Post Office Rehoboth Beach DE

 

"Frontier Mail" by Karl Knaths (1942) 

"Books are the most amazing technology we’ve built to outlast death"

 

“Books are the most amazing technology we’ve built to outlast death” – Anthony Doerr

Irish Times, 28 September 2021

The River Trail (Winnipeg)

 

The Red River on a bleak October morning in Winnipeg

The River Trail in Winnipeg runs approximately four miles along the Red River with associated trails branching off along the Assiniboine River. The confluence of the two rivers, a location where indigenous people gathered and traded for over 6000 years, is considered one of the most important places in the interior of North America. As part of the Trans Canada Trail, the signage specifically tries to tie the various European and Indigenous cultures of Manitoba and the city together.

Selkirk's Settlers

On the northern part of the trail, specifically in Stephen Juba Park, signs and monuments honor Selkirk’s settlers, a group of Scottish migrants who began arriving in 1812. Fleeing dire conditions in Scotland, the colonists were sponsored by the Earl of Selkirk to establish the Red River Colony, close to Winnipeg. Difficult conditions and tribulations followed.

"Education is the New Bison"

Closer to the city center, adjacent to the Museum of Human Rights at the Forks, trail signage concentrates on the indigenous history of the area. While historical explanations illustrate the importance of the area as a meeting place, contemporary indigenous culture is represented as well. A statue by Val T. Vint, called “Education is the New Bison,” places emphasis on learning as the new key to economic and cultural wealth. The buffalo in the statute is constructed of books, marking a new way forward for indigenous communities. The trail also recognizes the continuing legacy of hardship and devastation as well. The Manitoba memorial for Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women occupies a prominent place on the trail, and has flowers and candles left for “those who are not here.” Around the city, several displays of REDress, red dresses displayed in various ways, are prominent. The art installations, a play on words, are a call to redress the injustices faced indigenous communities. Similarly, Canada declared 30 September as the National Day of Remembrance for Victims of Residential Schools. Flags remained at half-mast in many places during the month of October.

The Memorial for Murdered and Missing Indigenous Women

Herline Covered Bridge

 

Located near Manns Choice, in Bedford County, this covered bridge was constructed in 1902 to cross the Juniata River. Located near US Route 30, the 136-foot-long bridge is one of several that dot Pennsylvania.

VJ’s Drive Inn – Winnipeg

 

Originally opened in 1958 as Juniors, VJ’s is located across Main Street from the train station in central Winnipeg, this local dive has a loyal following. VJ’s is a very small place where there is barely enough room for four or five people to order. There is no seating inside, and a few picnic tables adjacent to the parking lot and is a cash-only establishment. The entire menu consists of hamburgers, hot dogs, and French fries, typically not my normal fare. However, when in Winnipeg I suspect one must sample the local cuisine. I order a hot dog, which automatically comes with chili, mustard, onions, and pickles. It was raining and the picnic tables that are outside were wet and messy. I chose to eat my hot dog standing in the parking lot. It was good, and it is clear why and how VJ’s has been in business for over 60 years.

A fellow patron, wearing a Montreal Canadiens, waiting for his order. 

The menu board

Nønsuch Brewing Company, Winnipeg

 

A funky, but elegant, brewpub wedged between the River Walk and Chinatown section of the city. After checking my vaccination record and identification, the female server commented that it must be my first time visiting given that I was from Pennsylvania. COVID protocols meant that ordering and serving was done through a phone app, but the service, nonetheless, was kind and friendly. I ordered deviled eggs and Baltic Porter. At first one might think that the combination was strange, and I would tend to agree. However, a commercial during the hockey game on television the night before, from Canadian egg producers, argued that having a egg as a snack was not weird. And it was weird to think otherwise. No doubt that I was primed by the commercial, but I also remember that in the early twentieth century it was common for bars in the United States to serve hard boiled eggs as well.

Despite the rather plain exterior, the interior of Nønsuch is lavishly decorated in soothing colors. Comfortable tables and couches, with soft lighting set a mood. A small after work clientele made up most of the patrons. Most of the tables would turnover before a Friday night rush. Electronic music played in the background, capping off a sophisticated, cool ambiance.

The Baltic Porter was described as, “A deceptively smooth gateway to the dark side.” At 6.8% abv it certainly was. After asking how I liked it, I told my server that the description was accurate. Without know the alcohol content, it would have been very easy to have another one or two. With a mile and a quarter walk back to the hotel, and at 5:30 in the afternoon, a second beer would likely have meant an early night for me.

Dining in Manitoba

 

The Forks Market, a converted train depot, in Winnipeg

In Manitoba, the weather has turn too cold for outdoor dining and it is required for dining patrons to show proof of a full regiment of vaccines and a photo ID to dine in an indoor restaurant or facility. Usually, a hostess will check or, in the case of The Forks Market, a venue with multiple eateries and a common dining area, an enforcement officer will come around and verify one’s status. I have a photo of my vaccination card at the ready on my phone and produce my driver’s license when asked. One woman even commented, “It’s nice to see a Pennsylvania license.”

The sign on tables announcing the verification procedures

Smith Restaurant (Winnipeg, Manitoba)

 

My original plan for a late-night sushi run, after watching hockey, was thwarted when the restaurants in The Forks Market closed earlier than I had anticipated. Instead, I retreated to Smith Restaurant, located in the same building as my hotel, where I order their Pork Belly Char-Siu. Described as “marinated Manitoba pork belly,” served with kimchi fried rice, a spicy aioli, toasted sesame seeds, and cilantro. The rice also contained egg and peas. It was very delicious and a perfect light, late-night meal.  With it, I had a brown ale from Little Brown Jug Brewing Company, also located in Winnipeg.

Cortland NY Post Office

 

“Valley of the Seven Hills” (1943), a painted wooden relief, by Ryah Ludins.

88 Main St., Cortland, NY

Tunkhannock PA Post Office

 

“Defenders of the Wyoming Country – 1778” (1941) by Ethel Ashton

109 Bridge St., Tunkhannock, PA

Rome (NY) Post Office

 

“Barn Raising” (1942) by Wendell Jones.

Currently displayed in the lobby of the City Hall, 198 Washington Street, Rome, NY. The original site of the then new post office is the current home of the Rome Historical Society.

side panel

Dickens Quote

 

“That what we falsely call a religious cry is easily raised by men who have no religion, and in their daily practices set at nought the commonest principles of right and wrong; that it is begotten of intolerance and persecution...all History teaches us.”

Charles Dickens, Preface to Barnaby Rudge, 1848 edition

Canastota Post Office

 

“The Onion Field” (1942) by Alison Mason Kingsbury.

118 S Peterboro St., Canastota, NY 

A preliminary walk on the North Bend Rail Trail

 

Looking at a guidebook, the trail looked inviting: Several tunnels, picturesque small towns. It would be an inviting and pleasant stopover while traveling. Since I was planning on spending the night in Parkersburg, West Virginia, a remote sport about half an hour away would be a good stopping place I reasoned. The North Bend Rail Trail is a 72-mile trail was once a Baltimore & Ohio line constructed in the 1850s, with several tunnels and bridges.

I stopped in the small hamlet of Ellenboro, immediately found the trail and parking lot, and began walking east. Most of the first mile was adjacent to a drilling company, where several trucks were parked on a gravel lot. A small stream, Hushers Run, ran along the other side of the trail. A belted kingfisher cried as I walked past. Although not seen, its crime of alarm meant I was observed. A RV park that had seen happier days, containing a dilapidated playground and several vehicles that had not been attended to in quite some time, was on the edge of Ellenboro. Soon enough, however, I was out of the town, somewhat away from the road, and considering the area. In just a matter of a few days I had traveled from the opulence of the Connecticut shore to the poverty of rural Appalachia. Abandoned buildings, houses and cars dotted the landscape. Crows perched atop many structures to give an eerie feeling of foreboding. A rather large black object rushed out of a tree about twenty yards ahead of me, causing me to come to a stop. It was not a single object, but a group of a dozen blackbirds, which can be collectively referred to as a murder. The repeated appearance of crows was like films in which a plague had beset the land, especially in medieval times. Remembering Covid, perhaps the impression was not wrong.

The only people I met on the trail was about two miles from the start. A couple walking the opposite way, a young man who appeared to be prematurely graying and a woman were walking the opposite direction. She followed a few steps behind and looked at me warily as I exchanged greetings with him. He was carrying a small backpack and a blanket thrown over one shoulder. An assignation alfresco perhaps? I walked on another three quarters of a mile and turned around at mile marker 36, presumably the halfway point of the trail. My pace is fast and soon I had caught up with the couple. They had been joined by another woman who had a leashed dog manically barking at the man, until I was observed and then turned its attention to me. The dog’s minder was relatively young woman, missing several teeth. She was endlessly amused by the dog’s frantic barking and behavior. I greeted the group again, which was returned heartedly by the new woman. With a surge in the delta variant of Covid, I wondered, did the crow presage a new phase of the pandemic? How could effective information reach people such as these, isolated and prone to bad information? And would they ever trust those who delivered it?

The Book Barn (Niantic, CT)

 

A happy discovery. While exploring the Connecticut shoreline, with all its geographic and travel permutations because of the rivers flowing into Long Island Sound. Niantic, and the surrounding area, looked intriguing. Our goal was to find a small town to walk, wander, and eat. Some place that would be engaging and entertaining on a Sunday afternoon. I set the destination on my GPS for a place, The Book Barn, more because it was on the far side of town. The intriguing name provided a mystery to be discovered. Making our way through town, scouting locations, I aimed to turn around at the destination. But upon arrival, we decided that The Book Barn may should have been our destination in the first place.

Inside the main barn

A used bookstore that combines a love of gardening and animals with the pleasures of reading, The Book Barn is a hub of activity for bibliophiles and treasure seekers. It has outgrown the barn that originally contained the business into many outbuildings and stalls around the property. I told Angie, who was worried about some of the books getting wet, that some of the stalls approximated ones that line the Seine in Paris. People wander from building to building, looking for treasures. Signs, prints, and jokes (e.g., The Bridge over the River Koi) entertain and distract browsers. Today, the bookstore has spilled over into two other locations in Niantic, one just a tenth of a mile away and another in downtown Niantic.

Overwhelmed Shopper

On some level shopping was a bit overwhelming: Too many choices, and an assault on the senses. It was difficult to get my head organized because, not knowing that I was going to a used bookstore, I had not thought about what I would hunt for. By the end of the day, after visits to all three locations, I had purchased two books: A Penguin edition of Dickens’s American Notes for General Circulation and a juvenile book called Frank on a Gunboat by Harry Castleman, published in 1892, at $4 apiece.

Inattentive Assistant

Post Office Madison, Connecticut

 

“Gathering Seaweed from the Sound” by William Abbott Cheever 

Moses H. Cone Memorial Park

 

On Memorial Day, I found myself walking a carriage road in Moses Cone Memorial National Park. Located at milepost 294 along the Blue Ridge Parkway, in Blowing Rock, North Carolina, the land once belonged to the Cone, who had amassed a fortune making denim and other textiles during the Gilded Age. Eventually, he would supply denim to the Levi Strauss company for the iconic their blue jeans.

Since it was a holiday, the traditional beginning of summer in the US, the park was quite busy. The parking lot was overflowing, and people were parking on the berm of the Parkway. I walked the carriage trail to the Flat Top Tower, a watchtower for fires. Once I got about a quarter of a mile away from the parking lot, there were substantially fewer other hikers. I overheard a young man query to his female companion, “I guess a five-mile walk is out of the question?” Looking at the flipflops she was wearing, there was no doubt as to her answer. I made the short side trip to see Cone’s gravesite, a noticeably big stone marked his grave and those of a few relatives. If the goal of a gravestone is to be remembered after you are gone, then I would say that the family’s site was successful. Many people made the quarter mile journey to see it. A horse drawn carriage make a side trip to take visitors to do the same.

The trail going under the Blue Ridge Parkway

I did not bring a camera to photograph birds; in fact, I had decided not to birdwatch but concentrate on the mountain scenery instead. As I neared the top, as if fate was chastising my decision, a scarlet tanager flew right at me. Arriving at the watchtower, many people who had struggled to make the 900-foot ascent, were resting after their successful climb. The atmosphere was jovial and communal.

The destination

When Cone died in 1908, he and his wife were childless. She would continue to live in the estate built on Flat Rock until her death, nearly four decades later. She left the estate to the local memorial hospital that bears Cone’s name, which in turn, was given to the National Park Service which the provision the park would use his name.

Kino Mĕstské Divadlo (Pelhřimov, Czech Republic)

 

Looking through some of the postcards I have collected of theaters over the years, this cinema in Pelhřimov seems very remote and far away. I have never visited this small city, and I am not sure I will. But the theater, which still stands and is now known as the Lubomír Lipský Theater (Divadlo Lubomíra Lipského), looks like many of the buildings in Prague. The postcard is dated 1959, during the Communist era, just prior to Prague Spring, which brought a flourishing of Czech Cinema that I love so much. Thinking about what people in central Czechoslovakia may have been watching, what the experience of attending a cinema during that era was like, is nearly unfathomable to me.

Location: Solní 1814, 393 01 Pelhřimov, Czechia

Dickens Quote

 

“Don’t be cross with us poor vagabonds. People must be amused. They can’t be always a learning, nor yet they can’t be always a working, they ain’t made for it. You must have us, Squire. Do the wise thing and the kind thing too, and make the best of us; not the wurse.”

Charles Dickens, Hard Times, Chapter III-8 (Translated from Sleary’s lisp)

Cumberland Island

 

Located just north of the Georgia-Florida border, Cumberland Island National Seashore is a 17-mile-long barrier island. Although various people and cultures have made the island home, today access is highly regulated to protect its fragile ecosystems. No more than 300 visitors are allowed on the island at a time and the only way to visit is by boat. The number of vehicles is low and the lone hotel, which is extremely exclusive, is a holdover from decades past.

The National Park Service runs a 30-minute ferry to and from Cumberland Island. Spaces on the boat, which also ferries bikes and camping equipment for visitors, are limited and reservations are a necessity during peak times. Even in mid-May, before schools were out, the boat was quite full. An interesting assortment of people on the boat, in varying degrees of preparedness, were on our outward journey. A couple from the Air Force, coincidentally he was from the Louisville area as well, were taking the ferry for a four-day backpacking trip on the island to explore the northern half and enjoy some beach time. Their trip contrasted with two young women in short bright yellow jumper and sandals looking like she was out for an evening at the beach bars, seemingly unprepared for the sun, lack of services, and heat while on the island. I overheard her say that she was “really hungover,” which usually means dehydration. I thought to myself her day might not go well, although I could be wrong. I was a little surprised by the number of people who took the ferry across, unload equipment and carted it across the approximately one-mile width of the island to spend a day at the beach; admittedly the seashore is quite secluded, beautiful, and not at all busy.

Arriving shortly before 10am and having six hours to wander and explore, to see animals, and observe humans is a real luxury – the luxury of time. The only deadline is the departure time for the return ferry.

The St. Marys River is the dividing border between Florida and Georgia. From the ferry, in the distance, a paper mill plant in the town of Fernandina Beach Florida, on Amelia Island, is visible. Built in the 1937, a time before roads and tourism were prevalent in the area, the plant processes trees, and like other paper mills can produce a foul odor that I equate with rotten eggs and/or sulfur. While many complain about the pollution and the smell, the company retorts that it contributes to local wages and taxes. It is the arguments between economic prosperity and environmental protection. When pitched in the dichotomous frame of either/or, it appears to be an intractable problem that it is not.

Why do most people come to Cumberland Island? Is it history or wildlife? The preserved natural beauty, the birds and wildlife, as well as pristine beaches are certainly a draw. I find my curiosity vacillating between history and nature while thinking about island and time spent there. To focus on the Cumberland Island’s human history, fascinating though it may be, is to do it a disservice. It is a beauty island, with nature repairing itself after decades of agriculture and invasive species. Three distinct terrains dominated on any preserved barrier island: the maritime forests, salt marshes, and sand dunes, each of which are easily accessible from the ferry dock.

Our picnic spot for lunch

As we wandered along the designated paths on the southern part of the island, it was fun to see many animals, including a raccoon, salamanders, armadillos, a few glimpses of deer, and, of course, the wild horses, that freely wander the island. Birdwatching, too, was fun. The mixture of ecosystems means that there is a wide variety. Eating lunch beneath the twisted limbs of the live oaks, we watched in astonishment northern parulas feeding their young. Breezes bring salt air that stunts the growth of the trees, creating a complex puzzle of twisted branches as they seek more sun. The trees create shade and relief from the punishing sun and heat. Although their breeding area covers Pennsylvania, I have never seen a northern parula in the state. With a diet consisting of insects, they are particularly fond of Spanish moss during the breeding season, which is plentiful on the Island.

Northern Parula chick waiting to be fed

Despite an abundance do wildlife, most of the signage on the island points the visitor’s attention to the legacy of the Carnegie family. In some ways this is a clever dodge, to divert people from concentrating on the years of slavery, plantations, and the treatment of those who were not powerful. However, a small sign at the dock, often missed because it is not in the direct line of sight when one leaves the ferry, explains to the visitor that human occupation of the island has occurred for several centuries, and this place was once called Tacatacuru. But the sparse amount of information about the Timucuan people reveals had little is known or understood about the culture and the lives of the people. Europeans began to arrive in the area during the sixteenth century, and most of our knowledge about the Timucuans, their language and culture is filtered through those European eyes. The large Spanish Mission of San Pedro de Mocama, which introduced Roman Catholicism to the local population, was part of the imperial contest for land, wealth, and influence in North America. Its exact location remains undiscovered, but its existence dominated political relationships and was a symbol of ownership in Spain’s struggles with the French and British colonial interests. 

While this nod to indigenous history raises interesting points, it is the histories of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries that demands most of the park’s attention. The backdrop of slavery and the American Civil War plays a part in the island’s history, especially since Robert E. Lee’s father was interred on the island for a time. But it is the post-war industrialization of the country, and the rise of rich industrialists that figure prominently. Thomas M. Carnegie, brother of famed philanthropist Andrew, began building a 59-room mansion called Dungeness in 1884. Its dock is the one used by the National Park Service to ferry passengers from St. Marys each day. Thomas died just two years later in Pittsburgh, never seeing his vacation home completed. His wife Lucy, along with nine children, would finish the project as well as several others on the island. In the years that follow, she oversaw the construction of other estates for her children, including Greyfield, Stafford Plantation, and Plum Orchard. The story of the Carnegie family is fascinating and reaches into the core of many American towns with the libraries built by Andrew Carnegie’s fortune. It made his name familiar, and his legacy remains relevant as the architecturally appealing libraries demand protection and restoration more than a century later.  

Dungeness today

After Lucy’s death in 1916, Dungeness largely remain unoccupied. Her daughter Nancy’s wedding was held there in 1929 as the last major event in the mansion’s history. It was destroyed by fire in 1959. While the ruins are off limits to the visitor, it is fun to peer inside and have a look at faded glory. As I circumnavigated the nineteenth century mansion, a monument to industrialization and grad wealth, it struck me we rarely think about our homes in the future, after we are gone. In all probability my home will exist after I am gone, but what is its fate? Who will live there? How will it come to an end? I watched the wild horses graze in the front lawn by a fountain that has not worked in an exceptionally long time as I thought about it. I imagine they are saying to themselves, “yet another human taking photos of ruins that we see every day.”  I know they do not, but why do we feel compelled to photograph, consider, and ponder the ruins of such a mansion? One cannot help but think about Citizen Kane, surrounded by all his physical treasures in his old age, many of which will end up in the incinerator.

Wild horses roam the grand front yard of Dungeness

The now abandoned settlement of High Point, an abandoned black community on the north end of the island, is likewise compelling. Founded in the late nineteenth century, the community consisted of former enslaved people and their descendants. The focal point of the site, which is under the auspices of the National Park Service, is the First African Baptist Church built from salvage lumber in 1937. Located fifteen miles north of the ferry dock, the community is difficult to access, especially so for day trippers to the island.

One of the estates where blacks on Cumberland Island would have worked as servants and caretakers was Plum Orchard, the home of George Lauder Carnegie. He was the son of Thomas and nephew of Andrew Carnegie. George married Margaret Copley Thaw, who was widowed in the early 1920s. Margaret left Cumberland Island, traveled, and spent time in New York City after George’s death. Two years after her husband’s death she married the Count de Périgny and became a Countess; however, the following year she was sued by Madeline Modica for alienation of affections. Her husband, a car salesman, had developed a friendship with Margaret. But the New York newspapers were skeptical that she would have had a romantic relationship with Emmanuel Victor Modica describing him as “dark, has large eyes and is of slender build,” presumably suggesting that an affair with the countess would be shocking. In the race conscious 1920s, recent Italian immigrants were not considered acceptable marriage or companion materials for society women. Shortly after the scandal, Margaret and her new husband left the United States and settled on his farm in colonial Kenya where she died in 1942.

Wilson's Plover

Royal Tern

Northern Parula

A brown-headed Cowbird catching a ride on a wild horse