern route), they spotted land. Admiral Sir George Saunders attempted to navigate the reefs to land and the ship wedged into it, saving all hands. They landed, built two ships and continued on to Jamestown. But having discovered it, the British would soon return to found Bermuda and establish another foothold in the New World.

      Quo fata ferunt (“Whither the fates carry us”) is thus an appropriate motto for Bermuda, and maybe for the rest of us too. We cannot control where fate might bring us, but we can accept it (amor fati) and make the most of the moment. Like Bermuda, we may be adapt and become resilient to whatever circumstances arise, and sometimes even thrive for having risen to the occasion.

      Coat of Arms of Bermuda (image: wikipedia)

    • The Unfinished Church

      In St. George’s, Bermuda there is an old church that whispers of its roots. Never finished, never consecrated, it stands as a testament to what might have been. But those whispers from the past are exactly why it’s so very appealing now. We hear the whispers, visit and feel our spirits lifted. Left to the elements, its roof ripped away by a hurricane, the structure became a beautiful revelation. Never finished? This church is exactly what it was meant to be.

    • A World No One Else Has Seen

      “Coming home from very lonely places, all of us go a little mad: whether from great personal success, or just an all-night drive, we are the sole survivors of a world no one else has ever seen.”
      ― John Le Carre, “The Chancellor Who Agreed To Play Spy”, The New York Times, May 8, 1974

      We’ve all heard that we are unique. That fact is hammered home by helpful people throughout our lives. And what is unique but the differences between us anyway? More to the point, we are each going through a life solely our own—experiencing things that no one else in the history of humanity has or will ever experience. That last sentence ought to have an exclamation point (!).

      We owe it to ourselves to document this unique path we’re on in some way, if only to remember who we once were. A journal or log book will do the trick, and so too will a blog. Pictures naturally capture the essence of a moment in time, or at least our perspective of that moment in time. And the collection of stuff we’ve collected along the way gathering dust on our shelves hints at who we once were and what created the current model on display.

      I celebrate the daffodils I planted twenty years ago as much for the time machine they represent to a younger version of me as for the bold announcement that they made it through another winter just as I did. Each project we do represents some measure of the person we were at the time, each brush stroke, each nail hammered home, each brick laid down on a path we’ve walked upon ever since. We are the sum of our days.

      But we know that the bulk of who we are will live and die with us, never revealed to the world. To the world we are anonymous at worst, and a passing fancy at best. That doesn’t make our lives meaningless—rather a blank slate from which we may begin to influence the lives of others in meaningful ways. We are matter, and we may choose to matter, when we apply ourselves to the task. We may thus make a ripple that echoes as identity, even as the puzzle of our life story will forever be ours alone to ever truly know.

    • The Visit

      Early last week, mentally tapped out and in need of consultation, I visited Author’s Hill at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Concord, Massachusetts. I’ve been there many times now, and the experience has grown from initial discovery and delight at finding the graves of Thoreau, Emerson, Alcott and Hawthorne in such close proximity to each other to visiting to simply say hello again. In a world full of useless noise, sometimes we find inspiration in the quietest places.

      Thinking it clever at the time, I once brought a water bottle filled with some water from Walden Pond to give Henry another sip. There are no such moments of gimmickry nowadays. Now a quiet nod is enough. They and all of their neighbors do whisper: memento mori.

      And isn’t that enough? They did their part in their time. We may choose to do ours now. One day soon enough we’ll join them in infinity. But now? Now is the time to live, friend.

      “Oh, for the years I have not lived, but only dreamed of living.”
      ― Nathaniel Hawthorne

      “If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.” ― Henry David Thoreau, Walden

      “I’ve got the key to my castle in the air, but whether I can unlock the door remains to be seen.” ― Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

      “The voyage of the best ship is a zigzag line of a hundred tacks. See the line from a sufficient distance, and it straightens itself to the average tendency. Your genuine action will explain itself, and will explain your other genuine actions. Your conformity explains nothing. Act singly, and what you have already done singly will justify you now.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

    • Where Am I?

      “Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.” ― Lao Tzu

      I was prompted to look at an old blog post I’d written back in 2019 because it showed up in my statistics. That one post has garnered hundreds of views, which isn’t exactly Seth Godin numbers, but it was one of the ones that got more traction than most. Historical, introspective and curious. I’d like to think I’m still those things, even if my focus has changed a bit.

      Back then I was traveling a lot more, we hadn’t had a pandemic yet, and life hadn’t thrown a few more gut punches our way. We all accumulate experiences over time—the good, bad and ugly. In general, I liked the way I wrote back then, I just hadn’t experienced the changes that would wash over me yet.

      The thing is, back in those days exploring place, I was asking the same questions I’m asking now: Where am I? What happened here and what can it teach me?

      Everything changes, and so must we. Each experience accumulated changes us in some way minutely or profoundly. It’s like that river analogy, where both the river and we are not the same each time we visit. And flow we must, always having been somewhere, always on to the next, and yet right here in this moment. What have we learned this time?