Walking on Saint George Island

Original bridge, now a fishing pier

St. George Island is located in the bay that is formed by the mouth of the Apalachicola River. Thought to be named for the patron saint of England, the island was inhabited by Native Americans as early as 1100AD. There is only one four-mile bridge that runs from Eastpoint to the island. The first bridge to the island was completed in 1965 and was declared unsafe in the early 21st century. Today it is used for a fishing pier, with both sides extending approximately three-quarters of a mile into the by. The current bridge, which was built between 2002 and 2004, is the third longest in the state of Florida.

The island itself is long (28 miles) and narrow (1 mile at the widest). St. George can be divided into three section: The northeast portion of the island is where the St. George Island State Park is located; the southwest portion of the island, which is forested and contains a gated community known as the Plantations of St. George; and, a central portion that has a few shops, a lighthouse (re)constructed in 2005, public beaches and homes.

A slash pine at sunset

Walking on the island is more satisfying than I would have anticipated. The plantation of St. George has large areas of preserved grasslands and pine forests. There are few more satisfying sounds in life than the sound of wind rushing through slash pine trees pine (Pinus elliottii), and because St. George Island is a barrier island, there is always an ocean breeze. The slash pines are very popular with woodpeckers. In addition to the beach walks, and cycling paths, there are a few walking path especially in the area around Nick’s Hole, a wild cove managed by the Apalachicola Estuarine Research Reserve. I found and walked a trail that follows the perimeter of the cove as well as one side of the local, privately owned, airport. While stalking birds among pine trees I spotted several woodpeckers. At first, I was excited to think that they might be the rare red-cockaded woodpeckers; however, since the bird require old (living) pine tree (60-120 years old) I realized that the birds were downy woodpeckers.

December proved to be quite warm and humid. The fog was so dense on Christmas morning that when I returned from my walk each of the hairs of my arm had a small droplet of water attached to the end. In my three weeks on the island, fog became commonplace and created interesting optics. On a walk around Nick's Hole I found several columned stinkhorns (Calthrus columnatus). I read one account from the nineteenth century about the mushroom that was attempting to determine if it were eatable. The writer concluded that it smelled so bad that whether it was poisonous was beside the point. (Apparently, it is not poisonous)

Columned stinkhorn

One evening, near sunset, while walking with Angie and Cody, I looked up ahead and saw in the distance a large animal. Since the island reportedly has no bears, I assumed that it was a large dog. When it got spook, it bounded into the brush; however, when it did it did not move as a dog. Angie became convinced that I had seen a bear. I still had my doubts, hearing repeatedly that there are no bears on the island. A couple of days later, we were at the State Park and mentioned the incident to a park ranger. She smiled and said, "If you think you saw a bear, then you probably saw a bear."

On two places on the island I came across a "Witness Post" sign, indicating that a survey marker was nearby. Both of the signs appeared to be older and invited the reader to write a letter to the Director of the National Geodetic Survey in Washington DC for more information.

Much of the island has beach homes that are rent by visitors. Yet, one suspects, the gate also enforces conformity and keeps bad behavior concealed.  I find it funny that virtually every beach community I have visited in the US has a house names “A Shore Thing.” The idea of a gated community is ostensibly to keep undesirables out, thus making the resident and inhabitants feel safe. I am reminded of the film, The Sure Thing (1985), which, of course, came to the conclusion that there is no such thing. Given the propensity of using the name, do people name their house ironically, or do they think it is a clever pun?

St. George Island is a somewhat odd community along the “Forgotten Coast” of Florida. Most of the coast is underdeveloped and a throwback to an earlier era. It strikes me funny that the only magazine at the checkout stand at the Piggly Wiggly Express is Wine Spectator. 

Fort Gadsden

James Gadsden Highway Marker on Florida Route 65

Reading a guide to Florida from the 1930s, I came across a reference to an incident at Fort Blount. Upon further research turned out to have many names, including the current usage Fort Gadsden. Turning north onto Florida Route 65 from U.S. Route 98, there is an old marker that appears to have been forgotten. It is partially obscured by trees and bushes that have grown in front of it. The sign, its paint faded, simply notes that the highway was designated the James Gadsden Highway by the 1969 Florida State Legislature. The condition of the sign is a presage of what is to come as you travel north. Both the fort and the highway are named for the man who played a significant role in American history, including the removal of Seminole Indians from Florida and Georgia along the Trail of Tears, the Gadsden Purchase of territory that would become southern Arizona and New Mexico, and the antebellum politics of the American South.

The twenty-mile drive north of U.S. 98 can be somewhat monotonous. The adjacent lands are part of the Apalachicola National Forest and Tate’s Hell State Forest and are dominated by pine forests, small streams and waterways. Occasionally, you can catch a glimpse of a little used, or abandoned, railway. There are not many roads that branch from Florida 65 and those that do are what a 1939 guide would call “unimproved,” consisting of crushed gravel. The name of some of these roads conjure interesting and imaginative ideas in our minds; for example, Bloody Bluff Road.

After beginning to doubt my directions, a sign indicated that I should turn west onto Brickyard Road to reach the entrance of Fort Gadsden. Although there is a prominent sign on the highway that indicates the direction of the fort, you would be forgiven if you immediately stopped and reconsidered your turn from the highway - I did. Making our way through tall pine trees, dodging the puddles that dotted the road, and after stopping to ask a group of hunters for directions, we found the entrance to the site – only to find that it was closed. There was a temptation to have a walk back to see the fort, but the obvious closed sign and the number of hunters roaming in the same area I thought better of it.

I was drawn to the site because what happened there is one of those stories that is rarely heard. In 1814 the fort, then known as Fort Blount, was in the hands of the British who helped runaway slaves and offered protection to Native Americans. It was a place of refuge. Former slaves who had a chance for a free live begin establishing farms and communities; however, American forces, under orders from General Andrew Jackson who wanted the fort destroyed and the slaves returned to their owners, attacked the fort on 24 July 1816. The attack lasted for four days, ending only when a cannon ball landed in the powder magazine destroying the fort and killing most inside. Only sixty of the 334 inhabitants of the fort survived. Only three people escaped injury; of those three, two (a black and an Indian) were executed shortly afterwards.

Bird Watching 2015

Anhinga (Wakulla, FL, Feb 2015)

I do not like to admit it; and, I usually qualify the description of my habits. I do not consider myself a birder, but I increasingly find myself drawn to these interesting creatures. The opportunity to photograph birds provides an excuse and motivation to go out, observe and explore. There is something about birds, in a world dominated by humans, who are able to survive and adapt. They are small and hardly noticeable at times, blending into the background for those who are unwilling to pay attention.

Martha (Smithsonian,
Nov 2015)

I have been particularly interested in the declining number of bird species. A display at the Rathlin Island Museum illustrated the history of the Great Auk; however, the bird that continues to fascinate me is the extinct passenger pigeon. James Audubon’s description of a flock of passenger pigeon blocking the sun while traveling to Louisville is an evocative piece of writing. To think that the number of passenger pigeons, the most numerous bird in North America, went from approximately three billion birds in the 1830s to the last known specimen dying in 1914 is stunning. That last specimen, a female known as Martha, died at the Cincinnati Zoo and her body was placed on ice and has been in possession of the Smithsonian Museum since then. During 2014 and 2015, her taxidermy body has been on display at the Natural History Museum as part of the commemoration of the 100th anniversary of her death.

Bald Eagle (Manteo, NC, July 2015)

It makes me feel old to say that I regularly scan trees and vistas for interesting birds. As I do, inevitably, I think of Dick Davenport’s death in the comic strip “Doonesbury” whilst photography a rare Bachman warbler. There is a certain aspect of sport to the birdwatching: It is, in fact, going out to see something you have not seen before. It is yet another thing to ponder, to study and see while traveling.

Unrecognized History

I am often amused, when told by students, one of the reasons they love being in Europe is because there is so much history. Actually what they mean is that there is so much recorded and recognized history. North America is full of history that predates the American Revolutionary War; however, the public’s grasp of it is tenuous at best. We tend not to remember the history of North American that was not English-speaking or dominant. Nor do we remember those who lost or fought for noble causes whose efforts were against the mainstream.

While growing up our family visited Roanoke Island, in the Outer Banks of North Carolina, several times. One of the things we did that made a huge impression was attending “The Lost Colony” musical play. The play, which was written by Paul Green and premiered in 1937, recounts the trials, tribulations and ultimate mystery of the first permanent English settlement in North America. The musical is performed in an outdoor pavilion on the same spot where the colonists came ashore in July 1587. The play takes liberties with history, but establishes the basic facts about the colony and its disappearance.

The story of the Roanoke colony is compelling. English colonists, ill-prepared to start a thriving community on the barrier islands of North Carolina, arrived in the middle of the summer. They were accompanied by two natives who had visited England, Manteo and Wanchese, and were returning home. Arriving midsummer, the colony would have to wait until the following spring to plant food. Meanwhile, political events on Roanoke had shifted and found Manteo and Wanchese on opposite sides of a political struggle that centered on the role of the newcomers. A month after landing, Eleanor Dare gave birth to a daughter, Virginia, making her the first English child to be born in North America. We know this because John White, Virginia’s grandfather, departed ten days later to return to England for supplies. His return to North Carolina would be delayed because of war between England and Spain. When White managed to return on his granddaughter’s third birthday, he found the colony plundered and abandoned. On the walls of the fort, the word “CROATOAN” carved; on a nearby tree, the letters CRO were found. This was understood to mean that the remaining colonist had taken refuge with Manteo’s tribe at Croatoan, on Hatteras Island. Despite repeated searches no trace of the colonists was ever found.

Legends and hoaxes about the fate of the Roanoke colony flourished. Speculation about the fate of the Lost Colony is a favorite pastime for some. While browsing at the library at Manteo I came across a book arguing that the colonist linked up with the Lumbee Indians and traveled south after they left Roanoke. Over time, according to the legend, the colonists integrated with the tribe. The appearance of the Lumbee suggests that there was some interbreeding with other ethnic groups. Hence, the appearance of Lumbee Indians with European features suggested intermingling between the Lumbees and the English colonists. This theory has been largely discredited. Shortly after our visit in the summer of 2015, an article in the New York Times offered some evidence that, more than three years after its disappearance, the colony might have moved to the mainland. 

Coast of North Carolina: the bay side of Hatteras

Despite the intriguing nature of the mystery, there are other aspects of the story that I find interesting as well. The coast of North Carolina, when seen without hotels, shops and amusements, can be foreboding. The mixture of brackish water, thick swamp forests and relentless insects, especially mosquitoes, doubtlessly made life difficult for anyone in the sixteenth century. It was probably even more difficult for a group of inexperienced English colonists who had no experience on the North American continent. The idea that a group of individuals who were ill prepared for farming and building a colony in the wilderness is startling.

Today, it is fascinating to observe how the “lost colonists” are commemorated and memorialized. Streets in Manteo (named for the young man who traveled to England and befriended the colonists) are named after colonists and friendly Native Americans. The county in which Roanoke sits is named Dare County, after the young girl born just a couple of weeks after the arrival of the colonists. Virginia Dare has many things named after her and yet we know nothing about her past her tenth day. Perhaps one of the most intriguing is a statue in the Elizabethan Gardens is of Virginia as a grown woman. The optimism that Virginia would have survived and thrived in the harsh North Carolina bush is telling. For all the interest and memorializing heaped on Virginia, one cannot help but feel a modicum of sympathy for the child of Margery Harvie, another colonist, who bore a child a few days after Virginia’s birth. While the Dare offspring garners most of the attention through the timing of her birth, history does not even record the name of the poor Harvie child. Given that the Dares were considered leaders of expedition, and were among the political elites of the colony, it would be interesting to know what would have happened if Virginia had been born second. If Margery Harvie, who held a lower social status than Eleanor Dare, had given birth to the first English child born in North America would he/she have been celebrated as much?

Enon Mound (Enon, OH)

We tend to look at history filter through own lens and culture. The Ohio Historical Society has identified 42,682 prehistoric sites in the state. Yet, we do not see this as our history. The Enon Mound (alternatively known as the Knob Prarie Mound) is at least 2,000 years old, meaning that, more than likely, it predates the Roman Empire. Located in the middle of a circular road, appropriately named Mound Circle, in Enon, Ohio, the mound is the second largest conical Indian mound in Ohio. Students travel to Europe to “see” history; however, virtually no one in North America recognizes these artifacts of long vanished civilizations. In many ways these objects have been appropriated. The Enon Mound was reportedly used as an observation post by General George Rogers Clark during the battle at Piqua with Shawnee Indians on 8 August 1780 and, during the 1940s, a cross was planted atop the mound each Easter.

Seip Earthwork Mound (Bainbridge, OH) 

I once again visited the Seip Earthwork Mound, outside of Bainbridge, Ohio, this summer. The mound, which is one of my favorites, sits on a small piece of land with a picnic area and extremely limited facilities. Much like when I first visited the site in the mid-1980s, I had this small park site to myself. When the mound was excavated it was found to contain the bodies of 122 people (men, women and children) with many artifacts and treasures. As part of the Hopewell Culture, Seip Mound was built sometime between 100BC to 700 AD. Thus, while England was under Roman occupation or the confusion that followed, Hopewell people had a flourishing culture in Southcentral Ohio.

Monarch Butterfly near Seip Mound

Trying to imagine what it would have been like to have lived during the Hopewell period, I walked through the small park and watched butterflies frolicked in the tall grass and wild flowers that grow on the mound. Monarchs and swallowtails were in abundance. It was mid-August, warm and humid, and cicadas provided a natural soundtrack as I walked from the primary mound to Paint Creek. As I walked through the grassland, it struck me that while many things had changed, a person walking the same land centuries ago would have seen the same kind of butterflies and birds and would have been pestered by mosquitoes just like me. Whether North Carolina or Ohio, we pretend that we are far removed from the people that inhabited our lands centuries ago. Yet, in many ways, we are the same and it is unfortunate we do not recognize this part of our history. 

Hogestown, Pennsylvania

As US Route 11 North travels through Cumberland County from Carlisle toward Harrisburg, it actually moves in an easterly direction. The north and southbound lanes are separate by a city block at the hamlet of Hogestown, named after its found John Hoge.  What appears to have been a once prosperous town is sandwiched between the two roads that carry US11. There is a 35-mph speed limit that no one observes; several buildings have been deemed dangerous and uninhabitable by the township. Of particular fascination is the (unidentified) church towards the south end of town, built in 1858. Generations of parishioners gathered, shared community and cared for this structure. Today, there is just a skeleton of the steeple remains: symbolic of the current state of Hogestown. 

The Historic Biltmore of Providence

The Providence Biltmore opened in 1922 and is one of the classic historic hotels of New England. The 18-story hotel was designed by Warren and Wetmore who were also the architects who designed the rebuilt New York’s Grand Central Station in 1913. The hotel remains a fixture in downtown Providence; a place where weddings and other special occasions are held.

During the 1938 Hurricane the Biltmore witnessed a massive amount of water piled up in Providence as the most significant natural disaster in New England in the twentieth century. In the lobby, near the reception desk, there is a brass plaque approximately seven feet high that denotes the high water mark in the storm’s aftermath. Contemporary photographs show the tops of streetcars barely visible in the water in front of the hotel and city hall.

Mezzanine

A display in the mezzanine has several artifacts from the hotel’s past. Like many people, I was fascinated with the prices people paid for meals in the luxurious dining rooms. For example, a September 1959 menu offered patrons “roasted prime rib of beef au jus, creamed pearl onions, and rissole potatoes” (served with a roll and butter) for $3.05. For lunch in the second floor Bacchante Room in June 1962 one could order a boiled ham sandwich, with lettuce, pickle, and Saratoga chips for 85¢. Perhaps most charming is a bill, saved as a souvenir, from a newlywed couple on their honeymoon at the Biltmore. The couple spent two nights and had two dinners at the hotel in March 1951 for a grand total of $27.16. Needless to say, I spent far more than that during my stay.  

Kirby & Holloway

There is a large neon sign from the 1950s, standing alongside U.S. 13 in Dover, Delaware, which marks the spot where a classic restaurant once stood. Today, it is an empty parking lot with the footprint of a building where the restaurant once was surrounded by a chain linked fence. The Kirby & Holloway Family Restaurant, opened in 1948, was a gathering place for citizens of, and visitors to, Dover. For more than sixty-five years, the restaurant had been a place where families could celebrate a special occasion or a night out. Servicemen from Dover Air Force Base would come in for a good meal. A fire on 2 February 2014 gutted the building. It was devastating for the community, and even elicited comments even from a United States Senator who claimed that it was a loss for the entire state.

Shortly after the fire, the Historic Commission declared the undamaged sign to have cultural and historic significance. Although he vowed to rebuild, the owner Jim Gray passed away a few months afterwards, leaving the family to decide what to with the Delaware institution. By July 2015, it was clear that the building could not be saved and demolition began. Given the cost of rebuilding, and the emotions of trying to rebuild a business that Mr. Gray had spent so much time nurturing, there is hesitation what to do next. The family hopes to have a decision by the second anniversary of the fire in February 2016. 

Holy Trinity (Old Swedes) Church

Not many people think of Sweden as a major player in the development of colonial North American; however, from Philadelphia, through southern New Jersey, into northern Delaware, Swedish immigrants came to the New World and established thriving communities. The relationship between the Swedes and the native Lenape Indians was generally good and the colony was generally accepting of all people. Although there is a major museum in Philadelphia, and a few smaller museums in the region, the history of Swedish colonies is virtually unknown to most Americans. During our visit to the church, one of the guides noted that Swedes had been in the region long before William Penn came.

Holy Trinity Church of Wilmington, Delaware, located along the banks of Brandywine Creek and the Christina River, is evidence of that Swedish-American history. The congregation of the church dates back to 1640. The current stone church was built in the burial grounds of Fort Christina beginning in 1697, at the direction of Eric Björk a young pastor sent from Sweden by the King. The church was dedicated on Holy Trinity Sunday, 4 July 1699, making it the only 17th-century church still operating as a congregation in the United States. 

A Mystery: Where is this Church?

I was at a flea market in Delaware, browsing a vendor who had a number of photographs. I came across a group of photographs from World War II, primarily dealing with a person’s life as a member of the army air corp. None of the pictures had locations or identification of people. I selected this photograph of a church amid the destruction of war to buy. If you can identify the church in the picture, I would love to have more information.

The Old Woman and the Shoe…

While it is visible from US30, the Haines Shoe House is a little hard to find. It is located at 197 Shoe House Road in York, Pennsylvania. The iconic large shoe is not too far from the old Lincoln Highway, the former Route 30 that still has many independent hotels and Americana shops. Originally built in 1948 as an advertising gimmick for Mahlon Haines, the owner of over twenty shoe stores in Pennsylvania and Maryland, rooms in the house could be rented so that people could “live like a king” for a week. Today, the Haines Shoe House is a bakery and sweet shop.

Unfortunately, the shop was closed when we stopped by. But check back for updates on our visit. In the meantime: A 2015 York Daily Record article and a 2015 Harrisburg Patriot article. 

Gap, Pennsylvania

Just off US Route 30, on Pennsylvania Route 41, is the community of Gap. Named after a break in the Appalachian Mountain Chain, town historians recount the visit of William Penn to the area in 1701. The houses in the community are nestled into the hillside and, like many towns, some of the major services have migrated to larger cities.

Among the remaining businesses in town are the Gap Diner and the Town Clock Cheese Shoppe. The Diner serves Pennsylvania Dutch cuisine, as well as regular diner fare. Lunch at the Gap Diner can be an interesting cultural experience: We were in one afternoon when a young man, who I assume was home from college, was introducing his girlfriend to his Pennsylvania Dutch grandparents. The girl was clearly nervous and the grandparents seemed to struggle with making conversation. The Town Clock Cheese Shoppe is a fourth-generation business that sells a wide variety of tempting cheeses. It is a great place for nostalgia, interesting stories and a quick snack to take on the road. Bill told us one funny story about the time he was driving his delivery truck. He notice that the potholes ahead appeared to be moving. He got out to look and saw a baby black kitten alone and afraid down inside one of the potholes. He took it home and for the rest of his life never wanted to leave Bill’s side. 

Borders: Pennsylvania-Delaware

A border is an interesting phenomenon. The demarcation between two units is most often designed to keep something in, or something out. It is a human construction that divides two spaces. Yet, animals, plants, pollution and weather pay no attention to the attempts of people to keep things separate. We think of borders has geographical barriers that mark a transition from one place to another. But a border can be mental or psychological.

Sometimes geographic borders are so old that the transition through it has a minimal mental effect. The border between Pennsylvania and Delaware has become nearly meaningless in many ways, save for taxes and liquor laws. The border between the two states on Highway 41, near Hockessin, still has a concrete marker that appears to be decades old. Given that there is a big blue tourist sign that towers over the older sign, I suspect most motorists do not see this demarcation that dates from the early days of motoring.

A Short Road and Rail Trip

A short road trip found Spence and myself spending a night in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania. After spending the day roaming rural Pennsylvania, checking out the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon and the Wellsboro Diner, we headed for an evening of baseball and adventure. In our brief time in the area, we found good food, conversation and interesting things to think about.

A home for the night

Sometimes the adventure of travelling is not limited to where one visits, but often where one lays their head. This trip had us staying in a caboose, constructed by the Pennsylvania Railroad in 1941. It is now owned and operated as B&B (without the breakfast) by the Clinton County Historical Society. The caboose rests at the old railroad station in Castanea, a small village just across Bald Eagle Creek from Lock Haven. It had the amenities of a nice self-service hotel room, with a dining area, refrigerator and microwave, plus the added bonus of great nostalgia. Although trains no longer pass through the small village, and most of the tracks have long since disappeared, as you wake up one can still hear a constant stream of train whistles in the distance, punctuating the quiet early morning. At one point I thought to myself, is this what it would be like to ride the rails? 

A minor problem with staying in the caboose was that I did not bring a towel, something not provided by the historical society. Thinking I might like to have a shower the next morning, we stopped by a dollar store to purchase a lime green towel ($2.50) and matching washcloth (.50). The next morning, after taking a shower, it seemed that the towel had left a great deal of itself on the floor of the shower. The rest of the day I felt like I was picking lime green lint out of my hair and off my clothes.

A bed for the night

My travelling partner has a propensity to sleep late, so I took the opportunity to have a short walk to explore Castanea. After a night of rain, clouds hung low over the mountains as I walked. The town has become a bedroom community of working-class people, with older homes and very few businesses. There was one house, at the corner of Logan and Brown, which has been abandoned for some time that made me think of the old mansion in the film, It’s A Wonderful Life. Not that the house necessarily resembled the abandoned film mansion; however, the broken windows and the two stories made me wonder if local people might believe the house was haunted. The streets in the town resemble the lattice-work of a pie top, nestled between Bald Eagle Mountain and Bald Eagle Creek. A small, fast-flowing stream, Harvey’s Run, bisects the town from the mountain to the creek. It was running quite heavy after a night of rain.

After my perambulation I find myself at the Train Station Restaurant, a thriving enterprise. The restaurant occupies what once was a house. Two women ran the breakfast without pretense. The food was simple but good and informal. An egg, toast and a cup of coffee cost me less than $4.00, meanwhile I was privy to many of the conversations between locals. The waitress kindly laughed at my joke that I might be back for a second breakfast when Spencer woke up. Sure enough, about 45 minutes later, we returned to the restaurant and I had yet another cup of coffee and toast while Spence had a hearty breakfast of waffle and bacon.

Boston (Indiana)

The small hamlet of Boston, Indiana is an example of trends found across the United States. Although the population of the country continues to grow, most of that growth occurs in urban and suburban areas. As people have increasingly moved away from rural areas, they have left the remnants of houses, buildings, businesses and institutions behind, often to decay in inglorious fashion. The population of Boston was never substantial, topping out at 257 people according to the 1950 census. Nevertheless, the town was prosperous enough to have an elementary school, a high school and a bank along state road 122, all of which are defunct. Sixty years later the population of Boston was nearly half of what it was in 1950.

The elementary school in Boston, Indiana

The elementary and high school, built in 1932 in a wonderful art deco design, sit empty with broken windows. A rusted, empty flagpole still stands in the front lawn between the two schools and vines have obscured much of the buildings. I wonder if there are still people who long to explore the hallways and classes of their youth. In my own curiosity, there was a temptation to sneak in and have a look at the interior of the building. As we pulled up to in front of the schools, I jokingly asked my travel companion if he was interested in having a look. He flatly declined. Nevertheless, I endeavored to change his mind because the sign carved in stone on the front of the high school read: “Entry ye to learn.”  

Proper, Dignified and Classic Shopping

This summer two major department stores closed in the centers of two cities separated by 3,400 miles. Both stores have had long histories, were cultural and geographic landmarks, and treated the customer to a fine shopping experience in buildings that used marble and brass, rather than concrete and fluorescent lights.

Kaufmann’s was a Pittsburgh institution. Originally founded in 1871 by German immigrants, its flagship store, at the corner of 5th Avenue and Smithfield Street, opened its doors in 1887. The department store evolved into a regional chain that had stores in five states. Eventually, the chain was bought by Federated Department Stores and in 2006 the flagship store’s name was changed to Macy’s.

In the summer of 2015, Macy’s announced that it would be closing its downtown location and the Kaufmann Building would be converted into offices and apartments. Although I had been in the store from time to time. The announcement prompted me to explore the store before its final closing. 

One of the historical aspects to the building is that Frank Lloyd Wright was hired to design the executive offices on the top floor as well as him masterpiece, Falling Water, on the company’s retreat south of Pittsburgh near Mill Run, Pennsylvania. In the late 1920s, the store was substantially redesigned with an art deco interior. While much of the interior has since been remodeled; features have been hidden or abandoned, but the elevators still retain the art deco design. My trip to the eleventh floor felt like snooping, as the only thing open on the level was the salon. I explored some of the empty corridors that had no signs forbidding entry, but clearly had not been used for quite some time. Behind a glass wall one could still see Edgar’s Restaurant, a mid-level eatery; Michael’s Restaurant, a high-end establishment; and, the Forbes Room, a nice meeting room that probably had catered meals as well. Just down the hall, an open door revealed the massive kitchen that served all three establishments. Towards the end of the building’s tenure as a department store, the only remaining restaurant was the Tic Toc Restaurant on the first floor. The Tic Toc opened in 1959 and, in later years, served many of the dishes made famous on the eleventh floor.

Earlier in the summer the classic department store in Dublin, Cleary’s located on O’Connell Street, closed its doors without warning. After years of financial difficulties, aggravated by the global financial crisis, the receivership company announced the store’s immediate closing and liquidation in June. Much like Kaufmann’s, and other department stores in North America and Europe, Cleary’s was a local shopping destination, where one could take time out for a meal or afternoon tea. I once heard a Dubliner tell a group of American students that if they wanted to buy something nice for their mothers, they could do so in Cleary’s. 

In addition to the many other parallels between the two stores something that Kaufmann’s and Cleary’s had in common was the ornate clocks that graced the outside of the buildings. Because of the central location of these stores, and the recognizable landmarks the stores represented, residents in both cities, in an era before mobile phones and texting, would make plans to meet “beneath the clock at…” Given the ornate clock at the old Marshall and Fields building in Chicago, it was probably the case there as well.

So why mourn, or memorialize, these old department stores? In the days before nondescript malls and fluorescent lighting, grand department stores, with their fabulous architecture and decorative fixtures, ennobled the shopper and provided a memorable experience. These beautiful and elaborate buildings were a sign that the merchant took pride in their work and made the customer feel welcome. 

East Broad Top Railroad

Narrow-gauge track in Three Springs

The East Broad Top Railroad line, a defunct, narrow gauge line, is still observable in Three Springs, Pennsylvania. At its peak the company, which built the mainline from Mount Union to Orbisonia between 1872 and 1874, owned 60 miles of line. Its primary function was to remove coal from the Broad Top Mountain plateau. From the late 19th century until the 1950s, the line hauled coal. With the precipitous fall in coal prices and the switch to oil and gas, the railroad switch to tourist excursions from 1961 to 2011. Although there is a preservation society, it appears that excursions have not ran for the last four years.

Squirt Soda advertisement

On a trip through Three Springs, I took the opportunity to photograph the line and a railroad building with a (seeming) vintage advertisement for the soda Squirt.

Recipe: Thai Basil Chicken

This recipe was inspired by a dish I had at a Thai restaurant in Rotorua, New Zealand. It was probably the best version of the dish I have ever had in a restaurant, so I wrote down the ingredients and began to experiment with the sauces and seasoning when I got home. This is what I came up with:

Ingredients: 1 pound of chicken breast (or tenders), 3 teaspoons of chopped garlic, crushed red pepper to taste, diced carrots (about 1 cup), chopped, bite size broccoli (about 2/3 cup), diced zucchini  (about 1.5 cups), 2 tablespoons of oyster sauce, 1 tablespoon of soy sauce, 10-12 large leaves of fresh basil, and cooking oil.

Preparation:

Sprinkle chicken breasts with Thai seasoning. Baked in an over at 375° for about 15-18 minutes. Remove from the oven and allow to cool. Chop into bite size pieces. If the chicken is not quite cook all the way through, it is fine. The chicken will cook further during the stir-fry phase.

Stir Fry:

1.      In a wok, heat a little oil. Sautee chopped garlic and crushed red peppers for about 90 seconds

2.      Add chicken and stir fry for about three minutes

3.      Add carrots, zucchini, broccoli and stir fry for about three minutes

4.      Add oyster sauce and soy sauce, coat vegetables well, cook for about 2  minutes

5.      Finish by adding basil, cook 30 sec to one minute. Serve immediately over cooked rice (basmati or jasmine is the best). 

Road Trip: U.S. Route 6 (Providence to Hartford)

It was a beautiful summer day in New England; perfectly blue sky, warm but not too hot. The scenic route from the capitol of Rhode Island to the capitol of Connecticut leads through the heart of southern New England and interesting terrain. The trip, which is about 77 miles, could be done much faster, of course. Yet, time and weather beckoned for a contemplative examination of the route and scenery.

Soon after exiting the freeway onto Route 6 proper, in the outskirts of Providence, more local businesses are noticed. Mom and Pop hotels, such as the Bel-Air Motel and the Stone House Motor Inn, which are in varying states of repair can be found along the road. Dairy bars, as well as pizza shops, dot the little towns and villages along the way. Of course this is New England, so there is a requisite Dunkin Donut in every hamlet and neighborhood; however, there are not a great many chains in the rural areas.

A recent visitor from Britain said that he was surprised how much of the northeast was forested. One of the reasons I love Alfred Hitchcock’s film, The Trouble with Harry, is how beautifully the forests of Vermont in the autumn are filmed. People tend to focus on the shoreline of Maine and Cape Cod, or of the major metropolitan areas, when they consider New England. And, I often forget about the abundance of wetlands in the region. Yet the rural areas of New England are enticing.

The total length of Route 6 in Rhode Island is only 26.5 miles. Thus once you leave the metropolitan Providence area there is not much of the road left in the state. Crossing into Connecticut the road becomes much more typical of the rural U.S. routes that lattice the United States.

Unitarian Church, Brooklyn, CT

Unlike its more famous counterpart further south, Brooklyn, Connecticut is a small and rural crossroad village that is prototypical of New England. The village is picturesque, with the Unitarian Church, sitting on the commons, built in 1771 anchoring the center of Brooklyn. The plain and evocative architecture of the town, usually painted white, is so appealing that even local enterprises that are no longer in business, such as the local service station, are still visually appealing.

Service Station in the center of Brooklyn

After leaving Brooklyn, I stopped for lunch at the Aero Diner in North Windham, a restored 1958 diner originally constructed by the Bramsom Engineering Company of Union Bay, NY. The diner began life as the Boulevard Diner of East Hartford, but was restored and moved to its current location in 2005. Although it was a rather late lunch, the diner hosted a typical Saturday afternoon clientele. Several people lingered over their food and desserts chatting about various things. A young man and woman in their twenties, who went to school together, talk about their new houses and families at the counter. A group of four men in their seventies, with four empty stainless steel milkshake cups in the center of the table talked intently when I sat down to order my lunch. The four men were still there, chatting away, when I left.

Back on the road again, I saw my first sign that indicated the distance to Hartford: 32 miles. It was a reminder to me at how there were not a lot of signs to spoil the view.

Aero Diner, North Windham, CT

I stopped for a short walk on the Hop River State Park Trail in Andover. The railroad track has been replaced by a walking and bike path. I noticed the trail from my car because a relatively new bridge on the trail crosses route 316 within a few hundred feet of route 6. Also at the intersection of Route 6 and 316 once stood the Andover Creamery Company. The creamery utilized the nearby railroad so that local farmers in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century could sell their butter to distant customers across the region.

After my walk, I returned to the car and started west. Soon, U.S. Routes 6 and 44 join together and travel together through Manchester, before joining I-84 into Hartford.

More Dogs…

Champion Patrick of Ifold
(1923-1931)

I continue to be fascinated by the Anglo-American penchant for memorializing our canine friends in interesting and strange ways. I was touring the Ulster Museum, the national museum of Northern Ireland, when I happened upon Patrick, a massive taxidermy dog that stood about the height of my chest. Pattack was an Irish wolfhound, bred at Ifold Kennels in West Sussex and born on St. Patrick’s Day 1923. Reportedly, he was very famous in his day, accumulated national championships and sired many champion offspring. He died in 1931.

Former magazine model in her retirement years

As I have begun to notice and inventory dog monuments, I have mentally noted that there are not an equal number of places dedicated to cats. It seems that since the Ancient Egyptian civilization, cats have been maligned by poor publicity. Even Hollywood would prefer dogs over cats. However, when you think of the poses struck by dogs, as opposed to cats, one can see how dogs like Patrick, Bobby, or Station Jim might be more majestic that our feline friends. 

Exploring Rathlin Island

It is difficult to be an introvert on a small island in Ireland; one must engage in conversation when you meet people. To the introvert’s advantage, however, is that there are not a lot of people on Rathlin. It is the only permanently inhabited island of the coast of Northern Ireland. Located about five miles from Ballycastle, Rathlin has an inverted-L shape and measures 4 miles east to west, and 2.5 miles north to south. Each year, the island hosts numerous visitors, both human and non-humans. History is replete with visitors who came ashore here. Yet, the island is not well-known today. The people who do come today, do so because of the bird colony. My interest was both the birds and the walks, but what intrigued more was the remoteness.

An ancient stone that marks a Viking cemetery 

Despite its remoteness, archaeological evidence suggests that humans have occupied the island for nearly 6,000 years. Doonmore is thought to have been the site of the epic conflict between King Nabghdon of Norway and the Irish chieftain Congal Clarineach for the beautiful Princess Taise, daughter of King Donn of Rathlin. Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland, took refuge on the island in 1306-07. Much later, World War I, particularly submarines, took a toll on the island. An old buoy in the harbor marks the wreckage of the HMS Drake, sunk during the First World War. The H.M.S. Drake was torpedoed on 2 October 1917 and had a crew of 900 officers and men. In the protestant churchyard, there are four military graves: two maker for six unknown sailors (three bodies for each marker) and a single marker for J.J. Walton from the H.M.S. Vinkor, which was sunk on 13 January 1915. Another stone simply reads: “A Sailor from the Great War.”

At breakfast one morning, there was told an old story of people trying to decide to which country Rathlin belonged: Scotland or Ireland. Looking at a map, it is difficult to distinguish Rathlin from the chain of islands off the coast of Scotland. Hence, the question: Where does Scotland end and Ireland begin? One of the guest opine that Rathlin was actually Irish because there were no snakes that were endemic to the island, continuing the idea that St. Patrick drove the snakes from Ireland.

There is a streak of independence or anti-establishmentarianism among the residents. The automobile tax and TV licenses goes largely uncollected on the island. A few years back, revenue officers came to the island. The people, getting a tip from their colleagues in Ballycastle and those riding the ferry over, took action even before the officials landed on Rathlin. Many locals moved their cars away from the harbor; others, removed the numbers from their automobiles, so that they could not be traced. I was told that even the priest joined in, because everyone else was doing it. 

A background to any discussion of locations in Northern Ireland is the sectarian divided. My host was irreverent about the subject and had no patience for arguments concerning the topic. He noted that there were two churches on the island, a Protestant (Church of Ireland) and a Catholic Church. But there is only one graveyard where people of both faiths are buried. Alan noted that, “they get along really well there.”

A person living on an island has a different perspective. My host indicated that Americans and Australians were accustomed to drive several hours to visit a destination, while “you can’t even get an Irishman to go down the road fifteen miles without him complaining.” I am not sure about that, but many people in Ireland said that they had yet to visit Rathlin.

In my forty-eight hours on the island, I concentrated on four walks, all originating from the harbor:

The Western lighthouse: The most obvious walk was to the Western Lighthouse, where bird colonies dominate the cliffs and small rock islands offshore. This is the place where most tourists who come to the island want to visit. At 3.75 miles from the harbor, most tourists take one of the buses out to bird sanctuary. I decided to walk. After a brief stopover at the Roman Catholic church, I began my trek in earnest. About a mile and a half out, a bus stored and asked if I wanted a ride. I declined, to which the driver said, “I am the last bus of the day.” I replied, “OK, but thank you.” My goal was to hike and explore. At least while I was on Rathlin I was going to live by Leigh Fermor’s dictum that “all horsepower corrupts.”

Of course, seeing the birds was worth the walk. The lighthouse was something of an oddity in that it is inverted. Because it is built on a cliff, rather than walking up steps to the light, one actually walks down the steps to the light perch on a high cliff. As interesting as the lighthouse is clearly most people come for the bird colonies, which was the case with me as well. The Royal Society for the Protection of Birds runs a new center at the lighthouse for observation. There are five primary species at the reserve: fulmar, guillemot, kittiwake, puffin and razorbill; however, most come to see the puffins.

One of the missing species is the great auk (Pinguinus impennis), which was a flightless bird about the size of a penguin, although not related. The birds, hunted for the food source, could once be found on Rathlin. As the number of specimens dropped dramatically, the great auk was hunted for its skin and eggs by museums and collectors. The last confirmed specimens were killed off the coast of Iceland in 1844 and is another species, like the passenger pigeon and Tasmanian tiger, that will never be seen again. 

Walking back I felt like the last and only person walking back to the haarbor. The four cyclists who were watching birds with me passed me shortly after I left the reserve. I had the remainder of the walk back alone with my thoughts and reveling in the exploration of a new place; a remote island that sparked my interest and imagination. A few cars went by, and there was a small traffic jam when a group of about eight cows wandered onto the road and held up three cars in what amounted to a Rathlin traffic jam.

The South Lighthouse: There are too many abandoned and derelict buildings to catalog. Sheep wander among the remains of old houses and farm buildings, looking for sweeter grass. While the permanent population of Rathlin today is a little over a hundred people, in the mid-19th century it reached upwards of 1,900. Thus, there are a lot of structures from that time period that are no longer in use.

I arrived at South Lighthouse in the late morning and sheep are everywhere. I spent some time sitting on the rocks just underneath the lighthouse, jotting some notes. I looked up just in time to see a seal surface. Later, after watching birds and the sea, I got up to leave and scared a falcon that was about fifty feet away hiding in the rocks. I moved about a hundred yards down the shore and watched a pod of seals for about forth minutes before moving on to explore the old lifesaving station.

The old lifesaving station

There is a great solitude in these walks. Just as I was arriving at the lighthouse, a car with three older men, a woman and a guide dog, drove up to the old lifesaving station. I greeted the party, but walked on to the lighthouse. I saw a younger couple arrived in the distance, by foot, as I left the lighthouse to watch the seals in the small bay. I did not even get close enough to exchange greetings. These were the only interaction I had with other people while in the vicinity.

On the way back toward the top of the hill, I met two couples on bicycles (one with a toy dog in a basket) from Kent. One of the women said she did not want to go down the final hill that led to the old lifesaving building and lighthouse because it would hurt her knees going back up. She said she was “happy to enjoy the scenery,” if others want to have a look. On my walk back, the couples passed me and I heard one woman say to another, “He got a long way, didn’t he?”

The East Lighthouse: There is the taste of salt in the back of your throat as you are walking around the island. One of the things I noticed, in addition to the salt, is that there is a lack of trash, litter and debris around the island. Of course there is some (obviously); however, most is confined to areas of derelict buildings and it looks related to the remnants of party.

Another historical claim for Rathlin is the radio demonstration that Marconi performed on the island. In August 1898, Marconi and his team established a radio link between East Lighthouse on the island and Kenmara House in Ballycastle, to successfully demonstrate the utility of radio signals in tracking ships approaching Britain. It was a major step in the development of radio. A few weeks later the equipment was temporarily transferred to Don Laoghaire (Kingstown), north of Dublin, to cover the Kingstown Yacht Race. Soon after the new technology suffered a setback when ones of its young developers perished. Upon his return to Rathlin, Marconi’s assistant, Edwin Glanville, a recent graduate from Trinity College Dublin, died when he fell on the cliffs during a geology exploration.

While walking I decided that there was a dichotomy among visitors. Most people come to Rathlin for the day, taking the ferry from Ballycastle in the morning and returning in the afternoon. There is a certain camaraderie among those who stay over. It is common to hear people conclude a conversation with, “see you in the pub.” Since there is only one pub on the island, McCuaig’s Bar, and virtually the only source for an evening meal, it is a place that serves as a local gathering place. The next day I would come across people I had spoken to or saw in the pub the night before. We were each engaged in our own pursuits: Watching birds, cycling, or, in my case, walking.

Roonivoolin: In the final few hours on the island I took the Roonivoolin path, which ultimately leads to the old lifesaving station near the South Lighthouse. The trail crosses fields of sheep and follows the cliff’s edge. My fear of heights prevented me getting too close to the edge. I worried that when I spooked the sheep they would fall over the edge. As I walked, looking over the precarious edge, I worried that I would have dreams that night of falling off cliffs; however, after 48 hours on Rathlin, I slept the sleep of a man who walked for two days.

Belfast Central Library

The decorative wrought iron, tile, and wood bookcases in
the Belfast Central Library

Opened in 1881, the Belfast Central Library is constructed of red sandstone and stands majestically as a symbol of an important city of the industrial revolution. It is located on Royal Avenue and is adjacent to the Belfast Telegraph newspaper building. The library survived the Belfast Blitz during the Second World War and the Troubles, without any damage.

Situated around the library today are copies of historic posters that advertised interesting and topical lectures from the city’s past. For example, a notice telling patrons that the library would close at dusk during the Easter Rising in April 1916. Another poster advertised a lecture by Francis J. Bigger on, “Ireland in Peace: Her Art and Industries (illustrated by lantern views)” on 14 February 1912.

A display on trademarks in the lobby offered the motto of Arthur Guinness, founder of the famous brewery: “Earn all you can. Save all you can. Give all you can,” which happened to be the motto of John Wesley as well.