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.

On Books, Bookshops and Libraries

One of my great pleasures of traveling is visiting one of two places: a library or a bookstore, preferably used. I recently read two pieces that helped give form to some of my thoughts on why I find libraries and bookstores so valuable and why I seek them out while travelling.

Nick Bilton’s piece chronicles the love he shared with his mother for books and reading. Their shared fondness was interrupted by an argument over the utility of e-books. It seriously damaged his relationship with his mother and led to deep reflection about the importance of books. Like him, I occasionally use an e-reader while traveling. Yet most of the time, I prefer the tactile pleasure of a physical book. I am a person who needs physical reading materials when I need to concentrate. The temptation to become distracted while on a computer or e-reader is just too great.

Bilton’s disagreement with his mother is further complicated after he moves to the United States and it becomes apparent that his mother’s cancer is terminal. After her death, his sister who is sorting through their mother’s belongings, sends him a text message asking if he wants her iPad. It is a devastating question. He does not want it; he wants her library – the books she held, felt, wrote in, spilled things on. The iPad is a piece of electronic gadgetry that will someday become obsolete and ceased to work. The beauty of the book is that it is a technology that can always be used and does not require a “reader,” other than the person holding it.

Treasures from used books: A "Hullabaloo" 

For me, part of the thrill of finding books is to see the name, date or inscription written inside. It is a great treasure to find a little note or newspaper clipping left between the pages of a book. While in Edinburgh I shopped a charity used book sale at a church and purchased a copy of Historical Streets of London, written in 1923. It has an inscription that reads, “To John and Nancy for friendship + hospitality, March 1979.”  Used books connect us with other people, from around the world, sometimes who died before we were born. As with Bilton and the messages to and from his mother, the personal notes left for others are a gift. The gift of a book is not simply a gift of hours of pleasures, but a lasting epigram of messages and meaning. Perhaps the messages left for me are less literary, but they are every bit as meaningful.  Even without an inscription, the gift a book carries meaning. Books are collections of stories or ideas that the owner thinks is sufficiently important that he/she is willing to keep it among their personal possessions. Giving a book as a gift is sharing these ideas and messages. It is a reminder to ourselves (and others) of who we are and what we think is important. In the corner of a messy closet I have a small collection of my father’s books. There are no great editions, nothing of substantive value – just his books. The move to digital media makes me wonder what will become of my own library when I am gone.

Forsythe’s essay is more upbeat and amusing; however, the message is still serious. His central thesis is that bookshops are essential for an educated life. The problem with knowledge is that we don’t know what we don’t know. Hence, the joy of book shopping, especially in a physical bookstore, is that we browse, search and discover. It is a journey of the mind. The book can be held and taken for a test drive. We get a preview: Does it hold our attention? Do we like the way it looks?

I make the same claims about libraries. The library is a repository of knowledge and information that is limitless. Even the smallest library contains unknown useful and/or interesting information. A public library is a place where the citizen can education oneself. Yet, we overlook libraries and take them for granted. Often libraries suffer from neglect. People only pay attention when there is a controversy. Yet, the loss of a library is a serious blow to a society.

Many would argue that the internet make books, traditional libraries and bookshops obsolete. Yet, these kinds of arguments do not take into account the usefulness of adjacent information. In the book lover’s parlance, the law of the good neighbor suggests that often the information want is not in the book you are looking for, but in the book next to it on the shelf. The bigger the collection, the larger the size our fields of information becomes. At the end of the day, while books, bookstores and libraries might seemed to be institutions of the past, we live in a world where high-level knowledge still requires each.

Nick Bilton, “In a Mother’s Library, Bound in Spirit and in Print,” New York Times, 14 May 2015, page D2.

Mark Forsyth, The Unknown Unknown: Bookshops and the Delights of Not Getting What You Wanted (Icon Books, 2014).