“John Fitzgerald Kennedy” (1917-1963) by Alfred Eisenstaedt
I really don’t know why it is that all of us are so committed to the sea, except I think it’s because in addition to the fact that the sea changes, and the light changes and ships change, it’s because we all came from the sea. And it is an interesting biological fact that all of us have, in our veins, the exact same percentage of salt in our blood, in our sweat in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea – whether it is to sail or to watch it – we are going back from whence we came. ~ John Fitzgerald Kennedy (John F. Kennedy in His Own Words)
On August 7, 1961, when I was four years old, President John F. Kennedy, a long-time summer resident of Cape Cod, signed a bill authorizing the establishment of Cape Cod National Seashore. Tim & I spent many of our childhood summers at our grandparents’ homes on the Cape, and we have visited the National Seashore countless times as children, and as adults, too, bringing our own children there to explore nature and discover history.
On October 18th, the Rodgers branch of the family headed out to Provincetown, at the very end of the Cape Cod peninsula, where we spent many a vacation when our kids were growing up. We thought it would be deserted, since the summer season is well over, but it was Women’s Week, and the streets were crowded with visitors. Exhausted from the emotions and activities of the previous day, we had lunch and did some shopping, but didn’t stay too long. But before we left I kept taking pictures of signs – there were so many creative ones…
10.18.13 ~ Provincetown, Massachusetts
10.18.13 ~ Provincetown, Massachusetts
10.18.13 ~ Provincetown, Massachusetts
10.18.13 ~ Provincetown, Massachusetts
10.18.13 ~ Provincetown, Massachusetts
a couple enjoying Women’s Week festivities together
10.18.13 ~ Provincetown, Massachusetts
10.18.13 ~ Provincetown, Massachusetts
10.18.13 ~ Provincetown, Massachusetts
An historic fishing port, Provincetown is situated at the tip of Cape Cod in an area of spectacular natural beauty, surrounded by miles of dunes and beaches. Provincetown has a diverse and singular history. The Pilgrims first landed in Provincetown in 1620 and signed the Mayflower Compact, a declaration of self-determination and radical thought that characterizes the history and people of Provincetown, even today. Provincetown has been home to sailors, pirates, fishermen, painters, and authors for centuries. In the nineteenth century, Provincetown, with the largest and safest natural harbor on the New England coast, was one of the greatest and busiest seaports in the country. The rich texture of cultural and social influences has produced a sense of place that is uniquely Provincetown. For over a century, these special qualities have attracted artists, tourists, and bohemians who have then blended with the local population and produced a unique community character. Provincetown is truly like nowhere else. ~ Town of Provincetown website
looking towards Pilgrim Monument from out on MacMillan Pier, where fishing and whale-watching boats are moored in Provincetown Harbor
granddaughter Eliza found her own “sign” to bring home
“Young Peasant Woman with Three Children at the Window” by Ferdinand Georg Waldmüller
I don’t mean to belittle the accomplishments of those whose names we memorize for tests and whose statues we admire. I just think it’s time to make a little room for the rest of our ancestors — and I’m happy to report that this is already happening. You never had to be famous, rich, or educated to leave a trace, but unless you were, you tended to be overlooked. But now, that’s all beginning to change, and at the vanguard of this democratization of history is the humble genealogist. ~ Megan Smolenyak (Hey, America, Your Roots Are Showing)
On Friday, Janet, Liz and I enjoyed a lovely afternoon at a Lady Slippers Walk & Picnic at the Peace Sanctuary in Mystic, Connecticut. Our guide was Maggie Jones, executive director of the Denison Pequotsepos Nature Center. Before we began our walk in the woods, Maggie gave us a little history of the 45-acre sanctuary property.
5.17.13 ~ Mystic, Connecticut
The Universal Peace Union had been founded in Providence in 1866 by a group of reformers whose belief in nonviolence after years of bloody warfare led them to a broad critique of American imperialism, U.S. immigration and Native American policies. The local branch had formed among Rogerene Quakers around Ledyard, and the first national meetings took place in private homes there. As the number of members grew, including large numbers of women, the annual meeting moved to a larger venue in Mystic. By the 1880s and 1890s, the gathering attracted as many as ten thousand attendees. In 1890, the organization purchased land from Silas Burrows and the Fish family on a hill overlooking the river on the northwestern side of town. Meetings then took place at this open and undeveloped spot, attracting such speakers as reformer Lucretia Mott and author of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” Julia Ward Howe. ~ Leigh Fought (A History of Mystic, Connecticut: From Pequot Village to Tourist Town)
happily growing in a decaying tree trunk ~ 5.17.13 ~ Mystic, Connecticut
When peace became less popular around the start of World War II, the land was purchased by explorer, naturalist, cartographer and writer, Mary Jobe Akeley (1886-1966), who turned it into a summer nature camp for girls. Camp Mystic was very popular and attended by girls from across the nation. Renowned explorers often visited the camp and shared stories of their experiences with the girls. Sadly, during the Great Depression the camp was closed.
almost ready to bloom ~ 5.17.13 ~ Mystic, Connecticut
After her death in 1966, the Mary L. Jobe Akeley Trust & Peace Sanctuary was established and the property is now looked after by the Denison Pequotsepos Nature Center. In the month of May nearly 400 native pink lady slippers, also called pink moccasin flowers, can be found blooming in the woods on the property.
5.17.13 ~ Mystic, Connecticut
Lady slippers are part of the orchid family and are native to Connecticut. They love the acid soil found in the woods, and need a certain fungus found there in order to survive. They grow 6 to 15 inches tall and the flowers are about 3 inches long. They can often be found growing in decaying logs. I used to see them occasionally when I played in the woods near the swamp where I grew up, so it was a treat to see so many of them in one day!
5.17.13 ~ Mystic, Connecticut
The pink lady slipper has been the provincial flower of Prince Edward Island since 1947, and the state wildflower of New Hampshire since 1991.
different stages of blossoming ~ 5.17.13 ~ Mystic, Connecticut
Our walk was mostly uphill and when we reached the top we were treated to an outdoor picnic buffet in a lovely woodland garden. I had stinging nettle soup for the first time, and another soup made with wild leeks.
narcissus ~ 5.17.13 ~ Mystic, Connecticut
garden shed ~ 5.17.13 ~ Mystic, Connecticut
daphne ~ 5.17.13 ~ Mystic, Connecticut
a frog bidding us good-bye as we made our way back down the hill 5.17.13 ~ Mystic, Connecticut
I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. ~ William Wordsworth (Poems in Two Volumes)
my tree
If you look closely you can see Tim’s arms reaching out from behind the tree’s trunk. Wise guy! I didn’t notice this when I was taking the picture! It looks like some buds are just beginning to come out. Here is a better picture of the trunk surrounding the stone corner post I spotted last week:
I wonder what kind of plant (below) is coming up at the base of the tree!
On this day I found some new twigs with little buds on them (below). They will probably be be pruned away, considering what befell the dead twig below the new ones.
Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life. ~ Herman Hesse (Trees: Reflections & Poems)
The monument below tells a brief story about something that happened locally during the War of 1812 (1812-1815), which was fought between the United States and the British Empire.
~~~
Here rest the remains of Mr. Thomas Barratt Powers, aged 18 years, late Midshipman of H.B. Majesty’s Ship Superb, who was killed in action in a boat on the 31st July 1814, a Native of Market Bosworth, in the County of Leicestershire England.
~~~
On the side of this monument these words are inscribed: “This Monument was erected by the Hon. Capt. Paget, and his Brother Officers as a tribute of respect and esteem.”
No doubt “Hon. Capt. Paget” is British Vice Admiral Sir Charles Paget (1778-1839) who was appointed to the HMS Superb for part of his naval career. According to Wikipedia: “In 1814 he was employed on the coast of North America … entrusted with the command of a squadron stationed off New London and took part in an attack upon Wareham, Massachusetts during the War of 1812.” Wareham is about 100 miles northeast from New London. I wonder how this young sailor came to be buried in this particular cemetery. I wonder if Thomas’ parents were devastated to have their son buried so far away in foreign soil…
Sir Charles Paget
Under the cross placed at the bottom of the monument are the words: “British & Colonial G.W.V.A.” The only organization I could find online with an GWVA acronym is Canadian, the Great War Veterans Association, which was formed in 1917, way after the War of 1812. But perhaps they decided to honor the veterans of past wars with plaques, too.
One is left with the horrible feeling now that war settles nothing; that to win a war is as disastrous as to lose one. ~ Agatha Christie (An Autobiography)
Exploring cemeteries is something we enjoy, even ones in which none of our known ancestors lie buried. They are pleasant places to take walks and get some exercise – we even met a couple of joggers in the 22-acre non-sectarian Stonington Cemetery on Easter Sunday.
3.31.13 ~ Stonington, Connecticut
Reflecting on the life stories stone carvers have told with their memorial masonry…
3.31.13 ~ Stonington, Connecticut
In the smaller sculpture (above), which is elevated on a pedestal, the woman is leaning on an upright log. In the similar, but larger sculpture (below), the woman is leaning on a pillar.
3.31.13 ~ Stonington, Connecticut
A close-up of the same statue…
3.31.13 ~ Stonington, Connecticut
The following engraving touched me – how much sorrow the simple word “only” conveys.
3.31.13 ~ Stonington, Connecticut
The Stonington Cemetery was incorporated in 1849, expanding a small 18th century burial ground. A group of Stonington leaders, many of whom made their fortunes as a result of the whaling and shipping trades, came together to design a significant horticultural and aesthetic landscape site responding to the “rural” or “garden” cemetery movement of the time. ~ Stonington Cemetery
3.31.13 ~ Stonington, Connecticut
A majestic tree, waiting patiently for spring to begin in earnest…
3.31.13 ~ Stonington, Connecticut
A bit of architecture to mark the ATWOOD family plot. I wonder if they could be related, as I have so many Atwoods on my family tree, though my branch settled in Plymouth County, Massachusetts.
3.31.13 ~ Stonington, Connecticut
A large rough-hewn stone cross – I love its simplicity.
3.31.13 ~ Stonington, Connecticut
Following the custom of Laurie Buchanan over at Speaking from the Heart, I selected the word ‘patience’ to focus on in 2013. In a bit of synchronicity I found another statue of a woman in a newer part of the cemetery, much like the ones in the older part. This stone carver gave her a name – PATIENCE. She is leaning on an upright log.
3.31.13 ~ Stonington, Connecticut
The ship’s wheel (below) indicates a sailor lies buried here, the grave much more recent than most of the others in this cemetery. The surname sounds Portuguese to me – in the mid-1800s it was primarily immigrant Portuguese sailors who manned the local Stonington whaling fleet.
3.31.13 ~ Stonington, Connecticut
A lovely little garden plot by the woods…
3.31.13 ~ Stonington, Connecticut
3.31.13 ~ Stonington, Connecticut
This anchor (below) decorates a pile, where sailors would secure their boats to the docks with ropes. I’m wondering if this stone is marking the corner of a family cemetery plot. Perhaps the plot was bought but never used, or maybe it is filled with unmarked graves.
3.31.13 ~ Stonington, Connecticut
All true stories begin and end in a cemetery. ~ Carlos Ruiz Zafón (The Shadow of the Wind)
Emily Dickinson (left) with her friend, Catherine “Kate” Scott Turner (1831-1917) Amherst College Archives & Special Collections
Interestingly, scholars have noticed that Emily’s dress seems to be out of date for the time period when this daguerreotype was taken. But this seems to make sense in light of what she wrote in a letter to her friend, Abiah Palmer Root (1830-1915): “I’m so old fashioned, Darling, that all your friends would stare.”
The following poem was included in a letter Emily wrote to Kate, about 1859. In the letter Emily noted: “All we are strangers, dear. The world is not acquainted with us because we are not acquainted with her.”
There are two Ripenings One of sight – Whose forces spheric wind, Until the velvet product Drops spicy to the Ground, A Homelier Maturing, A process in the Burr That teeth of Frosts alone Disclose On far October air. Emelie. ~ Emily Dickinson (Letters of Emily Dickinson)
Emily Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886)
We turn not older with years, but newer every day. ~ Emily Dickinson (Letters of Emily Dickinson)
“Montreal Star” political cartoon by Arthur G. Racey
We are not just republicans or democrats, liberals or conservatives, moderates or extremists who have trouble finding or defining community. We are part of the great communion that embraces the living, the dead, and all who will come after us. Our ancestors – we share them if we go back far enough – have been rogues and heroes, courageous and cowardly, sung and unsung, hardworking and indolent, cruel and kind, mistaken and visionary. Ancestors are not just our blood kin, but the people whose beliefs, ideas, and creations have shaped us. Whether we know their names or not, they live in us as we will live in those who come after us, whether or not we have biological children. … As part of the preparation for voting – and as incentive to vote – we might do well to contemplate this communion, invoke the wisdom of the ancestors to help us keep faith with the descendants. ~ Elizabeth Cunningham (Tikkun Daily, October 26, 2010)
“Mrs. Cassatt Reading to Her Grandchildren” by Mary Cassatt
If history were taught in the form of stories, it would never be forgotten. ~ Rudyard Kipling (Rudyard Kipling, A Life)
I beg of you, you good people who want to hear stories told: look at this page and recognize the wisdom of my grandmother and of all old story-telling women! ~ Isak Dinesen (Last Tales)
The universe is made of stories, not of atoms. ~ Muriel Rukeyser (Out of Silence: Selected Poems)
