Alexandersmap

    Category: Travel

    • The Secret Burial of Colonel Westbrook

      In the middle of the night 275 years ago a group of family and friends buried the old Colonel in an undisclosed location to keep his body from being dug up and used as a bargaining chip by creditors.  That this war hero was in this position was regrettable, but 1744 Maine was a hardened world not prone to sentiment.  The final years for Colonel Thomas Westbrook were spent in a battle with his old business partner and fellow soldier.  And it was that battle that brought his family and friends out in the middle of the night to bury him, keeping the location of his grave a closely held family secret until the Bicentennial in 1976, an anniversary that settlers in 1744 couldn’t even conceive of.  They were far more concerned with the very real threat of the French and Abenaki than they were about breaking from Great Britain.

      It’s understandable if you have no idea who Colonel Thomas Westbrook is. Frankly I didn’t know who he was until 10:15 this morning, when I passed a sign for the Colonel Westbrook Executive Park on Thomas Drive (well played).  Being in Westbrook, Maine I was curious about a man who accomplished enough in his time to warrant a town being named after him. Which brought me to discover blueberry cheesecake ice cream. But perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself.

      Colonel Thomas Westbrook famously raided the Abenaki village at Norridgewock in search of Father Sebastien Rales (or Rasles, depending on whether you read the English or French description of the man).  Rales led Indian raids on English settlements in Maine (then part of Massachusetts), and by 1722 the English had had enough of it.  Enter Colonel Westbrook who raided Norridgewock but failed to capture Rales.  He did manage to confiscate Rale’s strong box, which had incriminating evidence of coordinating with the Abenaki to raid the English settlements.  This evidence became gas on the fire, igniting more hostilities between the French, English and Abenaki.  In 1724 another raid on Norridgewock resulted in the massacre of 100 Abenaki and Father Rales.  Westbrook wasn’t involved in that event, though his confiscation of the strong box provided plenty of motivation for those who did.  This was indeed a violent time in Maine, with atrocities committed on both sides.  Norridgewock was yet another example.

      Searching for information on Westbrook while I waited for my lunch appointment led me to an article about the discovery of his gravesite, which led me to Smiling Hill Farm, where I asked for directions to the grave site at the ice cream stand along with what their favorite ice cream was, which led me to that blissful blueberry cheesecake ice cream, which – finally – led me to a brief visit with the Colonel. Once again I found myself off-roading in dress shoes. I should really keep some old running shoes in the car for these unplanned detours… but I digress.

      The gravesite sits between a large grass field and a paved lumberyard. Colonel Westbrook was once the Royal Mast Agent supervising the harvest of white pines for the Royal Navy, so I think he’d get a kick out of the ongoing lumbering activity feet from his final resting place. He may be staring up at the planes taking off from the Portland Jetport wondering what the heck is going on in the world though.  Jet engines roar over the white pines that were once the critical material for the cutting edge transportation technology of the 1700’s.  Times have changed, but on the whole the place he’s buried would be familiar for him.  Smiling Hill Farm remains largely as its been for generations, operated by the Knight family since 1720.  They surely know a thing or two about Colonel Westbrook.

      I walked the dirt and gravel road (mostly a pair of tire tracks) around the front of the lumber yard and there it was, a small white sign in front of a patch of woods marking a quiet, overgrown grave.  This was the site that was revealed to the public in 1976 during the Bicentennial, making Colonel Westbrook famous throughout the area.  There’s a good article that helped me greatly commemorating the 40th anniversary of that Bicentennial celebration posted in the Portland Press-Herald on August 4, 2016.  Two years later it seems the Colonel has been largely forgotten again, at least judging from the overgrown condition of his gravesite.  There’s a replica of Father Rale’s strong box next to the grave site, slowly returning to the earth in this shady nook.

      If you go to Smiling Hill Farm, I recommend trying the blueberry cheesecake ice cream, served with a wooden spoon.  Then walk a bit of it off with a five minute walk to visit the Colonel.  He could use some company.  I may have been the first person to visit in some time based on the path to the grave, but perhaps other history buffs have preceded me.  Those that come after me will see the site in the same condition, as my footprints didn’t make much of a dent in the weeds.  But I paid my respects, dress shoes and all, and got on with my day.  Slightly more informed about events 275 years ago on a quiet hill in the middle of the night.

       

    • Empty Nest

      Sunday night. Terminal E, shipping off our daughter to London.

      Bags checked.

      Checklists checked.

      Dinner done.

      Last minute advice.

      Hugs and love expressed.

      Pictures.

      It’s time.

      Fly.

    • Expected Storms

      Flights all around me are being cancelled preemptively with severe thunderstorms expected this evening. I’m driving so I’m not worried about flight cancellations this trip, but do the mental math of the impact severe storms might have on my drive time. When you drive you control your destiny more than the flyers can, but also bear more of the mental burden of getting from here to there. Still, it’s a good trade-off.

      Weather forecasting has reached a point of accuracy where anticipated storms dictate flight cancellations more than actual storms seem to. There’s value in this of course, tempered with a dose of frustration when things get cancelled and the predicted apocalypse doesn’t appear. Those are the days meteorologists earn their money as people forget the overall accuracy and dial in on the inconvenience of the moment.

      Looking out the window I see sunny skies, but it can change at any time. If there’s a lesson a road warrior may offer, it’s to prepare as best you can, pivot quickly when possible, and take the rest as it comes. Stoicism in practice, you might say.

    • Rising Above the Sprawl

      I was contemplating the Ramapo Mountains early this morning. I get up early for the magic it brings. This morning didn’t disappoint as the slowly brightening sky highlighted the fog dancing through the hills of Ridgewood State Park. That there’s a highway, gas stations, bus terminal and assorted strip mall horror below this didn’t change my focus on what was beautiful, though I remained aware of the encroachment. There’s really no other way to move through this life – focus on the good, pragmatically manage the not-so-good.

      “God never made an ugly landscape. All that the sun shines on is beautiful, so long as it is wild.” – John Muir

      My drive down here Sunday involved miles of choking, soul-crushing traffic. Playlists and podcasts only go so far in the face of this. Most every car was filled with people coming from or going to something more beautiful, be it family or vacation or a day at the beach. And yet our collective journeys brought us all to the ugliness of gridlocked highways. Surely there’s a better way.

      Society pivots over time. At one point someone pushed for the protection of the forested hills of the Ramapo Mountains, saving them from a carpet of condos or some other indignity. Ridgewood State Park was born the same year I was. Now 53 years later I’m drawn to the very hills that inspired their protection. Good things can happen if we work at it. There’s talk of electric cars and Musk’s transportation tunnel and other such miracles of technological advancement. Perhaps it will transform our highways and cities from gridlocked misery. Society is slowly… slowly, pivoting.

      These hills around me are a good reminder of what preservation can do to protect us from ourselves. Sometimes we don’t see the forest for the trees. We know we shouldn’t eat the French fries but we eat the French fries. We know we should build clean and sustainable infrastructure and we build wider highways. The contrast between the transportation infrastructure below and the cooling green of the Ramapo Mountains above is a striking reminder of what’s possible if we’d only work at it.

    • Rolling Luggage and Dress Shoes

      Read enough business books and you’ll hear the story about the invention of the Rollaboard, the first luggage with wheels and a telescoping handle. It was invented by an airline pilot named Robert Plath in 1987. Prior to that an inventor named Sadler had developed luggage with wheels that you towed through the airport, but it was the Rollaboard that revolutionized the luggage industry.

      The point of the story inevitably comes around to why did it take so long to come up with something so simple? Usually the biggest innovations are right in front of you waiting to be discovered. Luggage was a common problem and adding wheels was inevitable, yet it still took decades for it to happen.

      Savvy travelers would pack lightly for long trips, wear the suit they’d use in the meeting, and take advantage of the curbside luggage for those bulky bags you couldn’t avoid. Now we max out the space available and buy scales to ensure we don’t go over the weight limit. The idea of hauling 50 pound bags around the airport today without wheels is ludicrous. How quickly the norm has changed from “keep it manageable” to “jamb it all in”.

      I’m on a three day business trip. I drove down to New Jersey last night with twelve million other people. Since I was driving I gave myself the luxury of an extra pair of shoes. One pair of dress black and one pair of dress brown shoes. Putting those in my small bag required creative packing but I’m a veteran carry-on traveler so no big deal. But then I remembered I needed to bring running shoes for exercise and a team-building event of some sort to be named later. I could have driven in any of these three pairs of shoes but dress shoes with shorts went out of style in 10,000 BC, and everybody knows you don’t wear your running shoes when you drive, so another pair of shoes was absolutely justified. For those keeping score that’s four pairs of shoes for a three day trip. I blame the luggage wheels for bringing me to this point.

      Luggage wheels solved a first world problem, but created another with the average weight of bags going up. There’s a direct link between luggage wheels and the ubiquitous storage units popping up all over the country. Wheels lead to more stuff, more stuff leads to maxing out the capacity of the attic and garage. Pretty soon people are renting storage space in some row of metal garages that used to be a cornfield. Progress? I think not. So this morning I have to choose between brown and black dress shoes. So much for keeping it simple.

    • Narraganset Bay to Lake Champlain

      I drove the 310 miles between Newport, Rhode Island and Burlington, Vermont in two legs, with a brief nap at home in between. Heavy rain and a relentless, brilliant lightning display will be what I’ll remember about the first leg, and the mist covered Green Mountains of Vermont surely will be the thing I remember about the second. It occurred to me that this journey 250 years ago would have been very different indeed. Instead of driving up I-93 to I-89, my options would have been to sail south to the Hudson River for an arduous journey upriver, a risky portage to Lake George, and another between Lake George and Lake Champlain or alternatively taking the northern route up to the St Lawrence River over to Lake Champlain. Either proposition was shorter and safer than the overland I did would have been.

      Sometimes we take for granted just how far we’ve come in such a short amount of time. I’ve come to appreciate our collective technological advancement more through reading history and traveling from place to place. Communication has advanced along with the roads, and now I have the ability to talk to anyone in the world in seconds. How awed King George would have been, and what a difference good roads or communications would have made in the wars fought along the shores of Newport and Lake Champlain. That route from there to here seems a lot further given the hindsight of history.

    • The Friday Crawl

      Driving south I saw the traffic going northbound. It basically ran for ten or twelve miles, opened up for a short spell, and then clogged again for a few miles. This is one of those moments where I can’t just say good thing I’m not going north. Once I’m done with a lunch meeting I’ll be merging right into that traffic going back to where I came from.

      It’s summer in New England, and the traffic is relentless. Tourists heading to Maine, New Hampshire, or Canada join the normal commuter weekend head-starters. It’s a recipe for frustration if you let it get to you. Today I’ll put on some favorite music and crawl along with the rest of them. No use putting it off any longer, it won’t get better anytime soon. My Friday crawl is about to begin.

    • Life Lessons from Deacon Recompense Smith and Captain Ichabod Hinckley

      I had a chance to visit a distant relative in Connecticut yesterday.  He’s long dead, but had a lot to say nonetheless.  I met a few of his neighbors while looking for him, including a long dead United States Senator and several Revolutionary War veterans.  One of them had a message for all of us.  But first the man I came here to find: Henry Smith, or more formally and for all time on his headstone; Deacon Recompense Henry Smith, who died on March 7, 1804.  Which meant he walked among the giants of the time – the Founding Fathers save for Benjamin Franklin were still alive, and Abraham Lincoln’s entire lifetime took place on Henry Smith’s watch.  The United States of America was finding its stride in those years.  It was an extraordinary time in our country’s history and a fascinating time to be alive.

      Deacon Recompense is a position of distinction.  To be a Deacon is to be a leader in your faith and in the community.  Recompense means to compensate, and in religious terms it usually meant life beyond the grave as a servant of the Lord.  So Henry Smith was a leader and revered as such in his community.  That community is the Stafford and Tolland area, in the northern central part of Connecticut.  Travelers between New York City and Boston by coach would have come through this community then on the Post Road, just as we do now on I-84.

      In general Connecticut is not my cup of tea. Heavy traffic clogs the roads seemingly always, and drivers tend towards the crazy side. But there are lovely places here, and one of them was this place called Skungamaug Cemetery.  This is a quiet place, but the whispers are strong here.  Less than half a mile away is an archeological site where 7000 years ago Native Americans camped, hunted and left time capsules for the future.  They surely walked on the land that is now the cemetery, just as those currently residing there may have in their time, and I did yesterday.  Our time is fleeting, as the stoics would remind us.  And it turns out Deacon Smith and one of his neighbors a few stones away had a little stoic in them.  Each offered advice for me, and man they’d never imagine would be walking over their remains, but perhaps they contemplated someone like me reading their advice.

      “The fate of mortals here behold

      For young must die

      As well as old

      For refuge then

      To Jesus fly

      Forget this world”

      – From the Headstone of Deacon Recompense Smith

      Captain Ichabod Hinckley died in 1807 at the ripe old age of 72 (there must be something in that Skungamaug River water). Ishabod was a veteran of the French and Indian War and served in the 2nd Connecticut Regiment in the Revolutionary War, where he was stationed at Valley Forge and commanded a company of fellow Connecticut men.  He offered his own message, even more stoic than my Great (x 5 or 6) Granddad’s, for those who would heed it. I found Ichabod before I found Henry. Had it been the other way around I’d likely never have met him. Perhaps the two conspired in some way to make that happen, so I’ll share his words here too:

      “Remember Death

      Death is a debt

      To nature due

      Which I have paid

      And so will you”

      – From the Headstone of Ichabod Hinckley

    • An Island of Two Names

      I got to spend a little time on Rhode Island, in the State of Rhode Island, on Friday and Saturday.  It wasn’t a long stay, but with my son living in Portsmouth and working in Newport, it was a worthwhile one.  There are three towns on the island; these two and the appropriately named Middletown between them.  There are three bridges connecting the island to the rest of the state.

      The Narraganset called this island Aquidnet, and this evolved into the English calling it Aquidneck Island.  But like so many places where one population gave way to another, this island has that other name too – Rhode Island.  So the smallest state in the nation shares its name with its biggest island.  In fact its the origin of the name for the state.  Newport and Portsmouth were the original settlements and things just grew around them. But why have two names when you can just call the island Aquidneck and the state Rhode Island?  Because that’s the way Rhode Islanders like it.

      A close-up of that 1677 John Foster “Mapp of New England” shows the name as Rhode Island.  Newport is noted, and Portsmouth is shown as a town though not named.  Mount Hope is just across the water and Providence is further inland.  The map is oriented with West up and North to the right, and things are out of scale but you can clearly see Rhode Island as they knew it.

      Portsmouth was settled by a group of “Christian Disidents” seeking religious freedom.  The most famous of whom was Anne Hutchinson.  They noted their intent in the Portsmouth Compact on March 7th, 1638:  They noted their intent in the Portsmouth Compact on March 7th, 1638. This, according to Wikipedia, was the first document in American history that severed both political and religious ties with England:

      The 7th Day of the First Month, 1638.
      We whose names are underwritten do hereby solemnly in the presence of Jehovah incorporate ourselves into a Bodie Politick and as He shall help, will submit our persons, lives and estates unto our Lord Jesus Christ, the King of Kings, and Lord of Lords, and to all those perfect and most absolute laws of His given in His Holy Word of truth, to be guided and judged thereby.

      The most famous of the three towns was and is Newport of course.  It was founded after Portsmouth by some of the settlers who moved from that town down the island.  Newport’s fame came when it became the playground of the wealthy who tried to outdo each other with their summer homes, the Newport Mansions.  That wealth brought in sports that the wealthy pursued; It was home of the America’s Cup for years, and home of the Tennis Hall of Fame, complete with grass court.  Newport has a certain upper crust vibe to it, much like Nantucket.  Middletown and Portsmouth are more working class, but with equally beautiful waterfront views. The main route through all of them has evolved to be strip mall heavy, but as with many places, once you get off the retail strip things improve greatly.

      This island was occupied by the British during the Revolutionary War, and held by them for three years.  As with Manhattan and Philadelphia it was an excellent port that worked to the strengths of the British Navy, allowing them to stage troop movement against the Americans. The American Army tried to displace the British once in that time in the Battle of Rhode Island with the support of French ships blockading the British.  This was the first engagement of the combined American and French forces against the British.  It didn’t go as planned as the French weren’t particularly aggressive in the naval engagements and the Americans were driven away when British reinforcements were able to land.  British naval might may have gotten into the heads of the French, who had the tactical advantage at the time. One other notable first from the battle was the very first mixed-race regiment, the 1st Rhode Island Regiment, had their first action of the war on the island.

      I’ve got a few connections to this island, but it remains a place I haven’t spent enough time in.  The last couple of years has changed that, and perhaps I’ll explore the island even more over the next few.  But as is my nature, I’ll most likely do it in the off-season when the crowds die down a bit.  There’s a history worth exploring on Aquidneck Island, er, Rhode Island… or whatever you want to call it.

    • Samuel Mott; General and Justice of the Peace

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

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

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

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

      This monument marks the dwelling place of General Samuel Mott

      Eminent citizen

      Upright Magistrate

      Soldier of the Revolution

      Friend of Washington

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

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

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

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

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

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

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