Saturday, December 24, 2022

Christmas Eve Morning

 

Pip warm and safe - Christmas Eve morning

Pip and I were engaging in our morning rituals of working in the office this Christmas Eve morning. It was cold outside (+4°F), as it had been for few days. I read Stave One of A Christmas Carol a few nights prior, and am always struck by how Dickens illustrated the callousness and greed of Scrooge. When asked for a donation to provide the poor with a meat, drink, and means of warmth, Scrooge flatly declines, eventually adding, “I can’t afford to make idle people merry.” Scrooge cannot even provide a little extra coal to his decidedly not idle assistant Bob Cratchit to help keep warm in the office.

The wind and the cold were seeping through the window of the office. I rolled a towel and placed it on the windowsill to help keep out the cold. Not wanting to be Scrooge to my Bob Cratchit, I provide a little more “coal” for Pip’s fire this Christmas Eve morning. Yes, a heating pad to place on his office chair while he kept me company during my writing session.

Cratchit later describes Tiny Tim, “As good as gold, and better…” a description that fits my buddy Pip as well. If he could speak, I am sure that Pip would share Tim’s sentiments often, “God bless us every one!”

#spoiledcats #spoiledpeople #achristmascarol

Sunday, December 18, 2022

The Challenges of a Hawk

 

A Cooper's Hawk in Our Backyard

Angie called up to the office, “There’s a hawk in the backyard if you want to see it.” I scurried down the steps, grabbing my camera near the backdoor on the way. Just at the tree line was beautiful cooper’s hawk probably scouting the birds who frequent ours and our neighbors’ birdfeeders. I snapped a few photos through the window, which were not good. I opened the sliding door to the backyard, using my leg to prevent Coco from going out. I indicated to her that she was likely too big to be a target of the hawk, but any interaction with it would not be good. I took a few more pictures, each time I did the hawk instinctively turned its head to determine the source of the sound. It was patient, but as I approached the edge of the porch it sensed I was potentially dangerous and flew away.

About an hour later, when I was walking the neighborhood, the cries of crows caught my attention. In the middle of the field between the houses and the grocery store parking lot, I saw two insistent crows badgering a hawk in a lone small tree. Whether it was the same bird that visited our backyard a little while before was impossible to tell. As the hawk took flight, the two crows took turns nipping at its tailfeathers. The poor hawk: looking for a little subsistence on a cold day and finding only intrusion and interference.

Friday, November 25, 2022

Thanksgiving Post Card #3

 

Old Bridge Over Middle Spring Creek 

25 November

The morning walk on the CVRT is colder than the fifty-three degrees the thermometer indicates. It is cloudy, windy, damp, and raw.

I walk the trail between Ott Road in Oakville Road, which is a pleasant area for birds, scenic vistas, and into the hamlet of Oakville. The tail also passes a house where several barn cats live, some of which are shy, and some are friendly. Today, as I walked by, a long-haired calico identified me as a sympathetic human right away. She started talking, and as I stopped, she ran up and started winding around my legs. I could not help but reached out and give her a pat which made her more affectionate.

I told her I would see her on my return trip, but I had to go. A healthy tree had been taken down recently for no apparent reason and left along the side of the path; I am always perplexed by the trail maintenance. As I was surveying the tree, I glanced around to see the calico running after me. I had left her 300 yards behind. But here she was trotting down the trail, chattering away. I anthropomorphized animals, especially cats, but it was as if she said, “I could use a warm bed, some lovey, and a steady food supply.” She tugged at my heart, but II had to say no.

My afternoon walk was more pleasant. Although not warmer, the sun had come out and the skies began to clear. Dykeman Park in Shippensburg is known for its duck pond, but the trail that bears the same name between the two railroad tracks, is hidden part of the borough not often seen unless explored. Baseball fields and semi-abandoned commercial structures, and Middle Spring Creek occupy the area. I like walking through here, seeing birds and abandoned oddities, but more of the time I am on a mission to see the resident belted kingfisher, which hangs out by the ponds and whose rattled call gives it away every time.

 

Calico Cat and a friend 

Resident Belted Kingfisher with lunch at Dykeman

Beneath the railroad bridge at Dykeman 


Thursday, November 24, 2022

Thanksgiving Post Card #2

 

Eastern bluebird on the Cumberland Valley Rail Trail

24 November (Thanksgiving)

A morning walk on the Cumberland Valley Rail Trail was a start to a quiet Thanksgiving Day. Around the farms and communities, Plain People were in their buggies and bicycles on their way to family and friends in celebration of the holiday. A friendly wave or acknowledgment was forthcoming from everyone was especially apparent given the holiday. The weather was pleasant, much warmer than the previous few days, slightly overcast with some fog. The temperature has warmed up and mid 40s so that walking is pleasant.

Beginning from Oakville, a small hamlet that was once a stop on the railroad line, I walked northeast toward town of Newville. Once I left the cluster of houses that constitute Oakville, it was much quieter. The only sounds were that of animals, roosters, dogs, birdsong. But in the distance, reverberating around the valley, the repeated reports of guns, doubtlessly from people are preparing for the opening of hunting season in a few days. While the gunfire is distant, and poses no threat, I cannot help but think about the mass shootings that have occurred in the United States over the past few weeks. There are a many empty chairs around the table this holiday season.

My aim was looking for birds today, specifically bluebirds. Not sure what made me think of bluebirds other than I bought meal worms for our backyard feeders the day before. AS winter sets in, bluebirds retreat to the trail for shelter and showing up at feeders to hold them over during cold snaps. Of course, I stop and look at other birds, the nuthatches, cardinals, blue jays, sparrows, and woodpecker as well. The main benefit of the walk today is the serenity of Thanksgiving morning.

Even though I am by myself for the holiday, the traditions die hard for us. I order two turkey dinners from Bob Evans to be picked up at 1 o’clock; one for this evening, another so that I can have leftovers later, which is just as much of a tradition as the turkey itself. When I arrived the parking lot was packed. It is a reminder of the great fortune I have, many who were dining saw dining out, especially on a holiday, as a real luxury. An elderly couple were waiting for a table as my order was being sorted, the man with a walker, the woman with a cane, both wearing a mask. Cold and flu have been making their rounds locally the last few weeks, and doubtlessly Covid continues to pose a threat to vulnerable people. The couple thought it was worth the risk to go out for dinner to enjoy a Thanksgiving meal, perhaps longing for normalcy after two difficult holiday seasons.

It was warm enough that I let Coco go out on the back porch in the Octagon for a little while. I started to pick things up so I could vacuum and noticed that Lucie was at the back door silently requesting outdoor time as well. Both were intent on watching the birds populated the nearby feeders, but after about 20 minutes they were ready to come inside. I made them wait a little bit longer because I had to finish vacuuming. When I went out to get them both restarted right away evidently, they decided it was not warm enough to spend extended time outside. But their little brains have trouble calculating this: a couple hours later, after dark, Coco insistently requested more time on the back porch.


The Four Mile Marker on the CVRT, where I rescued Myrtle four years ago.

Willow Tree on Clouse Road

The trail between Oakville and Fish Hatchery Roads, one of my favorite areas

Duncan Road on a Thanksgiving afternoon


Wednesday, November 23, 2022

Thanksgiving Post Card #1

 

My "Old Friend"

23 November

The first day of the break, after a little writing and work in the morning, I went to Kings Gap to have a ramble. As I passed our local supermarket, I watched rude and impatient drivers taunt one another. It feels like we are living in a graceless age. The only time that people enthusiastically thank me, it seems, is when there is a commercial transaction. I am left with the thought that the gratitude was only part of their job.

As I turned into the park and noticed the sign warning that it was hunting season, I cursed under my breathe. I forgot to bring anything to wear that was orange for protection. I kept to the area around the mansion, which is a no hunting zone. I wandered, somewhat aimlessly, looking for pileated woodpeckers but happy to see any wildlife.

I stopped by to see my “old friend,” a black gum tree with a hollowed-out trunk that looks like it stands precariously. It sits along Rock Scree Trail, near the conjunction of several other trails. I usually stop by before the winter sets in and early in the spring to see if it is still standing. I check on it because I know its days are numbered and I worry that wind will take it down eventually. Trees in a forest will help one another in interesting ways, according to Peter Wohlleben. I like the idea that other trees will share nutrients and water with distressed and aging neighbors.

Lone trees are on their own and I like to photograph solitary trees because it is easier to capture their intricacies and majesty. Especially in the autumn and winter, photographs can be stunning. Yet, every time I photograph a solitary tree, I think about how Wohlleben describes them as being alone and without support.

During the summer I started spending time sitting on a bench in mansion garden to watch and photograph birds. It was a little chilly, but I did so again on this day before Thanksgiving. The longer I sat, the more birdsong I heard. Because I was sitting with my back to the sun, I could see the shadows of birds fly across my field of vision. By November, the chipmunks are sleeping. The cardinals, unseen, could be heard in the not-too-far distance.

Saturday, October 22, 2022

Stealing Apples

 

Our neighbor

Richard has been asking if the apples from our trees are any good. Or, alternatively, when we were going to pick our apples. By mid-September, the only apples left hanging are those that birds and insects have started on. He does not realize that we have that conversation every Sunday when he comes for lunch. I usually make a joke that what is left on the trees is for our neighbors. He thinks I mean our human neighbors, which would be fine, but I mean our animal friends.

Monday, October 10, 2022

Laramie, Saturday morning

Traveling does not mean we will always understand the local culture. So, when I was walking along 3rd Street, the “Main Street” of Laramie, and a man in a red pickup truck with the window down, blowing a duck call loudly as he drove through town, I was momentarily confused.  I had seen very few ducks while hiking in this part of Wyoming, and certainly not in Laramie. There must have been some reason why this man, close to middle age I would judge, was doing this. But the cultural significance was lost on me. Although, given the reactions of others on the street as they went about their mornings, perhaps not many other understood either.  

Sunday, October 9, 2022

Patience and Fortitude

Sometimes, when walking through an airport I ponder if how people act is human nature, or is how airlines and the travel industry treats people make them so irritable? As I watch people forget their manners, or say awful things to their loved ones, it is understandable that everyone is tired and moody. There are times, while traveling, when I find things frustrating, although often that is caused by the thoughtlessness of fellow travelers. Still, when the woman you are traveling with asks for some help after she nearly fell getting onto a moving sidewalk, and you are twenty feet ahead, it should elicit a better response better, “I am trying to get on too.”

Tuesday, September 13, 2022

Diverted Trips (C&O)

 


After our Saturday morning chores, we wanted the opportunity to take advantage of cooler weather and make our way to the towpath. I had successfully walked away from the animal rescue tent outside our local Tractor Supply Store, and the sad tale of Kitten (her temporary name), who had survived multiple surgeries and a rough start to life. The five-month-old was now ready for adoption. There was no way we could adopt this cute thing with our monster cats. Yet, her story was compelling, and something inside of me wanted to care for her, nonetheless. The volunteer successfully did her job: I dropped a donation in the box. Kitten would get a home, and the work of the local shelter would continue, and I would only be out a few dollars. Of course, I would later tell the tale to Clowder and finish with, “What lucky cats you are.”

Because it was a relatively nice weekend, albeit cloudy, I wanted to start at a closer access point that was not too crowded. The area around Taylors Landing is an interesting area, and relatively close for us.  Once we had our boots on, and cameras and maps arranged, only to find a man sitting on the edge of the canal. At first, I thought he was waiting on someone, perhaps a pickup after a long walk. But it was obvious that he was in some distress. Steve was asking for help; he had walk out pretty far, 14 miles by his guess, and had only made it back halfway before his hip hurt so much that he could go no farther. We offered him a ride back to his car – actually, Angie did before I even realized what was going on – which was at Lock 38 parking lot, across the river from Shepherdstown. Along the way, Steve was quite chatty, explaining that it was his first-time walking on the towpath and how he had just moved to area to take a one-year job at Shepherd University. He was staying just outside of town, and was awed by all the trees in the area, something that I confessed, many of us take for granted.

The towpath around Shepherdstown is beautiful and compelling. But it is narrow, and the number of people who are biking numerous. This is especially true on a Saturday afternoon when the weather is very good. During the summer, it can be muggy with bothersome with mosquitos. But it was cool enough that insects were not a problem.

Following the Battle of Antietam, Confederate troops withdrew from Maryland at Pack Horse Ford, just downstream from the bridges to Shepherdstown. It is well documented and many people on the trail are neither hikers or bikers, but Civil War buffs interested in seeing the terrain where the battle took place. More interesting to me, but without the signs explaining its history, is the little village of Millers Sawmill, nestled between bluffs and the towpath. The trees are laden with English Ivy, whose fragrance gives a slightly sweet smell to the air. I remembered that I had walked through the village in the winter a few years before and watched a flock of Eastern bluebirds waiting out the cold weather in the safety of the big sycamore trees. Now, however, two hummingbirds looking for sustenance at late summer forget-me-nots on the towpath. As September unfolds, seeing hummingbirds in the wild, rather than at a feeder remains a thrill. The eastern US has only one species, the ruby-throated, which darts with no more than the sound of a large insect. If you are not looking for them, they usually remain unobserved. Their movements, insect-like, means one is never sure about what you saw, large insect or your imagination. Observing them at a feeder is like watching an endless game of capture the flag. A bird shows up, tentatively approaching the feeder only to have another divebomb leading to an aerial battle. Meanwhile, a third bird comes to partake from the sugar water in the feeder. The process begins once again. 

 

Dragonfly sunning itself along the banks of the Potomac

Male sentinel wild turkey monitoring the retreat of the flock at the C&O parking lot


Saturday, September 10, 2022

A Return to the C&O Canal

 

Hancock, Maryland and the C&O Canal

It had been about eleven months since I completed the entire C&O, finishing in downtown Washington DC on a beautiful October afternoon. I have missed our occasional trips to meet the towpath, spending a few hours wandering and discovering, particularly during the height of the pandemic. The introduction of vaccines and the elimination of restrictions meant that life began to return to normal, albeit with a greater sense of apprehension and a nagging feeling of general concern. Life has edged toward what it was once; our schedules began to fill up again and distractions abound. While people stated they wanted to keep the good aspects of life they developed, such as slowing down and enjoying the outdoors, demands and responsibilities inevitably creep in.

Labor Day weekend brought slightly cooler weather to a very hot summer, and we were looking for outdoor activities. I proposed that we return to the Hancock area for an afternoon walking and visiting some of our favorite spots. Soon after we hit the trail it was apparent that it was not as cool as we might have hoped and that the holiday weekend brought activities along the Potomac that were not always conducive to a meditative walk. Hence, the sounds of drag racing at the small airport echoed across the river and drowned out the sounds of birds and nature. The distorted public address system announcing the unseen cars before they gunned their engines to make a short, loud quarter-mile journey dominated the soundscape. It was probably too hot and humid for the birds anyway, I reasoned. We walked to the Bowles Farmhouse, built in the 1780s at Lock 52 that predating the canal, served as a supply station for those who worked the canal boat on the downstream side of Hancock and the Tonoloway Aqueduct.


Angie declared the weather too hot and muggy upon our return to Hancock, but I opted for a bit more on the trail, walking a mile west of town and into unpopulated wooded areas of the trail. Either the races had ended, or I was too far to hear the sound. I remember this area as being a particularly good place to see wildlife and birds. It was hot, in the middle of the afternoon, so I was not counting on any animals making an appearance. Nevertheless, numerous butterflies worked the wildflowers and I inadvertently disturb a couple of deer getting a much-needed drink while in the canal.



One of our favorite places along the towpath is the restaurant and antique store, BuddyLou’s in downtown Hancock, providing good food, drinks, and ice cream to hikers, bikers, and the public. Prior to the pandemic, Buddylou’s served a chili-rubbed tuna sandwich that made me device reasons to visit Hancock. Although my favorite sandwich disappeared, the food remains excellent and the deck, during good weather, is a great place to relax, before or after a trip on the C&O or the Western Maryland rail trail. We are often seated on an enclosed porched, where there are several tables for two. The walls are lined with various antiques, including many televisions and radios, items that are especially fascinating to me.  As a child, I remember that long, slow fade of the screen dissolving into a single pixel when you turned the television off. Alternatively, as a teenage I enjoyed scanning the radio dial, looking for distant stations (DXing) and hearing different music on static-filled AM radio stations. Seated at a high-top table I kept examining a brass thermostat switch at my left elbow. Removed from the device, the switch provided a choice of temperatures: cold-tepid-warm-hot. What modern device would use the word tepid?

The eclectic collection of items at BuddyLou's

A woman glazes from a framed magazine advertisement, her pearls dangle from her mouth, in the men’s restroom at Buddylou’s. The copy seductively asks if the reader has ever been taken to the movies in a Rolls-Royce, or if a Hollywood producer has ever begged to know the reader’s name. I muse about the questions, sexists as they are, and how a reader in Hancock, Maryland must have considered them. Was anyone in this small town along the Potomac River tempted to by the perfume in the hope that the fragrance would “take you places”? This canal I love to walk was perhaps that thing that offered to take people places, but as technology developed, the methodology changed. A professor once said that all advertisement is built upon a logical fallacy; we do not need the things that are advertised. It is not perfumes that lead us to adventures, it is ourselves.


Saturday, September 3, 2022

Rough Edges Brewery (Waynesboro, PA)

 



After an early evening outdoor jazz concert in Main Street Park with Paul Bollenback and Pat Bianchi, and an excellent meal at Sapporo Japanese restaurant, we wandered down to Rough Edges Brewery for an after-dinner beer. Recently renovated, the converted storefront with tin ceilings is spacious and inviting. We opted instead for the limited outdoor seating along West Main Street to watch the world go by on a late summer evening.

I sampled the Promiscuous Strange Porter 4.7ABV.


Black Swan roll from Sapporo Restaurant

At dinner we met a couple who were enjoyable interesting rolls at the Japanese restaurant. I had noticed them earlier at the concert because the man was wearing a Michigan Tech t-shirt, the university located in Houghton in the Upper Peninsula. While chatting we learned it was the couple’s anniversary and we mused about the weather and beauty of the area. After they left, the encounter led to a sanguine conversation about when we could return to the Keweenaw and enjoy the quiet, beautiful summers of Northern Michigan. 


Rough Edges Brewery

 

The art deco style Wayne Building in Waynesboro





Friday, August 5, 2022

Mutton Island and Celia Griffin Park

Salt Hill, west of Galway, is a nice place for a stroll on the waterfront and through Irish history. The walk from Galway city center, along the River Corrib to South Park, is an escape from the hurly-burly and vitality of the destination town to a sedate and meditative contemplation of sea, skies, or the concerns and things that occupy us. For me that means two dozen university students in their third and final week of a study abroad program with all the attendant problems thereto: fatigue, nagging illnesses, and looming expectations of returning home – a happy event for some, a cause for despair for others. Managing schedules, expectations, and anxieties are wearing. That is not a reflection upon the students who have been great this year, but instead the realities of the job.

Most people think of Ireland as a single island, politically divided. Extending about half a mile into the bay, a causeway to Mutton Island provides an example of the many small islands that dot the coast of the country. With a tantalizing lighthouse, Mutton Island is home to a sewage and water treatment plant today. A gate at the end of causeway prevents visitors to the island but has excellent views of the bay and Salt Hill.

Mutton Island in the distance

A little farther west is Celia Griffin Park. When a park is named after a local person, often it is done so for a person who has been a resident for a long time. A park being named after someone is likely an acknowledgement of some good service rendered to the community. In the case of Celia Griffin, this is not the case. She was only six years old, and a resident of Galway for about six weeks, when she succumbed to hunger and famine in 1847. According to an inquest published in a local newspaper, Celia and her family made their way from Corrandulla, a small village some 17 kilometers away, looking for relief. Although she was taken to a convent, provided food and care, she was too weak to recover, becoming one of the many victims of the famine. If it had not been for the park’s name, she would have likely become yet another unknown victim of the famine travesty. The park is named and dedicated to Celia and all the children who died during the events that killed perhaps a million people and precipitated the emigration of many more.

The Griffin family had been residents on the estate of Thomas Barnwall Martin, a member of an important merchant family and British member of parliament representing Galway. He would die about six weeks after Celia, contracting typhus after trying to assist tenants. His only daughter and heir, the novelist Mary Letita Martin, would preside over the loss of the family fortune, as she tried to help as many tenants are she could. She and her husband, facing destitution, would emigrate to the United States in 1850, where she died ten days after arriving because of complications from a premature. Mary and her baby, who did not survive, were collateral casualties of the famine as well.

The park overlooks Galway Bay and a monument for those who left Ireland during the famine on the so-called Coffin Ships. Many passengers attempting to escape the famine, sick with disease like cholera and typhus, crowded on ships destined for North America. The ships had delivered goods and food to Europe and took on passengers for the return trip as “human ballast.” As a deckhand on one such ship, Herman Melville noted in 1849 that passengers were “stowed away like bales of cotton and packed like slaves in a ship. . . We had not been at sea one week when to hold your head down the hatchway was like holding it down a cesspool.” Upwards of a third of passengers on the coffin ships would die during the voyage. The monument notes that for those escaping from the Port of Galway the light from the Mutton Island Lighthouse would have been the last light from their homeland. At the other end of the journey, migrants’ difficulties did not end. On Grose-Ile, on the Saint Lawrence River near Quebec City, a Canadian national historical site honors the migrants as well.

The Coffin Ship Memorial on an appropriately overcast day

Like many photographs I have taken in Ireland, it looks to be gray and cold – but today it is gray and mild.  As I approached Mutton Light Memorial, camera in hand, an older man with a closely cropped gray beard, a black jacket zipped to the neck, looked me in the eye. He tilted his head, lifting his chin, in a form of approval, raised his right hand with his index finger raised, and pointed at me as we passed.  I nodded in appreciation, but we did not speak a word. Since I encountered him, I have occasionally contemplated whether we were having the same thoughts, or he was just enjoying the relatively mild weather.



Wednesday, July 20, 2022

Depictions and Colonialism

 

The first exhibit at the Museo de America is a collection of drawings and renderings from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries that purportedly depict what people who lived in South America looked like to Europeans. Various depictions are grotesque and disturbing; others are comical and challenges us to wonder if the depictions were believed by Europeans who saw them. European conquerors went out into the world and found people who were different from them and believed themselves superior. Drawings and accounts exaggerated customs, beliefs, and practices. In some instances, especially in tropical regions, they found people who wore very little clothing, which was weather appropriate. But concepts like nakedness, sin, and guilt did not always translate in the same way across cultures.

If you think local people are not quite human, it removes the psychological barrier to harm or murder them. Renderings and information, even if erroneous, helped to justify some of these cognitive barriers. Hence, the interaction with Inca or Aztec, or other indigenous cultures, did not go well (to say the least). The land, people, and riches of South America were open for discovery, conquest, and appropriation. It is easy to dismiss what happened in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries as a byproduct of an ancient age. Yet, into the twentieth century the exoticization of South America continued. Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Lost World, published in 1912, led the reader to believe that there were prehistoric and fantastical creatures that inhabited the far reaches of the Amazon basin. The British explorers who discover the “lost world,” tout their racial superiority and greater intelligence throughout the novel, justifying some of the more provocative actions. 

Headless of Guyana (published Nuremberg, 1599)

The Museo de America contains a collection of artifacts primarily from the colonial period. Away from the center of Madrid, it is not one of the more popular museums in the capital. Many museums have begun to return cultural items to former colonies, and some of my students suggested that the Museo de America should do the same. A nice thought, I contend, but so many indigenous peoples have been so thoroughly decimated, I reply to the students, “to whom do you return these items to?” 

The New World (1621)


Sunday, July 17, 2022

At the Museo Nacional del Prado

 

The quote, “The past is a foreign country. They do things differently there,”[1] came to mind while doing an in-depth examination of the work of Hieronymos Bosch (c.1450-1516), better known as Bosch [El Boscho].  His work, The Garden of Earthly Delights triptych (c.1490-1500), is other worldly; something that is reminiscent of a science fiction rendering. At first glance, one might even consider it bordering on pornography, yet the goal of work was to warn parishioners away from such behaviors.

As the museum’s explanation notes, “The artist derived his inspiration from medieval visual culture: devils, monsters, fantastical beasts, and anthropological forms.” Yet the display goes on to note it is difficult for us to understand, or appreciate, the full impact of the work and its meaning. The ability to decipher the images have been lost, according to the museum.

The three scenes of the triptych focus on the theme of sin. On the left: Adam and Eve are depicted in the Garden of Eden. In the center panel, Bosch depicts the false paradise given over to lust where people engage in all manner of pleasurable activities that will lead to an ultimate punishment. On the right, is the depiction of God’s punishment for sin is hell. Principal message of the triptych is “the fragile and transient nature of happiness and the enjoyment of those sinful pleasures.”[2] As I was staring, trying to process the images of Bosch, I was reminded of Orwell contention that the images of afterlife paradise changes over time depending on the hardships of the day, Hence, in a society where there is a lack of food, heaven is depicted as place where there is a never ending banquet.

In the same room at the Prado, The Haywain Triptych (1512-1515) by Bosch is similar. It does not have the same number of people jostling to inspect the Garden of Earthly Delights, but has the same theme, with slightly less audacious renderings. I found it helpful in understanding both works. The explanation provided by the museum notes, “[The triptych] illustrates the verse from Isaiah, “All flesh is like the grass. All its glory is like the flower of the fields”[3] Furthermore, the work recalls the Netherlandish proverb, “The world is a Haywain [Haywagon], and each man plucks from it what he can.”



[1] Attributed to L.P. Hartley, The Go-Between.
[2] When closed the painting represents the third day of creation of the world in grisaille.
[3] Isaiah 40:6.

Friday, July 15, 2022

Antonio Gaudi 1852-1926

 


Gaudi was a famed architect and a great exponent of Catalan Modernism and today, his houses and works are destinations for many travelers to Barcelona. His work has come to symbolize what make Catalonia different from the rest of Spain. Early in his career, he was influenced by the neo-gothic movement. His later work, however, reflected his love of nature and his religious beliefs. Seven of his designs have been designated UNESCO World Heritage sites.

Gaudi died after being struck by a streetcar in 1926, while undertaking his most famous and ambitious project, the Basilica La Sagrada Familia.

Casa Vicens (1883-1888) 

Casa Batlló (1904-1906) 

Casa Milà (1906-1910) often referred to as La Pedera


La Sagrada Familia (1915-2026) Completion of the Basilica is slated to be completed in time to coincide with the one hundredth anniversary of Gaudi’s death 





Sunday, July 10, 2022

Pastisseria Ideal

 


Located on La Vila de Gràcia in Barcelona, walking into the café is to observe the intimate life of a small portion of Gràcia. I stopped in for a simple breakfast at 9:30, ordered my café americano and two croissants in my moderately passable Spanish, which was understood even if it was not Catalan.

Dating from 1919, the café is a long narrow space with a bar that runs its entire length, save for a small room at the back where four small tables were occupied by regulars. On the walls that hold up the bar, hooks allow patrons to hang their hats or purses, which are still regularly used.  Many mirrors that line the walls, the display shelves and virtually everywhere else gives the café an appearance of being much bigger than it is. 



The clientele is predominantly older people, but not exclusively. Since I was there rather late for breakfast, perhaps this was just a function of timing. The back room seemed informally reserved for regulars. I would occasionally take furtive glances to see what was going on. Most of the conversation took place in Catalan, so I am only catching a few words and had a general sense of the topic. One elderly woman sat and did a puzzle in the newspaper, and occasionally made comments into the more general conversation of the room. Meanwhile, a woman, sipping an expresso, sat at the bar, and listened attentively to a man who had finished his coffee long ago, talk about his recent travels. She would occasionally interject or ask a question, nodding knowingly about his adventures.



Saturday, July 9, 2022

Marple

 


Leaving the train in Marple station, a light rain, and an even more ominous sky, suggested that it was not going to be a great day for photographs. Reaching into my bag for a raincoat for the half mile walk to my B&B for the night, I considered my options. First, after dropping my luggage off, I could make my way into town, find a coffee shop, and wait for opportune periods, when the rain let up, for exploration and walks. After checking in and starting back out for the walk into town, two women who had just checked out offered me a ride into town because of the rain. They were on their way to see one’s son, and thought it was interesting that I had come to walk. It was nice of them to offer the ride, a brave gesture to offer a lone man a ride. Perhaps the driver lost her nerve, or that she was a nervous driver, when she suggested I get out near the canal because she was concerned about driving into the town center. The rain had become heavier in the meantime, and there was no shelter near the canal. Luckily, I was on Stockport Road, a primary thoroughfare and within ten minutes I found a Costa coffee shop to decamp, have an americano, and wait for a break in the rain.

Walking a canal in Europe or North America is immersive into nature and a location’s history from roughly two hundred years ago. Often, we believe that the world two centuries ago was a simpler time and life was both pastoral and better. Likewise, we tend to believe that we are smarter than those who proceeded us by a couple of centuries. While some of their beliefs may seem strange today, perhaps this is a source of discontent. But the notion that times were simpler and that we are smarter are not true. Life in the early nineteenth the century was brutal, and full of squalor. Look no further than the writings of Charles Dickens, Elizabeth Gaskell, and Thomas Malthus. 

Marple Aqueduct from below

Equally intriguing is the supposition that we today are smarter than our predecessors. Perhaps this is because of our access to instant information. The powerful computer that many of us carry around in our pockets gives us a sense that we are smart. Consider, however, the Marple Aqueduct, constructed in the 1790s, without the benefit of computers or heavy equipment, a hundred feet above the River Goyt. Looking at the aqueduct and the nearby railroad bridge, I am reminded of what I do not know. The knowledge and skill required for such an undertaking is immense, something that those who use these places but do not think about. The train ride from Manchester to New Mill traversed the railroad bridge and allowed for a glimpse of the aqueduct. Flying along at 60 miles an hour, or so, I suspect that most people never considered that the 120-year-old bridge was what kept the train from plummeting into the valley below. 

Located about a mile north of town on the canal, the aqueduct is a restored treasure, carrying the water of the Peak Forest Canal across the river valley. The local mills and factories depended on the canals for transporting their products around the country and out to the ports. Walking along the canals, many decades after they ceased commercial operations, I cannot but help but romanticize that portion of nineteenth century transportation. While the pollution and working conditions of the mills were awful, transporting goods around the country via canals evokes a pastoral setting, manure from the donkeys aside. The relentless deadlines faced by semi-tractor trailers (lorries) and the intimidating driving on the same highways feels manic. 

Half a dozen eggs for £1.50 


While the aqueduct may attract the attention, part of the allure of canal walks is to see where people live juxtaposed with the flowers and animals that inhabit the canal. Some people sell excess eggs, others nurture the aquatic birds, while still others develop intricate and beautiful gardens that benefit the pollinators. Along British canals in particular, the romance of living and exploring on a narrow canal boat intrigues many. Walking or riding along the canals allows time to observe, contemplate, and explore. 





Moorhen snacking on a fish





The Red-tailed Bumblebee

 


The smaller the object, the less I notice the differences. It is easy to identify how churches in Europe are different from those in north America; or, that automobiles drive on the opposite of the road sometimes. I suppose to those who do not pay attention to birds, many differences will go unnoticed as well. But when it comes toto insects, small creatures that one sometimes only catches a fleeting glance when flying or darting in our preferential vision, how they might be substantially different can escape me.

Reading about one of the great pollinators of Europe, the red-tailed bumblebee, I was reminded again how much we humans depend on other animals for our wellbeing. Bees are fascinating creatures. As a child, they were an object of menace; a small insect that generated fear because of their ability to sting. As an adult, armed with the knowledge that one in three bites of our food depends upon the pollination performed by bees, I am fascinated with something that is rarely considered. The declining populations of insects has worrying impacts for humans. A random information poster in a small urban park invited me to take a closer look at bumblebees in Ireland and Britain. At first glance, from a distance, bees looked like those I know. But the red bum, cute as it is, reminds that there is great diversity even when we do not see it.


Monday, July 4, 2022

Kinder Trespass Trails

 


When reading and researching about the right to roam and access to nature, I came across the story of the Mass Trespass at Kinder Scout. What happened during the trespass is not generally debated; however, the effects are. Regardless if it was a direct effect, many today will credit the trespass with laying the groundwork for securing access to nature and footpaths for everyone in Britain. It is also argued that the trespass created the impetus for the creation of the National Park Act in 1949, as well as the Countryside and Right of Way Act (CROW Act) of 2000.

On Sunday, 24 April 1932, a group of young factory workers, primarily from Manchester made their way to the small village of Hayfield to asset a right to walk on the high moorlands. Organized by the Communist Party, about 400 assembled at a quarry in prelude to a mass civil disobedience event against wealthy landowners who denied access to the moorland in favor grouse hunting. The previous Sunday, activists distributed leaflets urging other ramblers to “take action to open up the fine country at present denied to us.” Police officers were called upon to warn away the potential trespassers to no avail.

At the appointed time, the rebel ramblers set off, singing the “Red Flag” and the “International” during their walk according to the Manchester Guardian. When gamekeepers confronted the ramblers, scuffles and fights broke out. Yet, restraint on both sides prevented further disturbances. Once on the moorland, accounts note that the ramblers adhered scrupulously to path. In what today might sound quaint, the group stopped for tea and a hat was passed to take up a collection to help defray the cost for anyone who would be fined. Eventually, as the group reentered Hayfield, police arrested six leaders, including Benny Rothman, sentencing five of the trespassers to six months in prison. The substantial, what might be considered excessive, judgment led to greater sympathy in the court of public opinion.

The Kinder Trespass was not the first time Hayfield was at the center of debate over access to footpaths and nature. In 1897, the Peak District and North Counties Footpath Society secured permanent access to what was popularly known as the Snake Inn Footpath from Hayfield to Glossop. Instead of the confrontation tactics that would be used three decades later, the Society, which was created for purpose a few years earlier, used consultations and negotiations to secure the right of passage. A sign erected in 1906, on the edge of Hayfield, commemorates the late nineteenth century success. The Peaks and Northern Footpath Society continues to exist as a voluntary organization actively monitoring, protecting, and improving footpaths in the region. They organize hikes and help maintain trails, even prodding local councils to provide maintenance so that people can walk the trails.

Access to nature and the right to roam were severely curtailed by a series of legislative acts of Parliament from the mid-eighteenth century through the mid-nineteenth century, collectively known as the Enclosures. With each of the acts, roughly 4000 in total, Parliament sought to rationalize British agricultural lands by designating publicly owned land, used collectively by peasants, private property to be owned and maintained by a single person. The Enclosures were meant to make farming in Britain more efficient by creating larger tracks of land, rather than a patchwork of tracks, and to establish a hierarchical decision-making process. Before the enclosures, decisions on what and when to plant were made collectively, hence everyone had a say and negotiations could take some time and were not particularly efficient. Effectively, the parliamentary acts displaced peasants from the land, denying them not only the opportunity to grow crops on their own, but also the right to gather food, such as berries and mushrooms, and firewood, the principal energy source of the day, from the forest. Instead, the land became private, usually in the hands of a single person, who could reserve land for their own use. Hence, landowners would use the lands that were enclosed for hunting and/or recreation.

 


Kinder Lodge, Hayfield

Today, Hayfield embraces the legacy of the 1932 Kinder Trespass. Explanation waysides and historical markers dot the village. At the site of the former train station, where many factory workers from Manchester and other industrial towns would have alighted to enjoy the moorlands, the region’s walking trails are enumerated and explained. During the summer months of the 1920s and 1930s, upwards of 10,000 people would descend on the village for recreation and fresh air. Since the closure of the train station in 1970, buses serve as the primary public transportation and the bus stop is located where those workers and their families would have started and finished their days.

The history of Hayfield stretches back two thousand years, as the Roman road between Buxton and Glossop ran through the village. Although a refuge for working class people, Hayfield once had a woolen factory of its own in the eighteenth century, which brought it a modicum of prosperity. Part of the charm of the village is its old-world feel. 


Hayfield with the store on the right 

Library




The Old Hayfield Grammar School was founded in 1604 and the school building (pictured) was constructed in 1719. 

Charming as it is, Hayfield can be rather limited to the traveler without an automobile. The post-pandemic contraction of labor meant that, like many places in Europe and North America, there were not enough workers to keep many establishments open. On a Monday evening, after a full day of walking and exploring, I found that none of the restaurants or pubs in the village was serving food. I had the choice of taking the bus, or walking, to New Mill or stopping in the village store for hummus and bread sticks. I chose the latter, reasoning that breakfast would come soon enough.

When traveling, the local library is one of my preferred destinations. It is a place where one can orient oneself and learn a little bit about the local area. Given the history of Hayfield, I assumed that the local history section would have some nuggets of information to inspire more investigations and explorations. But the library, tidy and efficient as it was, had rather limited holdings and focused primarily on meeting the borrowing needs of locals rather than serving as a node of information. There was no local history room or section. The information posted around town on information boards for tourists were more than what was contained in the library. 


Sign turn off to Snake Inn Trail

Phonebooth at the Trespass Cottage

Kinder Road


The plaque commemorating the events of 1932 at Bowden Bridge Car Park, erected in 1982 on the fiftieth anniversary

The reservoir, constructed in 1912 

The bridge and footpath that leads to Kinder Scout

The peak of Kinder Scout on the left 

Local family



Shooting Cabin


Meadow Pipit



Old signpost, in the middle of the moor, that is very helpful in navigating the paths

Lambs frolicking on the Snake Inn Path

Twenty trees, a copse in the field along the Snake Inn path - on guidebook noted that there are only nineteen trees

The gate to the highland

Descending back into Hayfield

The historical marker on Kinder Road where Snake Inn Path leads to trail. It is also marks the approximate place where the trespassers were arrested in 1932