The Boldt and the Beautiful

St. Lawrence Seaway, Thousand Islands, travel,

During a recent visit to the farthest north portion of New York State, our old high school buddy Elaine, her friend Gordy, and my trusty travel companion Debi and I took a scenic boat tour of the “American channel” of the St. Lawrence Seaway. One achieves such a tour from the small tourist town of Alexandria Bay, on an Uncle Sam excursion vessel.

First off, getting reliable information about these boat tours is not an easy task. Both Gordy and I called them and got no or very misleading information. (Maybe it is “due to COVID” but customer service is not what it used to be, it seems.) We decided to just show up and get the story from the horse’s mouth, and ended up on a two-hour narrated tour, well worth the mild anxiety of not being able to really plan ahead. Hey, we had nowhere else to be and it was a superb day, so whatever.

This excursion ends up with a trip to Boldt Castle, a humongous stone estate which takes up its own small island. (One could also take a different trip to Singer Castle, but that is a whole other story and maybe trip in the future.) The story of the “castle” is a sad and terribly romantic one.

Mr. Boldt, an enormously wealthy sort of guy, was building the summer getaway for his wife when she suddenly (and we would guess unexpectedly) died. Though apparently she had tuberculosis, so how unexpected could death from that disease have been in the early 1900s? Nevertheless, there is was. Dream vacation home tragically scuttled.

Over three hundred workmen, including many a skilled stone and woodworker who had hoped for a long and fruitful employment completing this project, were immediately commanded to put down their tools and cease their labors.

The unfinished castle was left to the elements, and the vandals, within swimming distance of Alexandria Bay. (Well if you are a strong swimmer; at least within tantalizing view from shore, and a short row, paddle or motoring in any kind of water craft, or even a walk on the ice back in the day when the river froze over in the harsh winters.)

In the mid-1970s, after over 70 years of neglect and ruination, it was decided that the castle should be completed and opened for tourists. The Thousand Island Bridge Commission accomplished this feat, and today for a reasonable fee of about $12 you can take a self-guided tour.

The signage is all couched in “would haves” since this reconstruction is based on what the property would have been like had the ill-fated Louisa lived and held forth as mistress and hostess of the grand home, garden, and “children’s playhouse” (a separate big old stone edifice with a bowling alley, etc.).

The whole effect created very mixed emotions on my part, and I am sure on the part of many others who tour the house and property. Sad that Louisa and her family and friends never got to enjoy the sumptuous estate. Glad that the Bridge Commission did such a good job of reconstruction and interpretation. Mad that vandals had defaced and disrespected the property (which is still evident on the unfinished third floor).

It was a worthy adventure, if unsettling in many ways. Here are some photos that tell some more of the story.

Approach to the Castle. The Island is called Heart (formerly Hart) Island; Boldt apparently wanted to restructure the whole island in the shape of a heart but didn’t quite accomplish this.
The Children’s Playhouse. Not totally restored but you can see where the bowling alleys were and get a sense that these kids had quite a playhouse indeed!
Louisa’s bedroom and sitting room on the second floor opened up to a balcony overlooking the gardens and water. It “would have” been a lovely retreat for one very rich lady, but not to be…
Unfinished and very ghostly third floor where generations of curious visitors left their marks. I suppose they felt it was not hurting anyone in this abandoned shell, and it is a sort of historic record maybe. But just sad anyhow.

Poking around the PA Parks

#Pennsylvania State Parks, #PennsylvaniaStateParks, travel, ,

Last year, as I might have already reported, my husband and I purchased a Pennsylvania State Park Passport, a chubby little guide to all the state parks and state forests in the state. It cost $10, and as we always want to get our money’s worth, we’re now determined to visit as many of the parks as possible.

We set out to visit three parks over the July 4 weekend, both within an hour and a half’s drive from our vacation home near McConnellsburg. The first one, Memorial Lake, was a bust since just as we were exiting our car for a scenic picnic, it started pouring! Nevertheless, we did get our passport stamped, and also got some good advice from one of the park rangers.

Without her enthusiastic recommendation, we would never have found “the cabin” which she assured us is a must-see at the other nearby park, Swatara. Why, we asked? Because it has a waterfall behind it, she reported. It is also not on the trail map which we picked up, but she marked it’s location with an “x” and we went on our way with hopes the sun would come back out.

After eating our picnic in the car while waiting for that illusive orb, we set forth on a rail trail toward the mysterious cabin-with-waterfall. It is actually a well-preserved but now open (as in, no glass in the windows, by design) sort of shelter for picnics and, by arrangement, overnights. And, yes, there is a waterfall behind it which makes for a very dramatic view from the back windows.

The cabin was built in the late 1930s by a local “shop” teacher named Armar Bordner. It wasn’t inside a state park then… it was just a hideaway he built with the help of his students – which was legal and perfectly okay back then it seems.

Eventually, the park was planned and eminent domain threatened to take over Bordner’s retreat. He cut a deal to stay until his death, then bequeathed it to the state (with some Boy Scout deal in there too as I recall). Through the magic of YouTube, we can hear Bordner’s voice and get some further details of his history, if you are so inclined. Swatara State Park also includes a fossil pit where you can search for the state fossil, the trilobite. We didn’t get to do this, though, because it started raining again.

The next day we met a friend for a picnic at Pine Grove Furnace State Park. This park has a lot to offer – access to two lakes, the Appalachian Trail, and the Appalachian Trail Museum, as well as a historic iron furnace and associated buildings.

I went kayaking on the larger of the two lakes, Laurel, which was a treat. The water lilies were in bloom, and it was acceptable, it seems, to kayak right through them. I worried a little that I would be harming them, but apparently they just bounce right back.

Two days, three parks, three new stamps in our passport. And the adventure shall continue…

The cabin.
View of waterfall from back area of cabin.
It’s always a thrill to walk even a tiny bit of the Appalachian Trail!
Kayaking among the water lilies.

Memories of My Father

childhood; stuff; family, ,

My father passed away when I was 13. It was a bright spring day in April, and I had been on a 4-H trip to a furniture factory or something. I suspected something was wrong when some friends of our parents came to pick me up at the parental meeting point after the trip.

The days leading up to the funeral are a blur, but at the viewing or after the service (not sure which) I remember sitting next to a schoolmate who had also lost her father. The only thing I can recall about our conversation was speculating together about what they did to tomatoes to make ketchup thick. Was it flour, other thickener, some kind of cooking magic? We couldn’t decide.

I like to think my father would have enjoyed that conversation. Not only did he love food (which one can see in the photos) and my mother’s cooking, but he enjoyed discovering things. No one could not disturb him, or even get his attention, when he would sit down in his easy chair to read the Reader’s Digest or another monthly publication.

Many of my best memories of my father revolve around food some way. I remember his pride in growing vegetables, first in our expansive New Jersey backyard and later when we moved to Vermont and had an even bigger space to plan out and tend. I hated pulling weeds and picking beans, but I learned a lot from those early gardening days, and honor that practice with my own vegetable garden, though it is not nearly as large and productive as my memory of his. But my husband and I are particularly fond of growing tomatoes.

He also loved hunting and fishing, and brought wildfowl and fish back to my mother – a city girl who did not always appreciate trying to figure out what to do with the spoils. If I am remembering this correctly, in the fall there would sometimes be dead ducks hanging upside down on the clothes line.

I’ll have to ask my mother (who in her early 40s had to become mother and father, and has been a widow for over 50 years). My sister, college-bound at the time, also had to grow up a lot faster than she might have, and chose to attend a college closer to home. We’ve never talked about that period right after my father’s death much. We should someday.

One of my favorite memories of my father was one night, after he and my mother had purchased one of those gadgets that sliced vegetables, probably “as seen on TV” or advertised in the Sunday paper or a magazine. It purported to slice anything with neat, picture-perfect precision, even ripe tomatoes.

I’d gone upstairs to bed, but was woken by very loud laughter in the kitchen. My mother and father were putting the slicer to the test with ripe garden tomatoes, and it obviously was not living up to its hype. I am not sure if I snuck downstairs to see what all the hilarity was, or if my mom told me about it afterwards, but apparently tomato mush was everywhere. Being frugal, I am sure my mom made tomato sauce out of it the next day.

She could have made ketchup, I suppose, but that was the job of the Heinz company. And, if she had, there would have been no mystery to discuss, to soothe my profound loss.

Our family in our New Jersey living room. I’m the little one on the right.
My father in his young, non-double-chin days on the left, and with my mom at some beach or other on the right. That’s a (backyard) farmer, or fisherman’s tan if I ever saw one!

Spring Brings the Cicadas

cicadas, vegetables, fun,

Our neighborhood is abuzz, but it’s not from human gossip. It’s from our once-in-seventeeen- years visitors, the cicadas. Yes, they started emerging in earnest after it stopped dipping down into the 40s at night and then, like it usually does in the Washington, DC area, shot instantly into the 90s.

They are dubbed “Brood X” which makes them sound to me sort of like characters in a sci-fy/ noir movie mash-up. Our colleague Jim has written an article for our work web site about why the X, and also many other aspects of cicada folklore and folklife, which is a good read.

While our own backyard doesn’t have nearly the numbers some do, there is still this constant, undulating “zizz-zizz” in the background when you venture outside, and scores (if not billions) of dopey or dead specimens hanging out. Here’s what they look and sound like:

It’s not really that big a nuisance, and actually it’s pretty cool. And, as a result, you too can become a Citizen Scientist by downloading the app “Cicada Safari” and uploading your photos, which get added to a map.

They’ll be gone before we know it. So, we might as well make the most of them. But I will not be trying any in recipes, which we knew were bound to be on offer, right?

Living the Hybrid Life

hybrid life,

As more people get “vaxxed” (that’s a verb now), we are slowly emerging out of our mostly virtual lives and into real experiences. My husband and I have even – gasp! – gone out to dine indoors at a couple of restaurants. But, certain pandemic-era practices seem here to stay. And, I fear, we are stuck with such terms as “hybrid” and “pivot.”

Is that all bad, though? I think not. Along with the part about getting outside more, the part about connecting via Zoom, Teams, or Google Hangouts can be wearisome but it can also create some opportunities that would never have happened if we had to rely on finding the time and means to get together in person.

Whether conveniently connecting with an old friend who lives across town (but still we hadn’t spoken in years), gathering some far-flung women friends for cooking sessions, or sharing the work of some colleagues half-way around the world with an Arlington-based classroom, the technology is amazing and some heart-felt connections can be made despite the coldness of the medium and the weirdness of being a face in a frame. (And also watching yourself all the time which is just plain weird.)

Let us continue to embrace virtual visiting, while (like the cicadas, which may be the subject of my next blog) also emerge from our figurative underground lairs to greet the world in person.

Here are some images from my recent virtual and in person life:

For the second year, our annual Titanic Party, held more or less around the time the ship sunk and involving eating and watching the movie, was organized virtually by my daughter. This year I won the food competition with my iceberg floating island!
Our cooking group continues to meet periodically. In April we took advantage of spring asparagus and made asparagus galettes. And gabbed of course.
I helped facilitate a program with my friend and fellow India/US Exchange partner, Mamoni Chitrakar, and an Arlington school. They have really upped their virtual game in Naya Village, West Bengal, and it was so great to see her and her daughter!
Mother’s Day virtual movie night with my kid. We watched “Eat, Drink, Man, Woman” so many snacks were necessary to have on hand.
In the category of real experiences, my husband and I visited the Franciscan Monastery grounds and garden in DC. Lovely on a spring day.
Saint Anne put out the welcome mat for us. Nice of her!

Fort Ward Wander

Alexandria, Northern Virginia, travel, ,

Well, we got through winter (though it tried to come back last week), and now it’s time for more outdoor adventures. In the category of “get to know your NoVa,” my husband and I visited Fort Ward Park in Alexandria last week. This is a fairly large park which meanders around a neighborhood off of Braddock Road.

What is this park all about? We wondered that even as we started wandering around it more of less aimlessly. We parked in the first parking lot we saw, which is near the (currently closed) museum. The first signs we saw were interpretations of the African American community that had been located there right after the Civil War. These are newer signs, and a pretty good interpretation. (In the brochure you can read in this link there’s a nice group of “first-person memories” of the community, which as a folklorist I appreciate.) Does anyone other than me find it somewhat ironic that this community was displaced by the establishment of this very park, making it necessary for the city of Alexandria to interpret the history of the community that WAS there until the 1950s?

A large part of the park is actually an interpretation of the Civil War era fort, “a bastion of freedom,” which is partially reconstructed. Like most Civil War forts that were built surrounding Washington, DC, this fort never saw any action. But it was ready for action, with big guns at the ready, underground stocks of ammunition, and rifle trenches. Which you can clamber around, as long as you stay on designated paths. (But, no sunbathing as per signage.)

There are also lots of nice trees (at least one of them with a name as per below), an impressive gate, and a number of benches and picnic tables, and some adjacent tennis courts and open spaces where games could be played (though not in the “historic” portions). Still, the whole site has an air of not being sure exactly what its purpose is. Recreation site? Civil War interpretation site? Or site to learn about the community that used to be there but got moved because this somewhat schizophrenic but pleasant enough space was constructed/reconstructed?

If an actual battle had been fought here, I would have felt more inclined to be in awe of the battlements and artillery. It would feel more like “sacred ground” which one should think deeply about (see my Gettysburg ruminations). But, to me, it seemed like they could have really let the African American community stay there and continue to grow and prosper.

Here are some scenes from the Fort:

This slightly sad looking cannon thing did not make it to the main interpretation of the fort but was lurking behind some outbuildings on the edge of the park.
A big gun awaiting action that never happened.
The signage about the fort could do with a bit of sprucing up. We appreciated this sign as we had just needed to recall the word “parapet” to complete a NYT crossword puzzle. I am anxiously awaiting the use of “scarp” and “abatis” in future puzzles.
One would assume this means only the immediate historic area around the restored part of the fort. Because there are picnic tables and inviting open fields for games nearby. Sunbathing, though, is something entirely different, no?
The signage interpreting the African American sites is newer and well done. Despite this being interpreted as a cemetery, there are no evidences of graves here, but it is appreciated that they identified the site of a graveyard and have it roped off, at least.
This quote is kind of poetic but – um – more than just a bit condescending?
We could find no explanation of why this tree was named “The Beatley Tree.” If anyone finds out, let us know.

(Musing) On the Rocks

memories, rocks,

In lieu of having anything even vaguely exciting to blog about lately, I decided to riff on some rocks. This came to mind when my husband and I took at walk around a Falls Church neighborhood one afternoon this week and noticed more than one group of painted rocks. This seems to have become a pandemic pastime far and wide, which even my 95-year old mother expressed interest in trying recently.

This made me think about rocks in general, and the many rocks that I may have encountered in the past year or so. So, naturally, I went to my Google photos and searched “rocks” to see what the algorithm would come up with. Mostly this involved photos of rocks in parks in Pennsylvania, where we spend a lot of time this past year. Pennsylvania, as I have mused in this blog in the past, is full of rocks.

Among the photos on rock themes, however, a few popped up that really reminded me of the sense of loss of the past one year+, some of it having to do with the pandemic, but some of it having to do with some dear friends we lost this year to non-pandemic illnesses.

And so, I offer a small photo essay on rocks, loss, remembrance, and hope for a better rest of the year and years to come.

Easter themed rock garden in Falls Church invites people to take/add a rock (or shell?). Painted rocks are popping up all over the Northern Virginia suburban landscape.
Another group of painted rocks at a local park. Not so curated but fitting for the setting!
When one has a lot of rocks in one’s garden they must be put to good use. There’s never a dearth of rocks to hold down garden cloth in our Pennsylvania garden. This is the start of last year’s garden. The tomatoes did well but those brussell sprouts never thrived I fear.
Travel with buddies was a big loss this year. Arlene and I missed out on a lot of ginseng fieldwork and its associated adventures in the Appalachian mountains, such as this one in the Great Smokey Mountain National Park in summer 2019.
I was most saddened by this photo of Steve and our friend Tarik, who passed away suddenly this past year. As a prelude to our trip to Mexico, we visited with him and his family in the L.A. area, including with his daughter Madeeha who lived with us while interning at the Smithsonian. Our families have become fast friends and Tarik’s loss was a real blow for everyone who knew him.
I like the idea of being commemorated “on the rocks.” I have no idea who this gentleman was but the location of the plaque is near our cabin in PA at The Pulpit, where hang gliders and parasails launch in good weather.
Rock graffiti on the banks of the mighty Potomac, below Chain Bridge. Nuff said.

Cold Comfort

poetry, refrigerator art, refrigerator art, ,

Since we haven’t been traveling anywhere interesting, or really doing much of anything new and exciting, I have resorted to turning inward for new blog material. Today’s blog, therefore, is all about what our refrigerator in Pennsylvania is sporting these days.

Some of the stuff on the fridge has been there for years, such as the recipe for crepes, and some of the magnets. When our daughter and her friends go up for their annual New Year’s Eve celebration, new items often appear. The ample poetry magnets (two sets, merged) make for an ever-shifting literary experience.

When we visited last week, we hadn’t been there since December. The new items included a blue paper snowflake and the drawing of two cats in cowboy outfits roasting some mice on sticks over a campfire. (Sorry, mice fans.)

What’s on your fridge? Chances are it is full of wild and wonderful magnets, stickers, and works of art. If it isn’t, I’m not sure we can be friends.

This was one of many art snowflakes produced by the snowbound over New Years.
Artwork by Steve during a Pictionary type game.
This is real artwork by our daughters friend Annie. Though not sure what is going on with that one cat and the happy looking roasted mouse. Annie, can you explain?
One of the sets of poetry magnets was a successful bid at a Public Sector Section Auction at our annual American Folklore Society meetings. They are Cowboy Poetry magnets.
Crepe recipe. No instructions necessary for us, but if you want to try it: Mix it together, let it set for a little while, mix again, and then pour a little into a flat-bottomed frying pan and swirl around to make it thin and pancake-sized. Cook till light brown on either side. Serve with whatever you like in your crepes such as fruit, cheese, sauted vegetables, etc.

Piecing Together

#collage, , ,

I have already reported on my foray into collaging, which I can thank my good friend Martha for. But the practice merits an update and highlight. Indeed, in these times of uncertainty and limited activities, an almost-every-week Sunday evening collaging session with Martha has become a constant, and I’m loving it.

Some articles I have seen extoll the virtues of the “meditative power of collaging,” during which you lock yourself in a secluded and quiet room somewhere, freeing your mind of all else and becoming the art, or something like that. The heck with that. During our collaging sessions, via Skype, Martha and I work on our projects while we chat, gossip, update, complain, and laugh, all the while working away at our latest creations. Sometimes we consult each other on what our respective art works might still need to elevate them from good to great, and usually at the end we have a “big reveal” of what we’ve accomplished.

She’s more into creating larger, wall-worthy artwork. Being ever so practical, and knowing I’d never get around to adorning my walls with my creations, I’ve been making cards for friends and family. I have not kept any of these, but I take a photo of them each week for the record.

I don’t pretend that they are Picassos, or harbor any idea of starting my own Etsy shop. It’s just fun, a great way to stay connected to a smart, creative and endearingly quirky friend, and hopefully bring a smile to the recipients. I highly recommend “putting the pieces” together in this otherwise largely fragmented time.

Here are snaps of my January/February creations. FYI, the featured image collage at the top of this page is supposed to be Aeolus, god of the wind, which would take a whole new blog to explain. May he blow in some positive energy for us all!

Crazy quilt.
Lunar New Year card using some leftover holiday paper.
Agave plants inspired by our trip to Mexico last February.
Not quite anatomically correct but still happy looking blue crab.

Peaceful Paddling

#palmettodunes, travel,

January seems like a dream now, one where I was paddling serenely through the placid waterways of the Palmetto Dunes home/condo/golf course/hotel/tennis court/etc complex. [NOTE: They call these “plantations” down there. Nuff said.]

I discovered that for a not too bad price, one can join the “kayak club” at Palmetto Dunes outfitting store/rental area and get unlimited access to kayaks whenever one wishes for a whole calendar year. So you know, frugal person I am, I had to challenge myself to get out there as often as possible.

My goal was to hit all 11 miles of water trails in the “lagoon system,” and I am somewhat proud to say I reached the goal, even did a couple of parts more than once in my seven trips out. In case you are picturing a tropical paradise, it was somewhere between the high 40s and low 60s most of the days I was out there, but you work up some warmth paddling and if the wind is not hitting you face-on, it’s not so bad.

Kayaking around Palmetto Dunes is interesting as a lot of the views are of the waterfront “back yards” of some very swanky homes and golf courses that come right to the water’s edge. Still, there are also a few wilder areas with just trees (lots of pines and live oaks with overhanging Spanish moss), and plenty of birds: the ducks and cormorants who fly straight at you and then veer away at the last minute; the pelicans who dive beak-first at great speed; the herons who stalk the shores waiting for that unsuspecting prey; the ospreys who swoop gracefully overhead, sometimes carrying a big fish in their beaks. No gators or other wildlife in evidence this time of year.

The air is fresh and pine scented and when you get away from the roads and the sounds of construction (seemed like a lot of roof repairs going on for one thing), you hear only the swish of your own paddles slicing through the water. I rarely saw any other paddlers, even though lots of those waterfront houses had kayaks piled up near their docks.

Those folks don’t know what they’re missing.

This is one of the highest end “single family homes” in Palmetto Dunes I encountered on my paddles. Though a lot of times these get rented out for destination weddings and stuff I think.
Yeah, good advice. Though I think the gators kind of hibernate in the winter.
Shot off the bow. It wasn’t always this calm, I was fighting a chilly wind on some occasions. But the effort keeps you warm!