Letter from our Far-flung Correspondent

Growing up in Michigan was a treat of sorts.  Mixed treat.  It was a time that education was more than valued but bordering on priceless and had a string of Universities stretching all over the state that gave us all a choice and a potential to pursue what we wanted or thought we needed.  A lot of the petty political struggles were over-ridden by the national calamity that was Vietnam and the draft coupled with the civil rights issues that sat pretty much on top of everything.  It wasn't conceivable that the black population had a rough go of it until we got educated about the problem and presented with a solution.

We thought of our state as some sort of complete entity; water in nearly every direction, small towns and metros, airports and logging streams.  I was pretty lucky to have a father who traveled all over the state and was far away from headquarters that no outing was complete without golf clubs or fly rods in the trunk. Mother was the reader in the family.  My dad was the explorer.

We headed north one morning in the fall so that we could fish in the morning some and perhaps get a round of golf in later or the next morning.  We had fished the Two Hearted River, of Hemingway fame, and my mother was a particular fan of his writing.  In her endless collections, she had a series of his short stories, vignettes actually, that had a lot of writing about Hemingway in Michigan so she made a special point of reading one called "The Battle" before this particular trip.  It was to an oddly name town called Kalkaska, which is close to the Chippewa word for "burned over area". There are other theories but we liked that one as it seemed to fit the logging history of the area as well as the town itself having had a history of burning down on several occasions.

We went out to find a good fishing hole on the Rapid River which gave my mom an "aha!" moment as the short story cited above was supposedly written by Hemingway while he was fishing at a dammed up pond called Rugg Pond, just north of Hanson Road.  We were looking for the historical marker (which we found) stating that Hemingway fished here so we had to as well.

I can't imagine that I or we caught anything at all but that wasn't the point of the excursion. It was to just go and do something interesting and take advantage of what is around you (us).  I don't remember Rugg Pond one bit. Kalkaska is just a blip in my memory - a boom town of sorts as there was a local oil field discovery so it caught my dad's eye.  I do remember that there was a railroad that crossed the state from where we lived up toward Traverse City and ran smack through town.  It was for freight of course - but probably had passenger service when Hemingway visited and most of his stories featured a railroad story within the story, which was part of the opening of The Battle.

So why this on this fine Sunday morning as there are a thousand topics that are, well, topical. Romney is getting beat like a rented mule and the beater isn't much of a prize either.  The world and the nation are in the petty squabbles and big wars, riots and ignorance mode, where black is white and white is some shade of grey.  Human vignettes are replaced by movements and wholesale struggles and I think that is the key to my remembrance of all this.

There is a certain grounding that a trip to nowhere special to find a monument (historical marker) on a fairly out of the way pond, with a family that was as desperate as night and day in interests.  My dad found the sign for my mom.  My mom read the book so she could tell the story. I got to see a railroad station (train tracks are a passion) that actually ran through our backyard at the far end of the line.  That was education of being human and sharing - something in powerfully short supply nowadays. 

We might get some perspective on things by learning broadly and not being confined by intolerances small and large.  We can still think about the big stuff but we can also find a way to put it aside for a few, gaze at a marker, cast a fly into so still water and think of Nick and getting thrown off a train and finding yourself there.

Penny wise and pound foolish

When we invite friends to our home and ask them to come over about dinner time, sure as shootin' they pretty much expect to have something to eat.  When our village invites people to drop in, likewise, folks who make the trip should be able to find food.

We were in the IGA today when two women swore off visiting our village "ever again" because, kids in tow, they visited our Maritime Festival and expected to find a hot dog stand or something where kids under six could get something to eat that 1. kids like and 2. wasn't a sit down lunch.  They found neither.  They blamed the "Greenport Restaurant Association" (whatever that is) for not permitting food vendors.  Having seen the the kerfuffle about outside food vendors at the Tall Ships, it was pretty evident what was afoot here and we shouldn't like it one bit.

It is, in the end, about turf and protecting businesses. We can understand the motivation and the necessity to make the most of the last major weekend event of the year.  We can't, however, buy into the math involved.

Village restaurants hold only so many people and at price points that are pretty steep for casual visitors. The Tall Ships were broken down to what a reasonable family of day-trippers would expect to spend overall and food and snacks for mom and dad and two little ones was thought to be in the $25-40 range give or take. For folks who want to sit down and order off the menu, of course the estimated price would increase. Well and good.  The issue then goes down to the nut of it; how many folks can the "restaurant association" feed?

Estimates run about 3500 plates in a day. That may be light or heavy but no one really knows. If 5,000 folks show up, the restaurants can probably handle the demand.  If 10,000 show up, they can't.  It is simple math. In the later event, we invited 10 for dinner with only 6 seats at the table.

Is there some way to figure it out so that the "restaurant association" gets the lion's share of business AND visitors of all economic brackets, age groups, and time to spend, can find a menu to suit them?  Yes. Of course there is.  But what happened was  that it became and all or nothing proposition. 

One of the first rules of business is that the customer us always right. The customer creates the demand.  In reverse, the village as a host said, "we determine what the demand will be" and it is as backward a statement as can be.  It slights the customer. It hurts non-food businesses by "pissing-off" visitors about the village in general and returning in particular. It causes grand mothers to wag their tongues in an IGA.

It is penny wise and VERY pound foolish.

Town Crier

Well the Maritime Festival weekend is here. No rain. The bluest sky on the planet and a nice NW breeze.

We wondered on downtown last evening to see the fireworks that never fired.  It was a pleasant wait until someone circulated through the crowd announcing that "due to government regulations" there would be no show.  Not to cast a pall (and it is pall not pale) over the evening, soothed a bit later by some expensive frozen yogurt, there were a lot of parents with kids in tow out there to see the lights and the things that go boom in the night. Some pretty long faces let me tell you.

Cast a pall is a good phrase for this. Pall of course coming from "pallor", something of a visual mask or something that obscures by, for instance, smoke or fog; diminishes the clear image.  We wondered what the government regulation was that cast this pall, we are wondering this morning about communication.  In this time of instant contact, e-mail blasts, IM on countless cells, Twitter, well you name it, we live in a village that has none.  We, the residents do. But it appears we are on the end of a broken line that starts with the "government regulations" and ends with a good soul wandering through the crowd announcing in a nice, clear voice that there were no fireworks.

Perhaps the role of "town crier" should be revisited and that a clearly visible kiosk would be apropos - and not the pink tinged monolith in front of a firehouse that goes off line at night.  It would be charming actually. "Eight o'clock and all is well and there will be no fireworks tonight due to government regulations".  We can hear it now.

Armed with the news, we could find out what government regulations required cancelling this event.  We could address the issue of who didn't do what that caused the government regulations to spring into effect. Perhaps we could find the government regulator who stood there at 8pm and said "no. not tonight. no how. no way".

Anyway, the pall was caste by the crier in waiting and we don't know what happened except that it didn't.

Do'ers of the Public Good

We live in a curious era with so many folks wanting the spotlight, that 15 minutes of fame and glory, that they nearly run over each other in a fight for the light switch.  Particularly dismaying is when someone wrests control and still others are not satisfied until the one in the limelight is not only replaced but reduced.  That is a pretty sad state of affairs and we as a nation and as a community suffer badly from these nare-do-wells.

On the other hand, there are silent heroes. Well perhaps heroes is a bad choice of words as everyone seems to be labeled as such for actions great and small.  In thinking about it, we prefer "do'ers of the public good". That doesn't mean so much being involved in governmental projects as much as it applies to making the community a little bit better through acts great and small.

We had a talk with Dave Berson the other day.  He runs that electric ship, the Glory, out of docks near Preston.  Not really a talk but a watch and listen as he took a small group of kids and parents out for a tour of the local waters.  We've known him by and by and he has a reputation for having  a certain congenial  rough edge about him that comes from years on the water and being in charge.  Not a hostile edge, but one that comes from nonsense, matter of fact demeanor. He was great with the kids. Absolutely great and they were as easy with him as wind in a sail.

We talked about this later in the day with a friend who we know from the library and more of this "great with kids" thing came out.  Seems David and the Glory are knee deep in helping kids understand that his boat isn't "electric by accident" and that it is "green" by design. It is responsible as our friend put it. You could run it in your swimming pool and still swim in clean water. That "Green" issue extends to a certain joy and deep respect for the local ecology and that is what is actually being passed on to kids all over town. He teaches that but not as if he were from the DEC but like someone who understands it and respects it.

As we are a water village it is refreshing to find someone who contributes a lot of time and effort in passing on this knowledge and care, this concern and the joy of discovery.  That he does it for kids puts him in the select company of other do'ers of the public good; scout leaders, church youth directors, coaches - simply all manner of folks who take what they do best and apply it for the benefit of others.  It and they are the glue that holds things together and they don't receive the notice they should but then again the are not those grabbing for the spotlight.

We had a friend who ran a youth music program once upon a time and his orchestras played their heads off and loved it.  After concerts when parents would come up to him and say all those glories words of praise he was brusque - almost angry - in pointing out it "was the kids"..it was always the kids and for the kids.  Dave seemed like that when we saw him.  We wrote a while back about an Eagle Scout and his leader; they/he was like that too.  So was the nice person at the library who took a minute to explain how good his programs were and how much good they did. 

Do'ers of the Public Good.

Do'ers and Watchers

During our summer doldrums, we tend to get a bit complacent.  Not that we don't deserve a few minutes off from life as we know it, but because its either too darn hot or the air has zapped out all our energy.  Garages need cleaning out for fall, that overgrown garden needs attention, all those things that make us head for the hammock.

There are two calendars it would seem. One that is the big master calendar over which we have no control whatsoever. It is the sun and moon, the rotation of the earth, daylight and midnight...all those biggies. There is also the one we keep in the frig door.  The one that his chock full of appointments, meetings, and shopping lists. We own that one. We only occupy the former.

We tend to get ruled by the big calendar and neglect our own.  Things get pushed off or we "let" someone else do it.  We nestle into our hammock, book in hand, and someone else does the real work that surrounds our little calendar.  Our village is a case in point.

We think that the Village is there to be our servant; someone totally misunderstanding the phrase "public servants".  They are folks who dedicate time, often albeit compensated at a pittance, to the Village.  In return for this dedication to Village affairs, they make decisions on our behalf. We either go along with them or vote them out. All too often, we rest in our hammocks and simply bite them in the neck for not doing our bidding.  Unfortunately we do this biting from our comfortable place.

Think about how you do something around the house, mow the lawn or trim the hedge, cook dinner or clean a window.  Instead of helping, or saying good job, encouraging the partner, you simple crow at them for not doing it "your way".  Everyone has heard "..well, if you did it my way, you'd...." and just want to throttle other person.  And rightfully so.

There are ways to be constructive and then there are ways to be a pain in the neck from the hammock.

The NRA and here we go again

For those of you who don't know, the 2nd Amendment went through a number of drafts before the rather twisted amendment was agreed upon. Somehow the right wing in our country has perverted the evolution of the amendment/amending sequence to an individual's right to own guns, buy guys, keep guns, strap guns to their hips and go see the President of the United States and recently visit a movie theater.

If are living in Colorado there is a time in your not too distant future when you will go shopping on  a Friday night and you will be treated to the spectacle of 18 year olds packing concealed and loaded handguns with NO NEED for any registration. Perhaps if there were a data base, some loony couldn't acquire 5 guns and some TNT.  They can't drink but by God they can shoot. A couple years ago The NYTimes of course ran a hand wringing editorial about it which will do no good because those who worship at the shrine of the misunderstood 2nd amendment don't read the Times and if they hear about it poo-poo it as being too liberal and therefore not to be believed.

We've been treated to any number of pundits pointing out that if a few folks in the theater were "packing" weapons they could have fired back in some sort of perverse Lone Ranger style - nothing like a gun fight in a crowded theater.  This argument is without merit as there is no reliable data past NRA opinion that having a gun protects you from someone nuts who just want to shoot and kill.  I can see the home breakin in the middle of the night but I can't and won't concede the let's take a gun to the theater mentality. Nor should you.

For your reading pleasure, here are the three drafts to the 2nd Amendment that were written prior to the final. After reading them, let me know if you don't think this entire debate is entirely off track.

I. The right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed; a well armed and well regulated militia being the best security of a free country but no person religiously scrupulous of bearing arms shall be compelled to render military service in person

II. A well regulated militia, composed of the body of the people, being the best security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed; but no person religiously scrupulous shall be compelled to bear arms.

III. A well regulated militia, composed of the body of the people, being the best security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed; but no one religiously scrupulous of bearing arms shall be compelled to render military service in person.

There you go gun-rights honchos. Now explain that away when you apply your strict construction theories.

Dust Bowl

We took a little break from the writing desk for no other reason that it was too darn hot. Dry too. You read it here first.

We ran across this picture the other day. It is from Life Magazine in the 30s and some of us with too much time actually found the place on Google maps - street view. But then again, Oklahoma or parts thereof, look pretty much the same for miles on end so who is to know if we got it right or not.

We are longing for some rain and this afternoon holds promise. That rain that makes things "mud lucious and puddle-wonderful" as e.e.cummings once wrote (at least we think so but are too hot and lazy to go look it up). But right now we have dust. Not Oklahoma in the 30s dust, but it seems that way.

Very low tide



courtesy of the Suffolk Times.

 The picture ran in the Suffolk Times; a tribute to man's stupidity.

We have a lot of water views here and watching the boats in the harbor or navigating up or out the bay is actually very pleasant. Most are in some sort of hell bent hurry to get where the fish are or aren't or they like the "full throttle" sport which, at $4+ marina prices, seems a bit short sighted. The sailboats glide a bit more slowly of course and don't seem to be in such a scurry to get anywhere.

One such sail boat comes by frequently to take the southwest wind at the close of day and we exchange waves on occasion and they all seem dressed for croquette rather than boating, they raise a toast in glasses that literally explode in glints and gleams in the sun and it is, in all, rather civilized.

The boat in our picture above got where it was because someone raised one too many glasses in salute to the fair weather. Simply, it is alleged that the "captain" was drunk. We think now back to our sailboat fellow and his natty crew, drinking toasts for the sail home. Hmmm.

Our driver's education teacher in high school made a point of warning us that 1 out of 10 persons passing you on the road have had a drink. I guess we all are guilty of that at some point and it is a lesson of course to consider.  But when folks get in a boat they seemingly forget that the exact same behavior (raising a glass to a state trooper - although courteous as you pass them by) is a ticket to the pokey.

Anyway, with the 4th and the fireworks and the full harbor and the celebrating, just use your brains some tomorrow night and if you see someone else who has checked his brains at the door, for crying out loud, say something.

Botticelli

About 600 years ago, give or take, the Italian painter Botticelli composed this masterwork - Primavera - spring.  A hundred years ago, another Italian master, Respighi, composed a piece of music inspired by the Botticelli work.

It is a heavenly morning; cool, crisp, blue and a day to think thoughts of great things, beauty and good will.

Have a nice one.

...a little rain must fall....

Looks like our heat wave is over for a bit.

We were talking this a little while ago, during the midst of the thunderstorm, that there was something very reminiscent of childhood when it storms in the morning. Not so much the lightning but the rumble and vibrations of thunder. We like the echo as well as it seems to roll on forever.

We were watching the History Channel over the weekend and with the 4th of July coming up it is 149 years ago this 4th that the battle of Gettysburg came to its climax and Pickett's charge and all that senseless gallantry and wasted courage. War brings out the best and worst in man.  Anyway, prior to Pickett's charge, Lee had lined up a huge group of artillery to fire on the Union's positions to soften them up for the charge. The sheer number of cannons exceeded anything ever in the history of continent and supposedly the ground shook and the sound made it to Philadelphia.

My father fought in the South Pacific and remembers being on a ship before the landings and having all the battleships (seemingly) on earth go ker-pow all at once and it striking him that there was never on earth such an infernal noise. To the day he died he said he never could hear a rumble of thunder without thinking about that event.

I think about thunder in my mind's eye at a lake cabin in northern Minnesota 50 years ago, not being able to go fishing because sure as shooting we would get hit by lightning, and it being so dark we had to turn on the kerosene lamps as there was no electricity except that in the air.

Moonglow

It has been reputably reported that the moon is covered in dust.  Not our dust. Not our tumbleweeds in the unswept corner dust, nor the dust the mother in law finds on every visit try as one might. This is the finer stuff - little nano-grains of dust caused by the surface being pelted with meteors.

The astronauts of  nearly half a century ago noted that when they tromped around on the surface this nano-dust floated up and because it had so little mass it just floated for a bit like when you shake your rugs on a airless summer day.  The moon's "room dust" is chock full of little pieces of glass - again the work of the meteors smashing things with such force that they pulverized the moon rocks and the heat made something like glass.

We have no idea why this little factoid is of interest.  Perhaps because it was so close last month or just because - well just because. The adventure of landing on the moon seems utterly remote to us now; to think that an entire generation has never seen it live.  Instead of moving forward, our moon-heart skipped a beat.

Belling the Cat

We all come from a long line of "if onliers", as in "if only he/she would do this or that".  Catching ourselves in one of these wish lists is fine as far as it goes but to dwell endlessly on the "if only I would win the lottery" thinking is...., well it reminds me of a fable:

"Long ago, the mice had a general council to consider what measures they could take to outwit their common enemy, the Cat.  Some said this, and some said that; but at last a young mouse got up and said he had a proposal to make, which he thought would meet the case.  "You will all agree," said he, "that our chief danger consists in the sly and treacherous manner in which the enemy approaches us.  Now, if we could receive some signal of her approach, we could easily escape from her.  I venture, therefore, to propose that a small bell be procured, and attached by a ribbon round the neck of the Cat.  By this means we should always know when she was about, and could easily retire while she was in the neighbourhood."    This proposal met with general applause, until an old mouse got up and said: "That is all very well, but who is to bell the Cat?"  The mice looked at one another and nobody spoke.  Then the old mouse said:

 "It is easy to propose impossible remedies."

Corvus Corvidae

We have more than a few of these birds in our neck of the woods.  We wonder if their song were a bit sweeter to the ear that we might like them around a bit more.  Doubtful but possible although since they are omnivores (think: eat anything they can get their beaks around) they do a lot of good;  that fine line between cleaning up and scavenging.

We learned today that a group of crows is called a flock but also that it once was called a "murder" as in a murder of crows.  It is somewhat poetic but a distinction without a difference.

We were intrigued so we looked it up in the dictionary - (the last place anyone ever looks):

crow 1 (kr)
n.
1. Any of several large glossy black birds of the genus Corvus, having a characteristic raucous call, especially C. brachyrhynchos of North America.
2. A crowbar.
Idiom:
as the crow flies
In a straight line.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Middle English croue, from Old English crwe; see ger-2 in Indo-European roots. Sense 2, from the resemblance of its forked end to a crow's foot or beak.]
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
crow 2 (kr)
intr.v. crowed, crow·ing, crows
1. To utter the shrill cry characteristic of a cock or rooster.
2. To exult loudly, as over another's defeat; boast. See Synonyms at boast1.
3. To make a sound expressive of pleasure or well-being, characteristic of an infant.
n.
1. The shrill cry of a cock.
2. An inarticulate sound expressive of pleasure or delight.

Well now we are getting somewhere!

If you don't get the point of this little ramble, it is that there are crows that fly and there are folks who crow.  Both travel in flocks and the noun/adjective "murders" is apropos to both.  They also make a great deal of unpleasant noise and are, to our ears, inarticulate.

Lessons learned. Case solved. Noted.

Ray Penney - only in America

Mr. Penney is a well known and highly regarded guitarist and performer/entertainer.  His presence has graced the East End for a long while and we are better off for him.  Mr. Penney is also very, very ill with leukemia.

Peconic Bay Winery is hosting a benefit for him tomorrow night (the 8th of June at 6pm).  The first reason should be for everyone to "pony up" to say thanks for what you brought to us.  The real reason is that Mr. Penney's illness has depleted bank accounts and created hardship.  The performers for this event are all good and it should be well worth going to on the music value alone. That you could be doing something to help out is the icing on the cake.

A few decades ago, one of us was in Stockholm, Sweden for work and the stay was extended.  As bad luck would have it, a short stay in the Karolinska Hospital was called for and when check out came, our friend was presented with a bill for 100 kroner, about $8.50 back then. 3 days. $8.50.

We mention this in regards to the partial title of this thread; "only in America".  The observation is correct that of the major industrialized and perhaps civilized nations on this earth, only in America would someone have to have a benefit concert to help a contributing citizen lessen the stark choices between treatment and food/shelter for his family.

"Oh, but it would cost too much" is the expected outcry.  But the question would then remain that creating a situation where "health care VERSUS food/shelter" costs us a lot more. Infinitely more.  It costs us our moral compasses and our souls.

Go enjoy the music. Do a good thing. Thank Peconic Bay for stepping in and helping out.  Until Washington "Comes to Jesus" as the saying goes on this, the community who has enjoyed the fruits of this man's labors is all he and his family have.

Once and eagle, always and eagle

A pretty fine example came to light Sunday when one of the young men of our Village was recognized as an Eagle Scout in the Court of Honor ceremony.  It is a very big deal not only for him but for his scoutmaster and for an interval we should think about this.  Landon Emmanuel Doroski attained this level of achievement by dedication and service.  His scoutmaster, Robert E. Waldon, Jr. of Troop 51 (the troop's home base is the Episcopal Church on Main), presided and obviously had more than a little to do with Landon earning this honor. 

We were discussing this the other evening with a friend who has a spouse involved with Scouts and who made the observation that both Misters Doroski and Waldon really are from the same cloth. Eagle Scout Doroski attained the honor by his good works, not only mastering skills to earn merit badges but in being first in line to do things around the Village and the area; essentially whatever he found that needed doing.   His Eagle project centered around the nature trail in Moore's Woods which is in the condition it is in because of Mr. Doroski's efforts (although he always uses the editorial "we" in describing it).

Mr. Waldon must be what we would call a community gem, obviously taking time that the rest of us have as well but not spending like he does, and applies it to these young men. The fruits of his efforts and sacrifice are realized in victories great and small, Mr. Doroski's being one of the major ones, but we doubt that Mr. Waldon would assume any credit. He appears to be a selfless man to do all this and would probably blush with the credit.

Point is that both of these gentlemen are the same.  One helped the other achieve something that is quite remarkable in this day and age and in turn, the honoree recognizes the leader for what he helped him and essentially guided him to accomplish.  When Mr. Doroski puts the flags on soldiers graves, cleans up a nature path, probably picks up litter on the street, he does so not because Mr. Waldon asks him to but because he probably felt that it would be something that Mr. Waldon would do and expect, but not demand, of others.

We need to revisit this some in the next while as we are in a Village where some inhabitants start every sentence with "me or I" and have frequently lost sight of the greater good. These two Scouts are a treasure of an example for us to follow.

Good for you Landon. Well done Mr. Waldon. We have the hope of being better for what you do.

die Pfütze

We loved that word from our German grandmother. Spiel! Pfütze!  Go play, the puddles await. We would gain our yellow raincoats with hoods and out we would go with never a question.  We aren't so lucky anymore as die Pfütze (puddles) have grown to be an annoyance at best and now that there is a soaking rain "afoot" we will have plenty to choose from today. So why this?

Into every one's life a bit of rain must fall and you either make the best of it or give in to it.

Our little village is full of those who jump in puddles and others who make the rain.  These "rainers" are the ones who poo-poo everything; to whom every inconvenience is a personal attack and for whom every response borders on all out war.  They are so perpetually gloomy that, as the saying goes, they would make a hyena cry.

We have been someone outspoken of late about these gloomy Guses, growing tired of the endless whining and faux-suffering.  True to form, they look at such observations as personal attacks.  The more one prodes and pokes at their seemingly endless strings of ill-logic the more they rain down on everyone and everything.

So we have made the decision that if they insist on making puddles, we are simply going to go play in them. Give us lemons and we will make lemonade. No one is going to rain on our parade.

Une barque sur l' océan

It has been a week since HMS Bounty sailed in and 4 days since it left. Watching it cast off was one of the magic moments and the swan-like exit from the pier was - well it was magic.

It is well to have seen sights like this. If just once.

Bon chance.

We wanted to do that

We wanted to be the one who climbed up there - way to the tip top - affixing a tell tale .....

Good bye Tall Ships. Thanks for the opportunity to dream the dreams of the sea and bask in your adventures and daring do.

You are welcome in our store and our town and particularly in our lives.

Anytime.

Ahab

Well, after a day of Tall Ships, the event sounds all the world like "success".  Two days to go and perhaps some weather issues in the late afternoons  --  every silver lining has a cloud or two -- but all in all people are coming with high expectations and leaving with a smile. Certainly the merchants hope there will be return visits based on good experiences and what with the vineyards, really good restaurants at all price levels and plenty to see and do, this was a showcase event not only for that event itself but for bringing a lot of people all the way out here and letting them see what's what.

Unfortunately there are other blogs in the village that are reflective of what is generously called the "north fork attitude".  It is the same attitude that raised up against the conversion of the Capital One center in Laurel when it was proposed it become the home of a new and much needed "Y". The folks who would rather that the entire complex fall into rubble rather than to be put to great use.  Same holds true here.  A mindset of  "it doesn't put jingle in my pocket so to hell with it".  It is a sign of a very shallow life. It really is.  Free speech doesn't always equal maturity.

These blogs show a life void of community and common purpose.  When confronted by Captain Ahabs, who run their lives with a purpose and accommodate all things in reaching their goals or goal they attack the mission in a blind attempt to simply derail rather than embrace.  We have a lot of that here. Folks who have been screaming since the Tall Ships were announced.  I will freely admit that I was skeptical due to a late start and not a lot of resources but somehow it got done and done well and some put a truly selfless effort in making it so. I was honored to participate and help where I could.   When the Village gets the glory for this, then bask first in the reflective sunshine. Good for them.

To those who wished disaster from the onset, I think how shallow their lives must be.  Certainly. Their only passion is to 'be against" for whatever wildass reason, almost all centering around their immediate needs.  How sad.

With just a modicum of effort they could be in the sunlight now rather than bumbling along in the shadows and that is sad.  Nothing smells sweeter than to be on the sweet smell of success.

Hubris

There is always a tendency to view the world from an island setting; my front porch, my subdivision, my back yard, etc....  It is understandable to a degree and those who seek our support need to realize that we might not share their vision of "our stuff".  We are the proverbial island and others are the sea - high tides and low tides - but some respect for the mean water level.

Sometimes islands get a little too big for their britches. They either think that they have some influence on the sea and tides (NOTHING holds back a tide by the way) or they spend time howling at the moon in a vain glorious attempt to change things that can't be changed.

We aren't advocating howling at the moon and becoming a Don Quixote fighting windmills.  We also aren't ready to stick our heads in the sand and just hope for things to get better or, at the very least, change with no attempt on our part to right things.

Our little island is, however, beset by some of these extremes; those who think they can hold back the tide and those who ignore the obvious.  It is unfortunate to say the least.

Sometime today, during the rain, the fog and the soon to be sunlight/humidity, think about the positions you take and consider if you are fighting the tide or just ignoring it. 

Just a thought for a middle week morning.

Master and Commander

Just a picture and some music. I suspect with the Tall Ships coming over Memorial Day you can fill in the blanks pretty easily.

If you grew up in the middle west or anywhere away from the ocean for that matter, you probably dreamt of being a cowboy or a frontiersman; Davey Crockett, Roy Rogers or 'la Longue Carabine".  Locally it might have been Long John Silver or Captain Kidd; John Paul Jones if you were a goody-two-shoes of sorts and didn't like a pirate's patch.

Regardless, this is a swell event to think about, rigging, flags fluttering, wooden decks that clump and hulls that creak with the waves.

Mom and Anne

Ann Prior Jarvis was a West Virginian; probably spunky, sentimental, loyal and driven. She is the one who made Mother's Day the big deal it started as and hated the commercialism that it became. This was before women could vote and the suffrage movement, although gaining speed, was just a dream for the future.


There were others before Ann, but none of those efforts took hold. Now we are kinda into a day (some 104 years later) that bypasses the idea a bit what with all the cards and flowers, dinners and "visits to say hello".  Not that any of that is a bad thing mind you, but the root of it, the realization that mother's of all types (great and not so great) put a lot of their lives, love, energies and worry (not to mention guilt!) into making you who you are and for that they deserve respect.


Some came at it with few tools in the toolbox of motherhood.  Others were naturals.  None of that, in the end, makes a lot difference and perhaps the best thing about the day is that it snaps us back to the reality of the effort and immense contribution made for us.  But then again, we need to be thinking of that the other 364 days and not just today.


In that light, mother's day is aimed squarely at us; to be better and more appreciative every day not just today. 


It is beautiful outside. Enjoy it.  Find her or remember her and take a minute - not for flowers and cards (although flowers and cards are a nice thing so don't get all crazy) but for a sincere thank you.

64 degrees and a clear sky

What could be more glorious.  Sun. Breeze. Fresh air. Leaves out, lettuce up, soil most and brown.  Ahhh. Let me think.  Well this maybe.

Moonbeams

Tim McCord's famous 2011 photograph of the
 moon at the closest point

Time to dust off the camera and get those blankets out. 

Saturday night is a wondrous night for looking at the sky.  The moon is at the closest point to us as its orbit isn't perfectly round. It will be huge. We also pass through the tail of Halley's comet and that produces the  Eta Aquarid  meteor shower .... that is if you can see it in the midst of the moonlight. 1135pm is the exact time when the moon is closest and we think you will be able to just reach up and touch it.

My father was born in 1910, one of the years Halley's Comet appears and I kinda remember it in 1986 but not much.  It will be back in 2066 or so and we remember from our history days that famous Battle of Hastings tapestry with the comet in it (1066 remember?) is an interesting coincidence.  Doesn't matter much as I am not planning on seeing it.  Once in a lifetime is about all most of us get.

Back in 1066 it was thought that the comet had something to do with King Harold getting an arrow in the eye and loosing the battle.  When I was about 5 or so, my parents gave me an astronomy book and in it was a picture of the comet from 1910 and I remember the text to this day - "the comet won't appear again until 1986".  We get to see just the scraps from it - the cosmic clumps - and in particular I wonder what the ancients thought about that when they saw it...fireflies perhaps...the shooting stars of childhood although the concept of starts and space dust weren't on any one's radar a thousand years ago.

We sing at the moon in our ignorance of it.  The heavens as well for that matter. Makes us something like wolves.  I would, however, like to see the dust of the comet that launched my father in the world and in 1066 another Harold (my dad was so named) fell to a bad fate but the comet passing was noted nonetheless. These meteor showers are pretty common but in my mind, would have found my father just shy of 30 years old running a restaurant in Ann Arbor, taking a break out back in the alley off S. University and looking up at the night sky.

Saturday night will find me in a lawn chair, camera in hand, a telescope if it arrives in time, and a meteor shower at the rate of 1 a minute sparking across the moonbeams.  If it rains I am pretty sure I'll still see it. It is pretty clear right now.  Mind's eye you know.

Big Bang Day

This is a big day in the course of human events according to a fellow named Johannes Kepler.  About the time this area became a destination voyage (the wag in us wanted to say destination getaway) Herr Dr. Kepler was something of a key player in the history of science and we bring him up because he calculated that on this day, April 27 in the year 4977BC, the universe, or at least what was known of it, was created. Big Bang Day.

In 1600, Kepler was in Prague doing work on planetary motion.  He corresponded with Galileo, even bought one of his telescopes. His work was a good deal of the basis for Newton's work on gravity. In short, he was something of a big cheese in the history of science.

We bring this up because at the time all this stuff was going on, our little neck of the woods was being settled.  That we find interesting.  When our founders were scratching out settlements here - right here mind you - folks in Europe were doing the work of scientific genius. That is the point of this little thread. 

We think of history as a straight line set of events.  We think chronologically, like Kepler did when he traced things backwards and came up with 4977BC.  What we don't think about very often is that when Kepler was doing his thing, Shakespeare was doing his in London, Monteverdi was doing his in Italy and our friends to the northeast were standing by a rock thinking about where to go next.  Most of these folks and their proteges were alive and contributing when the church in Southold (picture) was founded, people were exploring Shelter Island and Greenport was identified as a very "fair harbor".


Kepler of course was more than a little off in calulating April 27, 4977BC as "day one".  We can forgive him for that.  He was right in perspective.  He tried. He gave it his best shot. That was certainly one thing all had in common.

Mind Pictures

By chance yesterday we were speaking with an "eyewitness".  What she saw wasn't much more than a silly adult indiscretion - perhaps just a moment of forgetfulness - less than a $1.00 and missed in the bottom of a shopping cart. But what she saw wasn't so much the $.79 cent candy bar with orange lettering and "peanuts" on a grey white background, but the glance towards it by the miscreant and that instant glance of recognition as eye met eye. She knew. The miscreant knew she knew.

We envy those with terrific "mind pictures". It isn't perfect memory. It is an ability to capture a scene in that mind's eye and store it away for later reference and up it pops as if in some sort of carnival peep show - a lifetime of pictures that run endlessly and stop for examination when prompted.

When we think of Ansel Adams, untrained as we are, we think that his mind's eye is working every second and that when he saw something of interest he found a place where he could snap a shot of it when it appeared again. He must have had a plan - a premonition - a mind's eye reference point to catch the scene as surely as our friend had the chance to nab the candy thief.

Adams did. She didn't.

Fountains

..A good look at this photograph tells a lot of tales.  Mom brushing the face of her youngster after a drink at the fountain on Main Street.  Main Street itself as a dirt road.  The brick retaining wall that exists to this day, the dome of the old opera house, even a few wheel tracks.  Pretty swell stuff and not a parked car in sight.  We are guessing that this scene is about 1910, what with the telephone poles and all.  100 years ago seems so distant.  If you were alive then, say in your middle 30s you were born closer to 1776 than to today. Think of that. Our father was born about the time of the picture and his early years were closer to the civil war than to the years when we were in high school...a fulcrum if you will; a teeter totter date dividing up the ruler of years.

Fountains are great things in a village.  A common meeting place of sorts where people headed on a hot summer day with the promise of an answer to "Mom! I'm thirsty!".  They were also landmarks in a village where everyone knew where it was and if they wanted to meet up later they would say "meet me at the fountain at 4pm".

We note with some dismay that there isn't a water fountain to be found in our entire Village and that is sad.  There can't be a picture taken of a scene like this again.  Pretty soon, depending on the year that fountain was dismantled, there might be no one around still alive who saw it in action.  Pretty soon thereafter the fulcrum in the yardstick of life will balance out so that no one will have been around closer to that 1910 fountain than to day.

It is, of course, crazy to attach such sentimental value to a fountain that, if it still existed, would have cause countless fender-benders and taken up precious parking spaces.  It isn't out of the question, though, to think of a mom, dressed in her long black dress and snappy hat, bending over her child, dabbing a chin after helping him or her up to the magic fountain that made thirst go away.

The god of Agricultural Affairs

The Greeks and Romans had a god for just about everything. Not to be politically incorrect but basically when they ran up against something they couldn't explain, they called in the gods and attributed things to them.  Saturnus was the god of the harvest; the Roman secretary of agriculture in a sense.

Saturn-mania has struck. Not really but if curiosity killed the cat we should all be a foot in our graves because of that big bright light in the western sky. When you consider that same big bright light has looked as it does for the past bazillion years folks, tended to notice like we do now every evening. Imagine how it must have looked before we dumped all that stuff in the atmosphere.  On close approaches, like now, it must have been some pumpkins. And that is the rub of things.

We needed a telescope to see the "rings" and before that amazing advance, it was the same bright blob we see now.  We needed a tool to get the full impact.  When some of us were kids, there were less than a dozen moons. Now there are 62 and counting. Tools give us so much information and the gap between us is how many tools we have at our personal disposal. Books are tools. The Internet is our current supreme tool.  There will be more in the future.  The point is sometimes we need help in seeing things for what they really are and adjusting our spheres of knowledge and comprehension accordingly.

Help comes in the form of telescopes and books, Internet and enlightened curiosity.  If we don't keep looking closely and always asking to see "more", we may as well go outside at night and mumble thanks to Saturn(us) for the upcoming great harvest.

A Walk to the Paradise Garden

It is Sunday morning. Easter. Spring. Flowers. Grandkids.  Friends, here, there, and remembered.

Paradise.

One if by land, two if by sea

We came upon this sketch of the waters off the Greenport Pier, fanciful as it may seem to most, in a collection of photos found at Floyd Library.  We get spoiled a bit with our "mind's eye" view of seaports, all bustling with whaling ships and big sailing vessels from Europe.  The truth in the matter is far more practical and in that light, much more personal.

These aren't whaling vessels; not by a long shot.  The are, instead, schooners (some topsail schooners) and were the modern equal to short haul freight trucks. This type of vessel was hugely popular because they were fast and did well with the wind.  There are a lot of folks locally who can give chapter and verse on the intricacies of schooner construction and handling prowess so we will leave that to more experienced hands.  What we do note is that the waters off Greenport Pier were deep and protected and that, after 1844 (approaching the hay day of schooner popularity and construction), could dock a short distance from the mainline of the railroad that led directly to the  Vanderbuilt Yards in Brooklyn and then by ferry to New York City.  This transportation "fact" saved sailing time and made Greenport a great place for off-loading cargo.  If you think about it the Long Island Railroad runs to the shoreline ending at a dock that can accommodate these vessels only here in Greenport.  This was a natural connection.

We  think about this scene from nearly a couple centuries back. Harbor full of craft of all sorts. Schooners arriving constantly from Connecticut and points east - even Bermuda or the continent.  A harbor that represented the commercial world, offloading items great and small, with a swift transfer a short distance west to a set of iron rails that moved a ship full of stuff to distant New York in the course of a morning and brought things unimaginable from the factories and shops 100 miles to the west, all to find their places in this busy harbor for return trips to who knows where.

(by the way, many thanks for the correction ... a well versed reader commented below that the Atlantic end of the line was really the Vanderbilt railyards. I regret the error but we never regret the correction and are thankful for it.)

Terminus

Everyone west of 2nd Street and South of South Street in our village lives close to the train.  As much as it tries to sneak out of town at 530ish on work mornings, it just can't. Trains come with whistles and aside from the chug-a-chug we associate with them (they don't do that anymore - alas!) aside from the groaning of the rails and the dinging of the crossing signals, that whistle is the big aural clue.

We looked on the place you can find anything (photo courtesy of eBay) and there are actual old brass whistles for sale.  We might buy it just so it doesn't find its way back to a real life train and toot at 530.

Greenport was the terminus of the main line some 150 years ago; a line that went to Brooklyn as a tunnel under the East River was pretty much out of the bounds of consideration.  A lot more trains "snuck in and out" back then than they do now - nearly a dozen a day - and we even had a way to put freight cars on ferries and ship them to Stonington, Ct. to latch on the rail lines there (we originally thought this ferry went to New London but a very sharp reader from up north told us, correctly, that Stonington was the destination to the line to Boston....many thanks).

These whistles, by the way, have a code. We won't list them here but this is a link that will tell you all you want to ever know.  The one we hear is Two long and two short (or two long, one short, one long) - and if you have read that little article at the end of the link, you'll know that it means the train is going to cross a "crossing point" and watch out; so the 4th Street crossing is the culprit.

More than a few of us wake up to this sound and there was a time more than a few were on it every morning.  We didn't like catching it but we would miss it if it went away.  We suppose that trains and tracks were just a part of our lives growing up as most small towns and rural communities had them in some fashion - leftovers perhaps from before endless trucks clog our roads and they were either terminus points or crossing points (meeting points or waiting points in railroad talk) and we built towns and societies around them. What journeys we missed.  What greetings and waves goodbye.

It isn't cold and rainy everywhere

One of the good friends of the Village is out and about this morning - a few hundred miles to the south in fact - and while we suffer from the rain and cold, she is basking in the Gulf sun.  We won't get either jealous or envious (close but we will resist).

The eagle and hopefully eaglets dead center in the picture are of the Bald Eagle variety - something of our national bird - and absolutely majestic whatever the setting.

Ben Franklin actually thought that the national bird should be a turkey and it is well that his view didn't prevail otherwise Thanksgiving might be vegan.
Regardless, we thank our friend for sending us this. Flag, eagle, sunshine...mighty nice. 

Name that sign

When folks from up here go down to Florida in the winter they are called, by the locals there, "snowbirds" - fleeing south to avoid the snow of course. Having snowbirded a time or two and wandered freely down there, we happened upon some rather memorable signs - those that need no explanation.  These aren't, we hope, signs that one would see everywhere - just down there. Just down there. Just.
Some are "in your face" while others just need some good captions - be our guest.